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# **Chapter 8: Cling Mode Activated**
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The entire mansion was on alert.
Security droids paced silently through the halls. Medical AI scanned for biohazards. All electronic systems switched to *high surveillance mode.*
Why?
Because Sher Wolter — the intimidating, untouchable, heir of the most powerful dynasty in the Federation — had a cold.
Yes.
A **cold.**
The kind with sneezing, sniffles, and dramatic sighs of near-death.
Hana stood at the edge of his enormous, black-silver bed, arms crossed, watching her dominant, arrogant husband roll around under layers of heated blankets like a burrito of misery.
"I'm dying," Sher croaked, voice lower than usual.
"You have a mild fever," Hana deadpanned.
"Feels like lava in my soul."
"It's *99.2 Fahrenheit.* That's barely spicy soup temperature."
"I need a priest. Or maybe... you should kiss me goodbye."
Hana blinked. "Did you just ask me to kiss you?"
"No," he sniffed. "I mean... if you want to. Out of respect."
"Respect?" She raised an eyebrow.
"For the deceased."
"You're not dead."
"Soon."
She sat beside the bed with a long sigh. "Wow. So this is what it takes to make you clingy. Germs."
He didn't even argue. He just peeked his head out of the blankets with glassy, fevered eyes.
"You're not leaving me, are you?"
She choked on a laugh. "To go where? My entire *social life* is in this room right now, and it's whimpering."
Sher sniffled again. "I'm cold."
"You're under seven layers and a heating pad."
"I'm emotionally cold."
"Good. Maybe now you know what it's like."
He narrowed his eyes at her, and she felt a strange thrill.
Sher Wolter — the man who once stared down planetary warlords — was afraid of being left alone with his tissues.
She grinned.
Payback time.
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Three hours later...
She'd wrapped him in two extra layers, forced him to wear fluffy grey socks, and made him drink her infamous "Hana Chorl Fire Tea," made with honey, ginger, crushed chillies, and pure chaos.
"I can't feel my tongue," Sher murmured, face red.
"That's the *fire of love,* my darling."
"It's betrayal."
"It's herbal."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
He coughed and reached for her hand dramatically.
"You're the only reason I haven't perished."
Hana blinked.
"You're... kind of adorable right now," she said slowly.
He groaned. "Don't ever say that again."
"No, really. You look like a grumpy little bear wrapped in guilt."
"I hate everything."
"You love me."
"I'm feverish. I can't be trusted."
She leaned closer. "Say it."
"No."
"Say it."
"Fine," he muttered. "I love you."
She gasped.
He immediately buried his face under a pillow. "I want that stricken from record."
She laughed so hard she fell over beside him on the bed.
He peeked out again. "You're warm."
"I'm healthy. That's what humans feel like when they're not dying."
"Stay here."
She blinked. "What?"
"Just... stay. With me. Until I fall asleep."
He looked so pitiful.
So soft.
So... not himself.
She nodded slowly.
"Fine. But only because I like this pathetic version of you."
"You secretly like me all the time."
"I secretly want to record this and play it every time you act all dominant and scary."
His arm curled around her waist under the blankets.
"You'll never win again," he whispered sleepily. "Now you've seen my weakness."
Hana smiled as he started drifting off.
"I won the moment you said 'I love you.'"
He grunted something unintelligible and buried his face in her shoulder.
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Somewhere in the mansion, the AI surveillance system sent a soft notification to its logs:
**"EMOTIONAL BREAKTHROUGH DETECTED IN SUBJECT: SHER."**
But neither of them saw it.
They were too busy falling asleep together, finally clinging to something far more dangerous than a cold.
Each other.
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