Chapter 13 Regrets
Alex
“Gah!” The sound tore from me in pure frustration the moment I stepped back into the hotel room. I was half surprised my heels hadn’t snapped under the weight of my anger.
It was the kind of argument that would replay endlessly in my head, as though my brain had decided to hit record just to torment me with every word he’d said.
I was furious with him, yes, but more so with myself for starting it.
For ruining what had, up until that point, actually been a nice evening.
A change. A small, fragile moment of normality.
One that I had convinced myself I deserved, like some moment of peace in the chaos. That I had simply forgotten how to be a woman. But I’d tainted it, destroyed it with my own lips. And why? The answer was painfully clear. Because I was angry with myself for feeling something I shouldn’t.
My feelings for him.
The General.
Something had manifested from a dozen smaller guilts, all clawing at my chest. Guilt that twisted itself into lashing out, into picking fights just so I could hate him again. But even now, as the heat of the argument faded, I knew my words still rang true.
As happy as I was to see my uncle again, it still hurt that he had only just remembered I existed. And although it wasn’t his fault, the irrational side of me had taken hold in my moment of weakness.
I’d taught myself long ago not to be that girl.
The one who lived on what-ifs. Because the past couldn’t be changed, and regret only made surviving harder.
But somehow, The General had found a way to dig all that up.
Piece by piece, he stripped back the layers I’d buried under discipline and defiance, pulling out feelings I thought I’d killed long ago.
It would be easier to say I didn’t know why he got under my skin, but I did.
It was more than simply guilt.
It was more than frustration.
It was him.
Because everything would be simpler if he really was the monster I wanted him to be.
If Riley was the only one who could stand up and claim the title of my hero.
But instead, the lines blurred, and I hated that I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
About the way he looked at me, the way his voice sank into my bones and remained.
I’d wanted to provoke him, to find some shred of proof that he was still that cold, heartless bastard I always accused him of being. Anything to replace this unwanted desire with clean, righteous hate.
And yet… even after the argument I’d so stupidly started, I was still left wanting. Frustration burned through me as I tore the dress over my head, the fabric catching on my skin before I threw it onto the chair, tossing it away as if I could shed the events of the night.
My heels soon followed, kicked across the room. His last words still echoed in my mind. The ones about saving the dress for Riley, even when we both knew the truth.
That dress had been for him.
And no matter how much I wanted to hate him, I wouldn’t let that moment be tainted by anyone else.
His reaction to seeing me was one I would never forget, but more than that, it was one I didn’t want to forget.
In fact, even in the heat of my anger, I was still clinging on to the way his eyes had burned for me, as if silently undressing me in his mind.
In the end, I found a soft pair of pajamas and dragged my sorry, self-loathing body into the kitchen, grabbing the half-melted ice cream I’d abandoned earlier.
I curled up on the couch, spoon in hand, wallowing in silence.
The only thing missing was some tragic love story playing on the TV. A TV that didn’t even work anymore.
What was the point? It would only make the bitterness worse.
Three years. That’s how long it had been as the world outside had kept spinning. Movies, trends, and technologies, but none of them mattered here. We were the forsaken. The tragic survivors stuck in a broken world. Hence why I didn’t particularly want reminders of what I’d lost.
Yet somehow, despite everything, he gave me hope.
Not through promises, but through conviction. Through the way he had spoken of undoing the Rift, of making it right again.
I wanted to believe him.
I needed to.
But every encounter we’d had so far had been fleeting. Never about the future, never about my people, always about what I could offer him. And still… still, when I leaned back on the couch, spoon hanging loosely in my hand, I felt it again.
That strange, inexplicable pull.
It came from somewhere beyond the wall. A soft, steady hum, like the echo of a heartbeat that wasn’t mine. My breath caught as the air around me shifted, thickened, like it carried a whisper I couldn’t hear but somehow felt.
My gaze flicked to the wall, and I wondered, was he on the other side of it? The thought made my stomach twist. How could I feel him?
I pressed my palm lightly against the cool surface, half expecting to feel warmth seeping through it. Of course, there was nothing. Only silence. But it didn’t matter, because deep down, I knew he was there.
Awake.
But was he thinking of me?
And for reasons I didn’t want to understand… I was doing the exact thing I wished he was. Our moments had always ended in turbulence, the last one more explosive than any before.
By the time I dragged myself off the couch and into my room, there was nothing left to do but try to sleep. To sleep and hope that morning would bring a new day and perhaps a little less pride between The General and me.
I had even questioned once or twice about whether I should try to find him.
But that would have been a mistake. We both needed to calm down, me with my ice cream and him with his bottle of wine.
