Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Novel-Chapter 573: ’Much Hatred In A Heart In Love.’

There was only the faintest pause after Florian said, "Come in."

A heartbeat.Two.

Florian used those precious seconds to breathe—to force the tremor out of his hands, to smooth the edge of panic from his voice. He straightened, brushing invisible creases from his clothes as if that would steady the storm inside him.

Then the door opened.

Heinz stepped inside.

Florian’s breath caught before he could stop it.

It hadn’t even been half a day since he’d seen Heinz in the royal office, yet the man before him now looked... different. Worse.

The imposing aura that usually clung to him—cold, sharp, unshakable—was gone. In its place stood someone hollowed out.

Heinz’s eyes looked darker than usual, the skin beneath them shadowed with exhaustion. The faint lines near his mouth were deeper now, and his once perfectly composed posture had lost its iron stiffness.

His black hair, normally immaculate, was tied back messily, a few strands falling over his temples. He wasn’t even wearing his formal robes—only a dark tunic and trousers, the kind of thing Florian never thought he’d see the king wear outside his private chambers.

He looked... human.

And that scared Florian more than anything.

He bowed as soon as their eyes met, the motion instinctive, automatic. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs, loud enough he swore Heinz could hear it.

’Stop it. Stop acting like this.’

His hands clenched at his sides, shaking despite himself.

"Your Majesty," Florian greeted, his voice quiet but even. When he lifted his head, he made sure to meet Heinz’s gaze—because looking away would only make it worse.

Heinz studied him for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, his expression softened.

"You seem to look better than you did earlier," he said gently, his tone so careful it almost didn’t sound like him. "Your face has more color now."

Florian blinked, caught off guard.

He hadn’t expected that.

For once, it seemed Heinz had listened—had honored Florian’s request from earlier.

"I need my own room," Florian said suddenly, his voice quiet but unyielding. He didn’t turn around to look at Heinz. He didn’t want to.

Serapion had only just left, his cryptic words still hanging like smoke in the air, and the moment the priest was gone, Florian wanted nothing more than to leave too.

He didn’t want to linger—not in this office, not with Heinz, not in the silence that followed every time they were left alone.

He was tired. His body ached for rest. But he couldn’t go back to the infirmary either.

Not with Lucius there.

Not with the smell of blood and disinfectant that brought everything back—the screams, the rogues, the moment Lucius fell.

He needed distance.

He needed to breathe.

"Your room is just as it was left," Heinz said after a beat. "Cashew keeps it clean. You can rest there."

Florian heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching—the faint shuffle of boots against the marble.

He could feel the weight of Heinz’s presence drawing closer, could almost feel the warmth of his hand reaching out, hesitating midair.

"Please don’t." Florian’s voice came out sharper than intended, cutting through the space between them.

"Florian, I—"

"You’ve already said everything you needed to say," Florian interrupted, his tone calm but heavy, "and I’ve said what I needed to say."

He turned his head slightly, just enough for his gaze to meet Heinz’s—cold, tired, and distant. "Please stop... whatever this is. You can force me if you want—you’re the king—but know that I’ll still be unhappy with it."

That silenced him.

Completely.

Heinz didn’t even move.

Didn’t even breathe.

The stillness stretched, thick and suffocating, until Florian couldn’t stand it anymore.

He turned away. "If that’s all," he said quietly, "then I’ll head to my room. If Cashew looks for me, please tell him where I am."

He walked toward the door without looking back, every step deliberate, his posture straight, his tone cold. But inside—inside, everything ached.

He didn’t turn around.

Not because he didn’t want to see Heinz.

But because he couldn’t.

’If I see his face, I’ll...’

He knew Heinz would be standing there, eyes filled with that same quiet hurt he always tried to hide—the kind that made Florian’s chest tighten no matter how much he tried to hate him.

It annoyed him.

It infuriated him that Heinz could still look wounded, that his pain still had the power to reach him.

But what annoyed him even more—what made his throat tighten as he kept walking—was that Heinz’s pain still hurt him.

So he kept moving.

One step.

Then another.

’I can’t stop now.’

He had to keep walking.

But now, Florian had no choice—he had to face him.

And just as he expected, seeing Heinz standing there made something inside him twist unpleasantly.

He hated it.

He hated him.

He hated how Heinz’s very presence seemed to fill the room, how it drew his attention no matter how much he wanted to look away.

He hated how quiet Heinz looked now—how the usual arrogance, the faint smirk that always danced on his lips, was gone. He looked tired. Worn. Sad.

And that made it worse.

Because Florian hated that most of all—how much it hurt to see Heinz like this.

’You don’t get to look like that,’ he thought bitterly. ’You don’t get to look like you’re the one breaking.’

But he couldn’t afford sympathy. Not anymore.

He had to stay strong. He had to stay angry.

He had to keep that wall between them, no matter how much his chest ached every time Heinz’s name crossed his mind.

Because if he let it fall—if he let himself feel anything again—he knew it would destroy him.

’If I stop hating you now... what happens to me then?’

So he swallowed the tremor in his throat, forcing his voice into something cold and sharp, steady enough to hide the storm raging behind his ribs.

He met Heinz’s eyes head-on, his own gaze like glass—clear, fragile, unyielding.

"What do you want to talk about?"