Chapter 642

Hannah met Vincent's gaze-those eyes brimming with persistent curiosity-and a fleeting thought crossed her mind. Ever since his memory loss, he seemed to have changed. The man who once kept his emotions locked behind a steel door now spoke his thoughts freely, as if the key to his heart had finally turned. When he had questions, he simply asked. Could that be the silver lining of his amnesia?Or perhaps it was just the inevitable result of his blank slate-he couldn't rely on memory, so he had no choice but to seek answers.

She sighed softly, a sound as light as mist. "You used to have a sisterly figure-Brinley. You treated her SO well that I once thought she was the woman you truly loved."Vincent's brows knit together as he caught the thread of her meaning. "So, Brinley was the reason we divorced?" He remembered Brinley-out of gratitude to her father, he had regarded her as a sister, nothing more.

Hannah shook her head, her expression tinged with bitter memories. "She was only part of the reason.The real issue was the lack of communication between us. You rarely shared what weighed on your mind, and over time, silence turned small misunderstandings into walls neither of us could climb."

She left it there, unwilling to reopen the wounds buried beneath those memories.

Vincent listened, frowning slightly. To him, such a reason seemed too fragile to tear a marriage apart.

He leaned closer, resting his hands on either side of the bed, his presence both steady and intense. His eyes searched hers as his voice deepened, carrying an uncommon sincerity. "Hannah," he said slowly,"I think you might not fully understand me. When I decide to marry a woman, it means I've given her everything-heart, loyalty, and life. I don't share my devotion. Once I commit, I stand by it. Betrayal is simply not in my nature."

The firmness in his tone left no room for doubt.

Hannah watched him quietly. His words fell like solemn vows, stirring the tide of memories from the early days of their marriage-days painted in tenderness and quiet devotion. Yes, the promises he had once made sounded just like that.

She lowered her gaze, her lashes trembling. Her voice, soft yet cutting through the still air, broke the moment's calm. "But Vincent, we still got divorced."

Her simple words struck deeper than anyaccusation.He didn't move, still leaning forward, his silence filling the space between them.

After a long pause, he spoke again, his tone even,almost too rational. "I don't remember what happened after we married, so I can't speak for the past. But logically, if a marriage ends in divorce, it must mean some conflicts couldn't be resolved When two people reach that point, it's because something essential has broken beyond repair."

It was a cold, measured conclusion-precise,reasonable, and painfully in line with his nature.

Hannah lifted her gaze to him. If she had heard such words right after their divorce, they might have stung, but part of her would have agreed. Now,however, time had softened her bitterness. She no longer sought to weigh their love by logic or compare their hearts on scales of compatibility.

She heard his loyalty, yes-but beneath it, she also sensed his detachment. It wasn't what she wanted to hear.His rationality, like frost on glass, made all their suffering-every argument, every tear, every hard-won reconciliation-sound like a mere statistic.

The air between them thickened, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Without their noticing, the warmth that had flickered earlier-the intimacy born of almost-kissed lips-quietly faded away.