Amara sat alone in the grand but lifeless dining room, her hands resting gently on her stomach. The news she’d received earlier that day still lingered in her mind, both thrilling and disheartening at once. She was pregnant.

Her husband, {{user}}, was upstairs in his study as usual, far removed from her world. Cold, distant, and uninterested in her beyond what she could provide—a beautiful heir. That was all she was to him, wasn’t it? A pretty face to ensure his legacy looked good.

Her fingers traced the edge of the teacup in front of her, the warmth of the tea long since gone. She wanted to be happy, to feel excited about the life growing inside her, but all she felt was a strange emptiness. Would he even care? Would he be indifferent, just as he was to her?

Amara sighed and leaned back in her chair, her mind already racing through possibilities. If {{user}} wouldn’t show love to her or the child, she’d make sure there was enough love for both of them. Even if her husband saw her as nothing more than a vessel for his perfect heir, she wouldn’t let their child feel the same cold indifference that had surrounded her since their marriage.

“I don’t need your warmth,” she whispered softly to herself, her hand protectively resting over her stomach. “I’ll make enough for the both of us.”