Lucian's Regret Novel & Pdf Novels & Stories

But then he let out a breath, one that seemed to carry the weight of years. Lucian’s gaze fell back to the pendant. “Sometimes I think that way, that if I had done things differently, she’d still be here,” he said again but this time around, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. But I knew better. This was how Lucian coped—burying his guilt under layers of cold detachment. I swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “Regrets won’t bring her back, Lucian.” He let out a hollow chuckle, one that made my skin crawl. “No, they won’t,” he agreed. His fingers closed around the pendant, and for a moment, he looked like he might break it. But then, he set it down on the desk, almost gently.

Lucian took one last, lingering look at Victoria, his eyes filled with anger and disappointment, before turning and striding out of the hall. Lucian headed straight to his chambers as his steps grew faster and more erratic with each passing moment. As soon as the door closed behind him, the floodgates of his suppressed emotions burst open. He screamed, his voice echoing through the empty room. He shouted in anger, his fists pounding against the walls as his body shook with both fury and sorrow. The weight of his regrets crashed down upon him with each memory cutting deeper than the last. "How could I have been so blind?" he yelled, his voice breaking. "I protected the wrong woman! I chose he

Nadia stood a short distance away, her lips curved in a smug little smile as she watched the exchange. Silas’s face twisted with regret and frustration. He stepped closer anyway, lowering his voice. “The rut hit hard. I was burning. I thought of you the entire time. It meant nothing. She means nothing.” I laughed bitterly, the sound sharp enough to make a few heads turn. “Of course it meant nothing. That’s why her scent is all over your cock. You couldn’t even wait one night before crawling back to your favorite whore while preaching about protecting me and the pup.”

Ayra burned the toast, they argued over the seasoning, and somehow, it was perfect. Later, as they sat on the floor beside the dusty fireplace—blankets wrapped around their shoulders, music playing low from Lucian’s phone—Ayra leaned into his chest and closed her eyes. “Do you ever regret it?” she asked. Lucian ran a hand through her hair. “What?” “All of it. The explosions. The lies. The power. Losing it all.” He was quiet for a long time. “No,” he said finally. “Because for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m living instead of performing.”

Then again, it’s like saying that I regret having Lucian in my life. Which I’ve never ever regretted in my life. Without Lucian, I wouldn’t have kept going after the rejection. His kicks in my belly, his smiles and laughter, everything about him drove me to keep living and striving for a better life. It was through him that I found out rejection was not the end of a werewolf’s life. Sure, a rejected werewolf could turn insane and feral to the point killing oneself. Still, as long as that werewolf had something so precious that he or she would deeply regret ending their lives, everything was going to be eventually alright.

This man, who had accompanied the mayor to meetings and councils, was in his grand mansion doing something that required great concentration. But it was because things were happening in the town that he didn't like. So, before everything went out of his plans, he started reading from some books. He was in the library and closed his eyes after reading a few paragraphs. A kind of tingling air began to emanate from his hands, gradually filling the room, and then escaping through the window. After expelling that air from his hands, Lucian fell to the ground from exhaustion. But he knew that now he had nothing to fear, at least for now.

Lucian returned to his phone. “What are you reading?” she asked. “The restructuring report.” “You promised no work.” “You demanded that I sit in a chair while you wear that.” “So you retaliated with spreadsheets?” “I am seeking emotional stability.” Seraphina smiled into the pillow. “Talk to me.” “About what?” “Something ordinary.” Lucian considered. “I don’t know anything ordinary.” “You dislike olives.” “Yes.” “You destroy sweaters.” “Once.” “Three sweaters.” “One incident.” “What else?”

But it doesn’t mean that I would keep tolerating this kind of attitude from anyone. After spending almost two days in the library and old archives, I was able to collect some useful clues. Hopefully this would end my son’s painful sufferings and free me from this labyrinth of secrets, betrayals and ambitious greed. “Total 120 raps, it wasn’t bad.” Lucian’s voice startled me. I looked up, through my heavy breathing and sweat beads dripping from my forehead, I saw him leaning against the pillar, a towel hung around his neck. His upper body was bare and strong built muscles were at display.

“I never loved you. You were a mistake. A tool I used to get what I wanted. You were a means to an end. Now get out.” Lucian stared at her in disbelief, as if she had physically struck him. The man who had faced down Simone Rothschild, who had claimed his birthright in front of the world, looked utterly shattered in front of Eleanor. “If I ever see you again, Lucian. I will kill you myself.” “Eleanor…” Lucian didn’t argue. He didn’t plead. He just looked at her one last time, his eyes filled with a grief that mirrored her own. Then, he turned and walked away, like a ghost leaving a tomb.

His resentment was a palpable force, tangible and suffocating. My composure faltering for a moment I held his gaze with a mix of regret and defiance. "I never wanted this," I whispered, my voice filled with a tinge of remorse. "I didn't understand the true consequences of my actions. But I swear to you, Lucian, I will find a way to break this curse. I will set you free." My words hung in the air; a promise laced with determination. But to Lucian, they were hollow, mere words that offered no solace for the torment he endured. His nostrils flared as he fought to contain the fury within him.