Alpha's Regret After She Kneels

"I've been unfair to you," I say, the words heavier than they should be. "About your father. About... many things."

The admission hangs in the air between us, inadequate but honest. I glance at her, waiting for some kind of reaction, but she just stares at me, her amber eyes searching my face like she's trying to decipher a code.

Finally, she speaks, her voice quiet but steady. "Why now?"

I hesitate, the answer slipping through my fingers like sand. How do I explain something I barely understand myself? That her question-Did you ever care for me at all?—has been gnawing at me like a wound that refuses to heal? That seeing her strength, her resilience, has made me question everything I thought I knew about her-and about myself?

"I don't know,” I admit, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate. "I just... I've been thinking about a lot of things lately. Things I should have said. Things I should have done differently."

She doesn't respond right away. Instead, she picks up the cup of tea, cradling it in her hands as if it's a shield.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the faint clink of the teacup against the saucer.

And then she asks the question that stops me cold.

"Do you love me, Raiden?"

Her voice is steady, but there's a vulnerability in her eyes that twists something deep inside me.

The question is so direct, so raw, that it leaves me momentarily speechless.noveldrama

Love? The word feels foreign, too big and too small all at once. It was never part of our arrangement, was it?

But as I look at her-the way the soft light catches the strands of her hair, the way her amber eyes hold mine with quiet determination-I feel something shift.

I want to tell her yes.

I want to tell her that I see her now, that I've always seen her, even when I didn't want to admit it. But the words lodge in my throat, tangled with years of pride and fear and everything else I've buried.

"I want to make amends," I say instead, my voice quieter than I intended.

Her expression doesn't change immediately, but I see the flicker of something in her eyes-disappointment, maybe. Or resignation.

"Amends," she repeats, her tone flat.

I nod, the weight of my own inadequacy pressing down on me. "I know it's not enough. But I want to try."

She sets the teacup down with deliberate care, her movements slow and measured.

"You can't fix this, Raiden," she says, her voice steady but laced with a quiet sadness. "Not with tea. Not with apologies. Not with..." She gestures vaguely, as if searching for the right word. "This."

Her words cut deeper than I expect, but I can't say she's wrong.

"I just..." I trail off, struggling to find the right words. "I don't want to keep hurting

you."

She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You've already done that, Raiden. For years. And now you think you can just... stop?"

Her amber eyes meet mine, and I see the weight of everything she's carried-the pain, the rejection, the loneliness.

"I don't know how to undo the past," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to try."

Please let me try.

She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she stands, crossing the room to the window. The moonlight

filters through the glasset

pale glow across her face.

For a long moment, we stand in silence, the distance between us feeling impossibly vast.

Finally, she turns to face me, her expression unreadable. "You want to try," she says, her voice soft but firm. "But what happens when it gets hard, Raiden? When it's easier to walk away, like you always do?"

I don't have an answer for her.

And maybe that's the problem.