Heer
Days passed like whispers in a dark corridor—quiet, slow, heavy.
Carlos and I didn't speak again after that night.
He disappeared into his world of meetings, bodyguards, and shadows. I stayed in the east wing, drifting like a ghost through a palace I didn't belong to.
But every time I passed by that grand hallway, I slowed near the drawing room.
The piano.
The only thing in this house that had a soul.
Sometimes, I swore I could hear it late at night. A soft melody that curled into my dreams, painting them in sorrow and silver.
I started noticing little things.
Carlos always left early in the morning, returned late. His suits were perfect. His posture stiff. He never laughed. Never smiled. Not even once.
But he always looked tired behind the eyes.
Eyes that carried too many secrets.
One morning, I went to the garden behind the east wing. It was wilder than I expected—tall hedges, stone benches covered in moss, and roses that looked like they were weeping with dew.
I sat near the fountain, staring into the water.
Then, I heard footsteps.
I turned.
It was Carlos.
We both froze.
He looked surprised to see me. Not angry—just… unsure. Like he didn't expect me to exist outside my room.
"I thought this garden was private," he said finally.
"I thought I was a prisoner," I replied softly. "Didn't know I was allowed to walk anywhere."
He tilted his head slightly, watching me. "You're not a prisoner, Heer."
I looked at him, really looked at him.
"Aren't I?"
There was silence.
Then he walked past me, sat on the edge of the fountain opposite me. We sat like that—two strangers on opposite sides of silence.
After a while, I asked, "Do you always hide behind silence?"
His eyes darkened slightly. "Do you always ask so many questions?"
"Only when I'm trapped in a house with a stranger who became my husband," I said, meeting his gaze.
That made something flicker in him again.
He didn't reply.
Just looked away.
"I saw the scar on your hand," I said suddenly.
His eyes snapped back to mine.
"I didn't mean to pry," I added quickly. "It's just… I noticed."
He flexed his hand slowly, as if remembering something painful.
"It's old," he muttered.
"How did it happen?"
He didn't answer for a moment.
Then, very quietly, he said, "I burned it… the night my sister died."
I felt my chest tighten. "Your sister?"
He looked at me then, and there it was—real pain.
"She was seventeen. Beautiful. Brave. Stupid." He paused. "She thought love could save her from this world."
I listened, heart pounding.
"She fell for a man from the rival family. I warned her. She didn't listen. She ran away with him. I found her three days later… in an alley. Covered in blood."
He clenched his jaw.
"I killed the man who did it. Burned his house down. My hand got caught in the fire."
I covered my mouth.
Carlos stood suddenly. "Don't pity me."
"I don't," I whispered. "I feel… broken for you."
He looked at me then like he was seeing me differently for the first time.
And maybe… I was seeing him too.
Carlos
I didn't want to tell her.
But the words came out before I could stop them.
Heer had that kind of silence—the kind that made a man confess things he'd buried too deep.
Her eyes didn't look away when I told her about Sofia. She didn't gasp or cry or act shocked. She just… felt it with me. Quietly.
Like she was strong enough to carry someone else's grief.
I hated that.
I hated how it made me want to sit beside her and not run away from the memories for once.
So I left.
Not because I didn't want to stay.
But because I was afraid if I did… I'd start to feel again.
And feelings?
In my world, feelings are deadly.
Heer
That night, I didn't cry.
I just stared at the moon through the glass window, thinking of Carlos. Of his sister. Of the wound he carried like a shadow stitched to his skin.
I thought I hated him the day we married.
But now… I wasn't sure.
He wasn't cruel. Not really. He was distant. Guarded. Hard. But not heartless.
He was broken.
And somehow… I wanted to understand those pieces.
Carlos
I sat in the study long after midnight, staring at a file that made no sense to me anymore. My mind was still in the garden. With her.
She asked me about the scar.
No one had ever dared ask me about it.
And I answered her.
Why?
Why did she make me want to speak?
I opened the drawer and pulled out an old photo of Sofia. Her smile was so bright it made the paper seem warmer.
"I couldn't protect you," I whispered.
Then, my thoughts drifted to Heer.
Would I fail her too?
Or worse…
Would I care enough not to?