Chapter 21: The Vows They Never Said Out Loud**
* Fractures in the Silence**
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Sher hadn't spoken to Hana in two days.
Not out of anger—but something worse.
Control.
And Hana… oh, she noticed. Every minute. Every hour. His silence was like a chain wound tighter around her ribs. Not cold. Just *missing*. Like the warmth of his presence was locked behind an invisible door, and she didn't know how to knock anymore.
He wasn't ignoring her in the obvious way. He still opened her car door. Still passed her a steaming mug of morning brew. Still handed her a fresh towel when she got out of the shower, eyes careful not to meet hers.
But he said nothing.
And that... *hurt more than shouting ever could.*
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### The Choking Air of Pretending
At dinner, they sat across from each other. The chandelier flickered, casting golden light on untouched food.
Hana poked her fork into her salad.
Sher lifted his wine glass.
Mira's voice hovered above the table.
> "Would you like background music, Mr. and Mrs. Wolter? Perhaps—"
"No," Sher said sharply. Then softer, "No music."
Hana looked up, finally daring to speak.
"So silence is your new weapon?"
He met her eyes, jaw tight.
"I'm simply responding with what you gave me."
She laughed without humor. "A dramatic line for someone who claims he doesn't care."
"I don't," he said calmly.
But his hand was shaking as he set the wine glass down.
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### Words Meant to Hurt
"You really think I meant it?" Hana asked. "That I don't feel anything for you?"
Sher's lips twisted into a smile—if it could be called that.
"You said it with enough conviction."
"You said worse in the past," she snapped. "You married me for peace, for power—don't pretend you haven't said cruel things."
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "But I never lied about loving you."
The table froze between them.
She blinked. "What?"
"I never said the words," Sher admitted, voice low, "but I proved them. Again and again. You just never *wanted* to believe it."
"I didn't ask you to love me!"
"No," he said, standing, cold now. "You just wanted me to bleed for it."
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### Alone, Again
That night, Sher didn't return to their bedroom.
He slept in his office—if sleep could be called that. Papers were scattered across the desk, untouched. The moonlight painted harsh lines on his face as he stared at the wall, reliving every moment Hana had smiled at him… then said she felt nothing.
In their room, Hana curled up on the side of the bed he used to occupy. Her fingers brushed the empty sheets, eyes dry, heart not.
Because she *couldn't* say the truth.
Because if she did, she might break in ways that love couldn't fix.
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### A Knock in the Dark
The next morning, a soft knock came to her door.
Not Sher. Not Klein.
But… Kai.
He stepped inside, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket.
"Just checking if you're still alive or turned into a statue of denial."
Hana glared. "What do you want?"
"To give you a choice," he said smoothly, holding up a silver chip. "Sher is supposed to attend a press conference in two days. You can go as the silent, stoic wife…"
"Or?"
Kai grinned.
"Or you can go as the *one who takes back control of this whole narrative.*"
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---
Ice That Bleeds**
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### A Stage Set With Thorns
The press conference venue was flooded with journalists. Holocams hovered in the air, light bouncing off the glimmering blue banners of the Wolter estate.
Sher arrived early, of course. Composed. Charismatic. Flanked by dignitaries and diplomats.
But something in his expression looked carved from stone—elegant, perfect, and completely impenetrable.
Then she walked in.
Hana.
In *red.*
A silk dress that flowed like defiance itself, her hair pinned high, her expression unreadable.
Beside her was **Kai**, casually smug as if this were all his idea—which, honestly, it was.
The cameras turned, flashing like thunder.
Sher turned too—freezing the moment he saw her.
She didn't acknowledge him.
She sat beside him at the head table like a stranger in silk, eyes forward, hands folded.
And **Sher felt like the earth just tilted off its axis**.
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### The Words Between Lines
The press began questions. All formal. All calculated.
Then one reporter asked—
> "Mrs. Wolter, people have been curious about your absence from recent political functions. Rumors say your relationship with the heir has become... strained. Any comments?"
The room tensed.
Sher's hand moved under the table, about to reach for hers, but froze midway.
Hana smiled at the crowd.
"Strained?" she repeated, voice honeyed with venom. "That's a generous word for two people who can't stand being in the same room—yet keep finding their way back to each other, isn't it?"
Laughter. Awkward chuckles.
Sher's jaw locked.
He turned to her, whispering beneath the table cloth:
> "What are you doing?"
She didn't look at him.
"Playing your game, Sher. You said I never believe your actions. So now I'm doing something *you* can't ignore."
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### A Crack in the Armor
The conference ended. Applause echoed.
Sher stormed into the hallway after her, loosening his collar.
"Hana."
She turned, slowly. Calm, unreadable.
He walked up, crowd gone, voice tight. "You humiliated me in front of the media."
She arched a brow. "Funny. I thought I reminded them that we still *belong to each other,* no matter how much we pretend otherwise."
He stepped closer. Too close.
"Why, Hana?"
"Because I wanted to make you *feel* something again."
Sher stared at her.
Then laughed—cold, dangerous.
"You think I'm the one who doesn't feel? You stand there, in red, like a queen of fire, and act like none of this touches you—like you didn't cry yourself to sleep last night."
She flinched.
That was all he needed.
Sher leaned down, voice low and cutting:
> "You may not say it, Hana. But your silence says more than your lips ever could. And *I know you love me.* That's the real war, isn't it?"
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### Leaving Her Breathless
He turned and walked away.
But she couldn't move.
Not for minutes.
Not with her heart cracking so loudly it echoed in her own ears.
> Because deep down, even though she'd vowed never to confess...
She *wanted* him to keep fighting.
Even if she wouldn't say it—
She wanted him to *stay.*
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