His Regret, Her Name, My Freedom Novels & Stories

"I don't care. But make sure of one thing. Never regret your decisions right now. Because the way you're doing this might end up with something that will only hurt the both of us." Callum turned around. And left. Elise stood frozen in place. She watched her husband's back disappear down the hallway, then smiled bitterly. "Elise Voss," Elise whispered softly. "It seems I can finally accept that name now... after hearing it from you."

Almost everyone knew everyone. Seeing Nicholas on the TV brought me joy but also sadness. My wolf is refusing to talk to me since I left him almost immediately when I found out. I've tried to explain to her countless of times but she just doesn't listen. I don't blame her but it wasn't really my fault either. I still went by the name Athena but in official papers my name was Valentina Sinclair. Valentina was my wolf's name and Sinclair was uncle Finn's last name. Aunt Aria took it atfer their marriage so I took it too.

While she sounded calm as she explained, her hands were trembling badly. When she was lying on that ice-cold operating table right before the anesthesia took hold, she had whispered a promise to herself. She would never be that stupid again. If she survived the surgery, she would live for herself. She would honor every wound she had endured and cherish the chance to be reborn. That vow had been the only thought in her heart when she was so desperate to live. If she softened towards Jonathan or forgave him, she would be betraying herself. She would never do that.

I wouldn't like me either. My cellmate is a woman named Rita. She's in her fifties, serving time for armed robbery. She doesn't talk much, which I appreciate. But sometimes at night, when the lights are out and the sounds of the prison settle into an uneasy quiet, she asks me questions. Why did I do it? Was it worth it? Do I regret it? I always tell her the truth. Yes, I regret it. Every single day. But regret doesn't change anything. It doesn't bring back the time I stole from Alessia and Alexander. It doesn't erase the trauma I caused. It just sits there, heavy and useless, reminding me of who I've become.

Only her steps remained unbroken—echoing, multiplying, refusing to stop. The mirrors blurred, melting into smoke, and in the haze she saw herself walking barefoot through Lagos streets. The asphalt burned, shards of glass cut, yet her steps grew louder with every wound, until the whole city seemed to echo with them. She woke with her heart pounding, sweat damp on her brow. Turning toward the faint outline of Daniel, she whispered into the dark, not sure if he could hear: “If the price is too high, may I still remember my own name.” And she understood: belonging would always cost something. The question was whether the price would be leather, silence—or the bright center of herself.

"Is this what freedom feels like?" His golden eyes searched mine, and for a fleeting second, something flickered in them, pity, maybe. Or regret. "No," he said finally. "This is what loss feels like. Freedom comes later." His words weren't cruel. They were honest, and that honesty settled into me like a stone dropped into a lake, quiet, rippling outward.

The pain in her expression, the way her hands shake as she holds the man, feels too real, too raw. "Forgive me," her voice resonates within their consciousness, carrying the weight of timeless regret. "This suffering was never my intent for you. This endless cycle of rebirth, countless chances to begin anew, hoping that one day your path might lead to a different end... this fate you wove through choice and sacrifice was never what I desired." She brushes wet hair from the man's face with fingers.

Every night when I sleep, I just remember her crying out my name. In my every dream, I just remember that I was just so coward that I didn't help her. Every morning, I wake up in this guilt that due to my coward nature, she had to lose her life and, I am living a life full of freedom here. Every day, they help me, not forget the sins I've committed. Every second, they try to make me just end my life somehow. But I want to observe this world, I want to see how cruel they can be. And that day, when I'll be done, I will hang myself on through the ceiling.

The air was dense and suffocating, and each inhale was a ragged reminder of everything I was leaving behind. He’d sacrificed his freedom for mine. They would know what he’d done. Would he be punished for freeing me? I was free, but the exchange felt hollow, the currency blood and sorrow. My feet pounded the earth, each impact a silent promise. I would come back. I would make this right. I would save him. The resolution fueled me, burned in my veins alongside the guilt and powerlessness.

She pulled her hand free from his grip with a firm, quiet motion. "Henry, a broken mirror never amends, and neither does love." Her voice remained calm, but every word carried the full weight of everything she had lived through and survived. "Reconciliation is just a pretty lie. Maybe if we'd met another way, we'd have been happy. Let me go. Don't make me hate you."