His Regret, My Light Novels & Stories

My parents died when I was ten, and I became an orphan. Darius Rossi, a mafia don, found me and took me out of the beggars' den. He wrapped me in designer clothes and raised me like a prized possession. Everyone said I would grow up to be his wife, that I was the treasure he kept close to his heart. Then came my birthday party. After a night of wild passion, he handed me a photo of his rival, Valerio Warren. He said, "Monica Arden, I've taken care of you for ten years. Now it's time for you to repay me. I'm arranging a marriage alliance with the Costa family. This is the guy Gina Costa has been crushing on, and I need you to seduce him and create an opening for me. I want her to marry me willingly." That was when I finally understood that I was never his treasure. I was just the most disposable piece on his chessboard. I followed his orders and pursued Valerio, doing exactly as he commanded. Yet, on the wedding day, Darius lost his mind when Valerio slipped the diamond ring onto my finger.

Josephine Walter thought she had it all—a loving boyfriend, a promising future, and the man she was ready to spend forever with. When he proposed, her heart soared, and she said yes without hesitation. But what she didn’t know was that the man she trusted most harbored a devastating secret. A betrayal that would shatter everything she believed in and turn her world upside down. Now, faced with the heartbreaking truth and the shock of a pregnancy, Josephine must navigate a path she never imagined. What will she do when the man she loves is the one who has torn her life apart?

My husband, once a powerful CEO, had become bankrupt and sank into depression. Overnight, I went from being the wife of a CEO to a lowly worker. To help him pay off his debts and cover the costs of his depression treatment, I took a job as a hostess at an auction house. However, I never expected to see my husband there, who should've been in the hospital undergoing therapy, sitting in the VIP section. Without any hesitation, he bid on an exorbitantly priced necklace and gave it to the woman beside him. That necklace—the one I had pawned to pay off his debts—was my grandmother's heirloom.

My husband, the hospital director, stole my kidney to save his beloved first love, who suffered from uremia. While I was under anesthesia for heart surgery, he stormed into the operating room without permission and ordered the removal of one of my kidneys. I begged him to stop, explaining that my heart condition was critical and that I could not survive back-to-back major surgeries. He only sneered at me, his voice dripping with disdain. “I knew you’d be jealous of Cece and make pathetic excuses. That’s exactly why I chose this moment.” Ignoring my desperate pleas, he took my kidney and walked away. In the end, I suffered multiple post-surgery complications and died miserably on the operating table.

There was an open secret among upper-class society. The wealthy man, Brandon Anderson, loved his wife to death. However, he was addicted to cheating on her. He would give everything those young women wanted from him, but he had one strict rule for them: not to expose anything to his wife. Everyone knew that he had loved his wife for ten years, and he had put in a lot of effort to marry her. He had once said that if his wife died, he would not survive. However, this latest mistress did not follow his instruction. She came to me because he doted on her. She sent me a lot of photos of condoms and his sleeping face. “Ms. Lowe, this brand is too good. I was screaming the whole night. Has Mr. Anderson ever used that with you?” It was that moment that I realized the young man who was infatuated with me had given his heart to me, but his body to other people. When I saw the photos, I cried so hard that I had no more tears. Then, I drafted a divorce agreement and signed it. I turned around and saw Brandon, seventeen again, crying as he stared at me.

Isabella Rodriguez is desperate—bills piling up, her mother sick, and her job on the line. One reckless night with a dangerous stranger, Adrian Knight, gives her the money she needs, but leaves her with a secret she can’t undo. Four years later, she’s built a quiet life with her son, until Adrian finds her. Powerful, ruthless, and determined, he wants the child he once rejected. Now Isabella must protect her family while navigating a man who terrifies her and ignites feelings she never expected. Can she resist him or will falling for Adrian cost her everything?

It was the night of my husband's and my third anniversary, and I had gotten home early. I caught him in bed with another woman—for the tenth time. But unlike the previous times, I did not throw a tantrum. I even closed the door to the master bedroom quietly, not wanting to interrupt. In Scott Jameson's eyes, I had no choice but to tolerate his cheating because I became Mrs. Jameson by getting pregnant with his child. Three months later, he flung divorce papers at me. "My young lover wants me to give her a home and to bear my son. Sign the papers." I looked into his cold, distant eyes and said with conviction, "All right. All I want is custody of our son. I don't want a cent of the Jamesons' money." The court proceedings were difficult, and I was accused of being mentally unstable. Many people made fun of me for not knowing my place. All of Cloverton was waiting for me to humiliate myself, counting the seconds until a nobody like me succumbed to desperation. However, I fought the case with everything I had. Eventually, I was finally able to leave with my son. No one knew that Scott suffered from a serious case of asthenozoospermia. His sperm were completely useless. No other woman could have Scott's baby except me, as I happened to be unusually fertile. My son would be the only heir to the Jameson family legacy.

Blurb “To the rainbow of my life—the woman who supported my dreams, who cheers me on, my number one fan. You are such an amazing soul…” I thought I was all of that to him—until he gave those words to another woman on stage. In that moment, I felt cheated of everything: hope, love, happiness—especially with everything I was already going through. And this was all I could say: “Love is a petty little thing.” So let me give you one piece of advice— Don’t fall in love.

I was pregnant and due any day. Austin Revelstone, my husband, had a sugar baby named Tawny Sully. Each time they renewed their arrangement, money came into my mother’s special care account. One day, he stayed a little longer to talk to me. Because of it, he was one minute late for his date with Tawny. Tawny was upset. She threw a tantrum and threatened to terminate their agreement. She would only stay if I aborted my baby. So, Austin slid the abortion form and a check for three million dollars across the table to me. “Please, just sign it. We can always have another kid. If Tawny cries anymore, she’ll get wrinkles.” He looked calm and unbothered. It was as if he were just talking about the weather. I raised my head and looked at him in disbelief. I trembled for a long time. Then, I finally signed my name on the abortion form. I wiped my tears and gave the check back to him. I made one additional request. “Let’s make that fake divorce certificate real this time.” I no longer needed his financial support for my mother’s surgery.

My father called me to his study to deliver an order. I, Victoria Castellano, was to take my illegitimate half-sister Isabella’s place, to marry the comatose heir of the rival Moretti family and secure a truce. I didn’t cry. I laid my kid gloves on his polished desk and made my three demands. Sever all ties. My mother’s entire legacy. And give my bodyguard, Nicholas, to Isabella. Everyone knew my obsession with him. I loved him until I overheard the truth. He was the hidden Rossi heir, undercover only to protect his precious Isabella. Every time he’d saved my life, he was just guarding his link to her. So I let him go. I won’t tell him I’m marrying someone else. And I’ll never tell him that three years ago, in Lake Tahoe’s freezing depths, the lips that breathed life back into a drowning man—the memory that haunts him—weren’t Isabella’s. They were mine.