Alpha's Regret After She Kneels

(Raiden's POV)

I stare at my reflection in the shattered mirror, each fractured shard mocking me with distorted echoes of failure.

Siena's words ring mercilessly in my ears, looping endlessly through my mind. Her voice, raw and aching with betrayal, has left its imprint on my heart, carved deep enough to draw blood.

I press a fist against my chest, as if trying to silence the unbearable ache that pulses beneath my ribs.

How had I missed it so completely?

Have I truly been this blind, this callously indifferent, that even a basic act of kindness now tastes bitter, suspicious on her tongue?

My fingers graze the cool surface of the glass, tracing the jagged edges of the broken reflection, face staring back, splintered into a thousand shards-each one

a reminder of how thoroughly I've shattered the bond between us.

It feels oddly fitting, this broken image, an accurate representation of who I've allowed myself to become-fractured, incomplete, a stranger to my own emotions.

My own greatest enemy.

I close my eyes, remembering her expression when she rejected my attempts at reconciliation-hurt shimmering beneath steely control, eyes blazing with unshed tears, her voice trembling yet firm.

"You don't get to do this now, Raiden. You don't get to pretend you suddenly care."

Her words slice through me again, sharper than any blade. I grip the edge of the sink, knuckles whitening as I battle the turmoil within. The worst part is knowing she's right-knowing my gestures of kindness must seem hollow, manipulative even, after years of dismissing her presence, her heart, her very existence.

Frustration and guilt warring violently within me, I pace the confines of the small room, feeling trapped by the truth. The air grows stifling, thick with regret, making each breath labored, heavy.

Horace stirs inside me, restless and unsettled-its presence a bitter reminder of the primal instinct I've denied for far too long.

A growl escapes my throat as I recall Zion's blatant intentions toward Siena.noveldrama

The memory ignites something dangerously possessive within me, an intensity I believed long extinguished.

How could she? What does she gain from such a betrayal?

Jealousy coils around my heart, squeezing painfully tight.

My fists clench involuntarily at the thought of him touching her, smiling at her, offering the warmth I was too selfish to give.

Why does it bother me now?

For years, I claimed indifference, believing myself immune to such primitive emotions. But now, confronted by the stark reality of losing her entirely, my heart rebels violently against the thought.

The hour is getting late as I force myself into the training grounds, needing to clear my head, hoping to find clarity in movement.

Her silhouette appears at the edge of the practice field, and my steps stuttered to a halt.

Siena.

Something cold squeezes between my ribs, each breath becoming shallow and quick. She glides across the grass, each step placed carefully as if she's crossing thin ice.

V P.n

Her shoulders formed a straight line, chin lifted just slightly too high, and fingers curled into half-fists at her sides. The corners of her mouth twitched downward as our met a deer catching the first whisper of a hunter's approach.

Her frigid eyes cut me deeper than outright hostility ever could. She doesn't look at me-not directly, not fully-her eyes skimming over the as if I am merely another fixture on the field, an obstacle to navigate.

"Is that nto what you deserve, oh great Aplha King?" Horace growls low, threatening.

He is not wrong. I'd be lying if I didn't at least acknloddge how hot and painflly the indifference stings-a sharp twist of irony. How easily our roles have reversed. Once, she sought connection, warmth,O love-things I dismissed carelessly, arrogantly.

Now that I desperately crave her acknowledgment, she offers cold formality instead.

I wish she would just scream.

Cry.

Something.

Anything.

"Square your shoulders," I instruct, my voice clipped and professional. "The judges will mark us down if your posture collapses during the transition."

Siena's eyes flash, a brief spark of hatred before she adjusts her stance. "Better, husband?" The last word drips with venom.

God, even when she despises me, her form is perfect. Five years together and she still moves like she's part of me.

We move through the routine, our bodies perfectly coordinated despite the chasm between our hearts.