Regret
1234 Words
The storm had dulled to a slow drizzle by dawn, but inside Diana, the storm raged louder than ever. Her soaked dress clung like second skin, heavy with filth and failure. She hadn’t moved from where she stood. Her feet were rooted. Her pride was not.
Matteo stepped out again as if the night before hadn't shattered a world. His jaw was clean, his shirt changed. His posture: regal, relaxed, smug. He didn’t flinch when he saw her still standing there, alone in the mud.
“You’re still here?”
That was all he said. No apology. No shame.
She didn’t respond. She couldn't. Her throat ached from holding in the scream that had lived in her since he walked away from her at the altar.
Roxanne appeared behind him, wearing his cloak. She leaned against the door frame like a queen surveying the last breath of a fallen servant. The scar down her jaw, once brutal, now looked like a badge Diana could never earn.
“You’ve made your point,” Diana said, voice thin and frayed. “Let me leave with what little dignity I have.”
Matteo’s gaze dropped to the shredded hem of her dress. He smirked. “You walked through wolf territory alone in that thing. Dignity left you hours ago.”
Roxanne laughed—low, cruel, beautiful.
Diana clenched her fists. “You don’t have to keep wounding me.”
“Wounding?” Matteo stepped forward. “This is mercy. If you weren’t who you were—if the pack didn’t pity you—I would’ve done what any rightful alpha should.”
He motioned toward the woods. Two sentinels emerged from the trees. Silent. Grim. One carried rope. The other a hunting blade.
Diana’s stomach twisted. “You wouldn’t.”
He didn't answer. He didn’t need to.
The sentinels grabbed her. She fought, but her strength had bled out with the night. One struck her across the face. Her knees buckled. The second dragged her up by the roots of her hair, forcing her to kneel in the mud.
“Strip her of her title,” Matteo ordered. “Let the pack see what happens when wolves bite the hand that raised them.”
One of the sentinels tore the necklace from her throat—the mark of her former bloodline. Another cut through her sleeve, revealing the old bite scars that once symbolized her place as first mate.
He dragged the blade across those scars. Not deep. Just enough to reopen the old wounds.
To bleed her past.
The air was thick with iron. Diana trembled as blood warmed her skin.
“Finish it,” Roxanne said behind them.
But Matteo held up a hand. “No.”
He leaned down beside Diana, voice cool and sharp. “Leave her marked. Let her crawl back through the woods with nothing but shame on her back. I want every pack in the region to smell what betrayal looks like.”
They threw her down in the mud.
No one spoke.
No one helped.
The two sentinels walked back into the woods. Roxanne vanished inside the cabin.
And Matteo… he just stood there. Watching.
As if watching her suffer was the final chapter he needed to close the book they once wrote together.
Diana coughed up rain and blood and what was left of her pride. She didn’t cry.
She didn’t scream.
She simply crawled—naked, bruised, bleeding—back into the forest.
Every branch that cut her. Every stone that scraped her knees. Every howl in the distance.
She took it all in.
Let it burn into memory.
The storm had dulled to a slow drizzle by dawn, but inside Diana, the storm raged louder than ever. Her soaked dress clung like second skin, heavy with filth and failure. She hadn’t moved from where she stood. Her feet were rooted. Her pride was not.
Matteo stepped out again as if the night before hadn't shattered a world. His jaw was clean, his shirt changed. His posture: regal, relaxed, smug. He didn’t flinch when he saw her still standing there, alone in the mud.
“You’re still here?”
That was all he said. No apology. No shame.
She didn’t respond. She couldn't. Her throat ached from holding in the scream that had lived in her since he walked away from her at the altar.
Roxanne appeared behind him, wearing his cloak. She leaned against the doorframe like a queen surveying the last breath of a fallen servant. The scar down her jaw, once brutal, now looked like a badge Diana could never earn.
“You’ve made your point,” Diana said, voice thin and frayed. “Let me leave with what little dignity I have.”
Matteo’s gaze dropped to the shredded hem of her dress. He smirked. “You walked through wolf territory alone in that thing. Dignity left you hours ago.”
Roxanne laughed—low, cruel, beautiful.
Diana clenched her fists. “You don’t have to keep wounding me.”
“Wounding?” Matteo stepped forward. “This is mercy. If you weren’t who you were—if the pack didn’t pity you—I would’ve done what any rightful alpha should.”
He motioned toward the woods. Two sentinels emerged from the trees. Silent. Grim. One carried rope. The other a hunting blade.
Diana’s stomach twisted. “You wouldn’t.”
He didn't answer. He didn’t need to.
The sentinels grabbed her. She fought, but her strength had bled out with the night. One struck her across the face. Her knees buckled. The second dragged her up by the roots of her hair, forcing her to kneel in the mud.
“Strip her of her title,” Matteo ordered. “Let the pack see what happens when wolves bite the hand that raised them.”
One of the sentinels tore the necklace from her throat—the mark of her former bloodline. Another cut through her sleeve, revealing the old bite scars that once symbolized her place as first mate.
He dragged the blade across those scars. Not deep. Just enough to reopen the old wounds.
To bleed her past.
The air was thick with iron. Diana trembled as blood warmed her skin.
“Finish it,” Roxanne said behind them.
But Matteo held up a hand. “No.”
He leaned down beside Diana, voice cool and sharp. “Leave her marked. Let her crawl back through the woods with nothing but shame on her back. I want every pack in the region to smell what betrayal looks like.”
They threw her down in the mud.
No one spoke.
No one helped.
The two sentinels walked back into the woods. Roxanne vanished inside the cabin.
And Matteo… he just stood there. Watching.
As if watching her suffer was the final chapter he needed to close the book they once wrote together.
Diana coughed up rain and blood and what was left of her pride. She didn’t cry.
She didn’t scream.
She simply crawled—naked, bruised, bleeding—back into the forest.
Every branch that cut her. Every stone that scraped her knees. Every howl in the distance.
She took it all in.
Let it burn into memory.
Because there would come a night—not soon, but certain—when she would return.
And it would not be to beg.
- Writer
