Novel & Cerita Now Come And Regret

Remembering her foolishness brought back the regret she had experienced. Seeing her not responding, Regis felt a bit guilty for mocking her. “Miss….” Amora interrupted with a trembling voice, “Do you know the difficulties I faced after that night? I really regretted it and….” Her sentence trailed off as she couldn’t hold back the tears that had welled up. She bit her lower lip tightly and took a deep breath. “I really wish we had never met that night or now,” Amora continued with a hoarse voice. Though Regis couldn’t clearly see Amora’s expression because of her long hair covering her face, he could feel her words' deep regret and sadness.

I asked softly, "Have you ever had any regrets, Stefano?" Stefano pondered for a moment before replying, "I regret trusting those who didn't deserve it. I regret quitting when I should have kept fighting. I have quite a lot of regrets, actually." "What about now?" Stefano chuckled softly and said, "I've learned that regret gets you nowhere—one must move forward and avoid looking back." He then patted my shoulder and said, "You should give it your best next Monday, Valentina." I nodded in assent, clenching the document in my grasp.

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.

And by the time he reached the final page, he finally realized just how much I had loved him—how much of my happiness had revolved around him and how much of my suffering had been caused by him. Connor curled up on the floor, holding the diary close, pressing desperate kisses against its cover as if it were my face. "Clara, I'm sorry," he choked out. "I regret it so much. Please… Please come back to me… Come back to me, will you?" I sat beside him, emotionless, watching his agony unfold. What use was regret? Could regret bring me back to life? No. I wouldn't be moved by a murderer's tears. …

“All I'm trying to say is that if we lose this deal, there won't be another chance.” I exhaled heavily. “I know. I... I'm sorry for this.” The apology felt foreign on my tongue. I rarely apologized. In my world, every decision I made was calculated and justified. Regret wasn't something I entertained on a daily basis. Ever since what happened five years ago, regret has become a part of me. “It's fine, Carlino. Should we go?” he asked while straightening his collar, bending down to gather the files scattered across the pavement.

“You came alive in Paris, didn’t you? Not because of your designs, but because he was there, offering you the warmth and the freedom you craved. You looked at him like he was your salvation, seconds after I had risked my entire company to protect you from the media scandal. And now you return, expecting to walk away clean?” “Walk away clean?” I laughed, a sharp, broken sound. “I wish I could walk away clean! I regret every moment of weakness I ever showed you! I regret the press conference! I regret the dinner! I regret the night I allowed you to touch me! I regret every single second I let myself believe you were capable of feeling something other than contempt!” The explicit regret—especia

"However, the man who failed you is still alive at least. Miss Vera, you still have a chance to right this regret." His tone sounded weaker than it had ever been before and his alluring eyes seemed to have lost their light, looking so depressed and lonely. His words had also seemed to reveal what his irreparable regret was. Madeline casually picked up the glass and drank the liquid in it, then chuckled lightly. ‘Jeremy Whitman, I'm afraid your regret is only because you feel ashamed for having done something bad, no? ‘You’ve never cared about me. More misconceptions will only hurt me more and make me regret more.

I answered and headed toward the bedroom. Jules grabbed my wrist, gritting his teeth. "There's a limit to throwing a tantrum. Don't go too far!" I looked at him, confused. "Who said I was throwing a tantrum? Look carefully, I've already signed the divorce papers." Jules stared intently at my face. His tone softened after confirming I was not throwing a tantrum. "Sophie, what happened at Coachella was my fault, and my tone hasn't been very kind these past few days. I apologize."

Chapter Six Too Late Abe Regret was a funny thing. People always talked about it like it arrived all at once. Like a lightning strike. Like some dramatic realization that changed everything overnight. In reality? Regret came in pieces. Tiny little reminders scattered throughout your day. A song. A scent. A restaurant. A laugh that sounded almost like hers. And every single one felt like a knife. I stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office. The city stretched endlessly below.

“Anthony, tomorrow is the wedding. If Amelia doesn’t show up, what then?” Anthony fell silent for a moment. Then he said firmly, “She will show up.” Vincent laughed, tears streaming down his face. “Fine. Let’s see what happens.” With that, he turned to leave. At the door, he paused and looked back. “Anthony, you will regret this. For the rest of your life.”