His Deep Regret Novel Novels & Stories

I curled my fingers into my palms, nails digging into the flesh. Deep within my chest, there was a warmth that had been fading steadily since I'd left the King behind. It was a sensation I'd never named, never truly acknowledged, and I didn't understand why I should feel sorry to see it go. But as it slipped away like something carried down a long, dark corridor, I did feel a pang of regret. Halvard glanced down at me, and I knew I needed to say something, anything, to break the heavy silence between us. What emerged from my mouth was a single, inadequate word: "Sorry."

It was regret. Not the simple kind. Not the kind you feel when you make a mistake and wish you could undo it. This was deeper. More complicated. Because I couldn’t tell if I regretted what happened… or if I regretted how much I had wanted it. The memory was already pressing at the edges of my mind his hands gripping my hips like he’d waited his entire life to touch me, his mouth claiming mine like we were the only two people left in the world, the way his wolf had come through his eyes in molten gold and refused to let me go.

He watched her from across the room, the space between them feeling vast and unbridgeable, the regret a heavy stone sinking in his gut, pulling him down into a dark,su#ocating despair. gut. Every careless word, every unanswered call, every time he'd chosen his own stubborn pride over her soft, forgiving eyes replayed in his mind like a broken record.He remembered the curve of her smile the !rst time he'd told her she was beautiful, the way her hand !t perfectly in his, the trust that used to shine in her eyes likesunlight on a clear lake. He'd shattered it, piece by piece, and now stood amidst the ruins, desperate to rebuild but paralyzed by his own failures. He yearned to rewind, torewrite

Ayu's position is slightly bent because Dimas's car is lower than her. Dimas nodded his head and unlocked the car door. "Come on, you go inside. I'll take you home!" _____________________ In another place, a man is spending his time just sitting in his study, looking sadly at a photo where there are lovers who look happy. Yes, very happy, before that incident destroyed everything. "If I hadn't been careless and all this would not have happened!" said the man filled with regret. He felt that his life was full of regrets. And all this regret is only he to bear alone without anyone accompanying him, again!

Tori’s voice was barely a whisper. “It was a mistake.” I exhaled heavily. “But you’re unhappy with your marriage.” “I’ve lived with that for the past three years, surely I can do that for a few more.” “Really? You’re going to do this?” “I ask again. How much to make you leave and keep quiet?” “I don’t want your goddamned money. You’re going to regret this.” She picked up her bag and walked out the door, slamming it behind her. I had to hold myself back from screaming my lungs out. Lately, I found myself doing things and regretting them immediately.

It was the first time he realized that the woman he liked and protected for years was nothing but a common gold digger. He pushed Sophie away and yelled at her with suppressed anger and pain. "Get out!" The police dragged the struggling woman out of the old Chilton Mansion. When the doors closed, Noel felt every ounce of energy pulled out of his body. He turned around in despair and met with a familiar pair of eyes. They belonged to Stella. He felt even more depressed at the sight of her. He opened his mouth to call out to her. "Stella…" She ignored him. Stella reached out to Eric with her hand and spoke softly and tenderly.

His life—once perfectly structured and enviable—suddenly felt meaningless. The mansion that once symbolized prestige now felt like a prison. Every corner echoed with ghosts—his mother’s absence, his father’s deceit, and Zara’s broken trust. For the first time in years, Regan Kareem felt something he never thought he would—regret. He picked up his phone again, opened Zara’s chat, and typed: “I’ll fix this. Somehow.” But again, his thumb hovered over the send button, and he sighed. He locked the phone and placed it face-down on the table. The screen went dark—just like the space growing inside him.

I keep my calm, my hand fidgeting and his body halted at its place. “What?” His eyes sparkled, “if I---I had shown some courage, w---would you have been mine?” Regret flowing through his face. “There’s always a point in our life, where we regret the decision we made, and holding on to those regrets is what causes you pain. So, let go, Mr. Draven.” The look on his face shook my insides, if I had noticed his presence earlier, I wouldn’t be in this situation, would I?

I could see the muscles in his jaw working, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He looked broken. Truly broken. The man who had once towered over me, who had dismissed me with a cold glance and a flat voice, now stood before me like a shadow of himself. His shoulders were hunched, his hands trembling at his sides, his face etched with lines of exhaustion and grief that hadn't been there before. The weight of his choices had carved themselves into his skin, deep grooves of regret that no amount of power could erase. I wanted to feel satisfaction. I wanted to feel vindication. But all I felt was a hollow ache in my chest.

I heard it when I was seven years old when I saw the first dead person I'd ever seen: eyes open, blood pooling on the barn floor. In my profession, regret is easy to come by. They piled up, each sapping a man's resolve. I don't have many regrets; until now, I only had one following me. I regretted Dianna when she married my uncle Vincent. Recently, and more than that, I regret signing for Gallena. I want her twin. On my bed. Stick on the wall. Kneel.