Chapter 21
Cold War in the Penthouse
Amara’s POV
“You haven’t looked at me affectionately in two days, Damian,” I said, standing at the kitchen island as he poured himself a glass of bourbon, exactly 10 in the morning.
He didn’t look up, neither did he seem to care. “Didn’t realize it has gotten to the point I had to report my eye contact schedule.”
Ouch, that hurts badly.
I forced a breath through my nose, trying not to let his words sting, though it did, but I held myself. Everything did hurt badly lately. “We live under the same roof, sleep under the same roof, but barely speak to each other. If that’s not intentional, what exactly would you call it?”
He finally decided to look at me, glass halfway to his lips. His eyes were bloodshot, colder than I had ever seen them be since I
