This Confession Has Meant Nothing Novels & Stories

I was trying to confess my infidelity to him, but no matter how many times I tried, the words just wouldn't come out of my mouth. "Coward," I sarcastically told myself. I was so confident before that I would be able to confess my sin to Zion, but now that Zion was back, I didn't even have the nerve to confess to him, and that made me a coward. It had been ten minutes since Zion had left and gone to his room, but I was still staring at the top of the stairs as if expecting to see him again, and after a few minutes, an idea came to me, prompting me to rush out the door and back to where I had discovered Zion earlier.

“You can start whenever you’re ready.” I swallowed hard. “It’s not… it’s not an ordinary confession.” He tilted his head slightly. “Go on.” I looked down at my hands, then back up at him. Every question I’d written earlier rushed through my mind, but the words came out softer, more real than I expected. “I think I’ve done something I can’t undo,” I said. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.” His brow furrowed. “What is it you’ve done?”

It sounded like he could read right through me, like he already knew the answer. “I just needed to talk,” I muttered. “And you did. But confession isn’t just about talking. It’s about facing the truth, even the parts we lie about to ourselves.” I lowered my gaze, jaw tight. There was silence between us for a few seconds. Then I sighed, shaking my head slightly. “Fine.” His eyebrows rose a little, surprised. “I said fine,” I repeated. “Let’s do the whole thing. The real confession.” Thorne didn’t gloat. Didn’t look smug. He just nodded, like a man who knew the road would be long, but necessary.

so much pressure . My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt like I couldn't breathe. So, I came to the realization: No matter how old you are, no matter what the crime is, confessions are the hardest thing to do. I took a deep breath and walked out with him. "I'm sorry but I'm not pregnant" There were gasps and screams of "What ?!"

My confession. “Did you write this?” Harwin asked. “I did,” I said, voice hoarse, but I held my chin up. “Yes. I wrote it.” “Then you confess to the killing?” “I confessed to the memory of what might have happened! I confessed to the guilt! I never said how. I never even understood how it happened—if it even did!” “So you confess without clarity?” Morten pressed. “You admit to hiding dangerous knowledge from your Alpha and this council?”

I exhaled only when the doors shut. He knows. Or worse, he suspects. ★ That night, I went to the confessional. I locked the doors, shut the screens, and knelt in the darkness. “Forgive me, Father,” I whispered, voice hoarse, “for I have sinned. I am a liar. A hypocrite. A coward.” My hands gripped the lattice until my knuckles whitened. “I let him touch me. I let him break me. I let him—God forgive me—I wanted it. I still want it.”

Astrid’s POV To an extent, I always thought confession felt more like relief, you know just finally and fully breathing after a long long time. I thought a confession was nothing sort of a door opening, like freedom, I think what I’m trying to say it, when I did this I thought it would feel like exposing my injury to air after years of complete rot.

His reply came without pause, flat and final: “You took him.” The silence that followed didn’t feel empty,it felt suffocating. Like it had weight. Like it wanted to bury me where I stood. The baby kicked,once. A hollow flutter low in my belly. Then… nothing. I wobbled slightly, hand going to the wall for balance. Milo didn’t reach for me. Just stood there, letting it all burn. “I just wanted to matter,” I breathed out. It wasn’t an excuse. It was a confession. The kind that sounded pathetic the second it left my lips.

The words felt heavier than I expected, weighted with all the harm they acknowledged. But they were true, perhaps the most honest thing I'd said in months. He stared at me, his expression carved from stone. Unimpressed by my confession. "And I'm supposed to believe that? Just accept your word after everything?" "You don't have to believe anything," I said quietly, recognizing the futility of demanding trust I hadn't earned. "Good," he snapped, the single word like a door slamming shut, "because I don't." He turned away again, pacing once before stopping by the desk, his hand pressing flat against the polished surface as he leaned forward slightly, gathering himself.

“It’s been… it’s been one week since my last confession.” “What do you wish to confess?” His voice was calm. I squeezed my hands together. “I… I’ve been struggling with thoughts.” “What kind of thoughts?” Heat crawled up my neck. “Bad ones.” “Be specific.” His voice sharpened. “What thoughts?” I swallowed hard. “I… touched myself.” The words felt filthy out loud. Silence. I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me. Then— “And what did you think of when you did it?” My entire body went stiff. My heart slammed. “F-Father—”