{Third Person}
Amara slowly pressed a hand against her chest. It hurt. That was the only way she could describe it.
She had spent so much time convincing herself that her feelings were nothing more than gratitude.
Alexander had protected her. He had treated her with kindness. He had gradually allowed her into parts of his life that he rarely shared with anyone else.
They had spent quiet evenings together, walked through the city, sat beneath trees, talked about werewolves and humans, and laughed over things that would once have seemed impossible between them.
He had built a swing because she had mentioned liking one. He had carried her when she fell asleep beneath the tree.
He remembered her favourite foods, observed when she was exhausted, held her hand, and touched her hair.
He looked at her in a way that had slowly made her forget that their marriage had begun as nothing more than an arrangement.
