# **Chapter 6: His Sweetest Mistake**
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It was raining.
Not the gentle drizzle of romantic clichés. This was the violent, loud, thunder-cracking kind of rain that made the sky look angry and the world seem small.
Hana stood by the floor-length window of the East Wing library, a mug of hot cocoa in her hands and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a warrior's cape.
Sher was late.
Not to a meeting.
Not to a mission.
But to their dinner.
Their stupid, scheduled, formal Friday dinner that neither of them ever admitted they liked.
He was never late.
Not ever.
So she waited.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Thirty.
And right when she was about to stomp down the hall and interrogate every AI system and guard in the house—
The door slammed open.
Hana turned.
And there he was.
Soaking wet. Suit jacket clinging to his frame. Black shirt plastered to his chest. Hair dripping onto his forehead.
But the strangest thing?
He looked... lost.
Not cold.
Not angry.
Just... lost.
She frowned. "You look like you fought the sky and lost."
Sher didn't answer. He closed the door behind him like it weighed a thousand pounds and slowly, silently stepped inside.
Hana put down her mug. "Hey. What happened?"
He didn't reply.
Instead, he dropped something onto the table beside her.
A crumpled, wet photo.
She picked it up carefully.
It was old — printed, not digital. Faded from water damage, but still visible.
Two boys. One slightly taller, standing stiffly. The other smiling wide, arm slung around the first's shoulder.
Sher.
And someone else.
"That's... you?" she asked.
He nodded once.
"And the other...?"
"My younger brother," he said quietly.
Hana blinked.
"You never told me you had a brother."
Sher didn't answer.
Instead, he walked to the window and stared out at the storm.
"He died. Twelve years ago. Car crash. I was driving."
The words hit like lightning.
Hana stood frozen.
"He was fifteen," Sher continued. "Annoying. Loud. Braver than me in ways I never understood."
His voice didn't break. Not once. But something in it cracked — like glass under pressure.
"I didn't tell him I loved him that morning. I was too proud. Too angry at something stupid. And then... he was gone."
Hana swallowed hard.
"I promised I'd never let myself feel like that again," he said, finally turning toward her. "Not for anyone."
She looked at him. Really looked.
The sharp lines of his face, usually unreadable, now softened by rain and memory.
"And then I met you," he added, voice barely audible.
Her heart flipped.
"I hated you," he went on, eyes locked with hers. "You were loud. Stubborn. Reckless. Always looking for a fight."
"Charming," Hana whispered.
"But I couldn't stop looking at you. Couldn't stop protecting you. Couldn't stop... caring."
He stepped closer, slowly, like the confession itself was dangerous.
"I didn't mean to love you, Hana. But I do."
Silence.
The kind that holds its breath.
Then Hana did the one thing he didn't expect.
She stepped forward... and hugged him.
No teasing. No sarcasm.
Just warmth.
He froze.
She felt his muscles tense — like his body didn't know how to accept comfort.
"You idiot," she whispered into his chest. "You really thought keeping your heart locked up would protect you?"
He didn't respond.
So she pulled back slightly and looked up at him.
"You can't lose everyone. Not if you let them *stay.*"
Sher stared at her like she was something unreal.
Then — slowly — his arms wrapped around her.
It wasn't gentle.
It was desperate.
Tight. Like he'd waited years to do this.
Hana's breath caught in her throat.
And then, softly:
"I'm still not letting you flirt with anyone else," he muttered into her hair.
She burst out laughing against his chest.
"There he is. The jealous beast returns."
"I'll bite."
"I dare you."
"Don't tempt me."
"Don't fall in love with me harder."
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes — and the look he gave her could've melted steel.
"Too late."
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