Which was I dragged my sorry self to bed, already knowing sleep wouldn’t come easily.
My mind replayed a hundred versions of what I’d say to him in apology, each one collapsing under the weight of my frustration. Eventually, exhaustion won out.
But when sleep came… it didn’t take me far.
The moment I felt another presence in the room, my dream-self stirred awake.
My eyes snapped open in the dark, breath catching as a soft gasp escaped me.
A figure sat in the chair near the window, the same chair where I’d tossed my dress.
Only now, the fabric lay neatly draped across his lap, his fingers gliding along it in slow, measured strokes.
“This is a dream,” I whispered, though the words sounded fragile even to me.
He inclined his head and replied, “A shared one, yes.”
I swallowed, unsure if that made it better or worse. We both knew we shared this strange, unconscious link, which both of us had already learned to control. It made me question, at times like this, who had reached for who first? Perhaps this time, we’d both done it without realizing.
I didn’t dare ask which of us was in control now.
“Are you not going to ask why I’m here?” he said at last, voice low, smooth as silk in the darkness. His eyes flicked down to the fabric in his hands, his fingers tracing the seam.
“I’m not sure I’m brave enough to,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
That tiny slip of honesty hung between us, raw and unguarded.
He lifted his gaze then, finding mine in the dim, moonlit room.
The silvery glow from the uncovered window painted his outline in pale light.
His features were just a breath away from being real.
“Dinner did not go as intended,” he said softly, and I almost laughed.
“That’s an understatement,” I remarked without malice.
“I want you to know,” he said, “quarrelling with you was never my intention.” His tone caught me off guard because, for once, there was no arrogance, no command to be heard, nothing but quiet regret.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but it wasn’t mine either,” I murmured.
“Perhaps, we simply draw it out of each other.” His theory wasn’t too far from the mark. It was also one that earned a faint laugh from me, half sigh, half surrender.
“I don’t want to view you as my enemy,” I confessed, and I could also tell that this surprised him. He looked at me for a long moment, as though weighing the truth of my words.
“And will you give me the chance to prove that I’m not?” It was a loaded question. One that carried too much weight for the fragile silence between us. Still, I nodded.
“I’ll try. But in turn, will you try to respect my boundaries?”
“Your boundaries,” he echoed, a faint note of reflection in his voice. “I know it’s difficult to believe, but I wasn’t born into this life either,” he confessed, shocking me.
I frowned before replying. “You weren’t?
You make it look effortless. You’re practically carved from stone and emit killer warrior vibes.
Whereas I’m just playing soldier girl, which you so kindly like to remind me.
” The slight barb at the end was easy to hear, although he did grin slightly at my killer warrior remark.
“I don’t believe that,” he said, and the sincerity in his tone stopped me cold. “And I apologize if I made you feel otherwise,” he added, making my breath hitch at the apology. My first yet, and one I hadn’t thought the man capable of ever giving.
He continued, voice low and steady. “I was also wrong to push you yesterday. In my office. I should have gone at your pace, and I should have listened to you. The years here have made me impatient, and that impatience breeds…” he paused, like he was having trouble finding the right word.
“Poor decisions.” The words surprised me.
“I will admit, it was not my finest moment.”
I sat there, stunned.
This… this right here was more valuable than any book, any gift.
This was real. A rare moment of vulnerability that felt like a secret he’d never shared with anyone.
A slice of the man beneath the title. And for the first time, I wondered what he would be like without all that responsibility bearing down on him, if that cold shell and hard exterior shattered completely.
It was a part of him that I needed to see.
That he wasn’t just living, breathing stone.
That beneath the unwavering command was something deeper, something gentler. Something that could be tamed.
Something that had a heart.
“I appreciate that,” I said quietly before offering him something in return. “And I want you to know that I’m sorry… about tonight. About going off the way I did.”
His head tilted, but he said nothing as he waited for more.
“I guess I’ve just been struggling with the guilt, you know?
But you’re right.” I gave a faint, helpless laugh.
“I’d have been an idiot not to accept what everyone else would have, one night of luxury.
I’ve been so intent on seeing you as the villain, blaming you for all of this, that I didn’t stop to realize…
” I paused, releasing a sigh before I swallowed hard, forcing myself to continue.
“You’re stuck here, too. Just like us. And all you’re trying to do is get home.
” I met his eyes, my voice softening. “I guess I’ve got to ask myself, what would I do?
What lengths would I go to, to make that happen if I were in your place?
So no, I don’t blame you.” I offered him a small smile, trying to ease the tension in my own voice as I went on to tease, “I mean, I’m not saying you went about it the right way.
” The comment earned a low chuckle from him, and it felt like a small victory gained for me.
“But I also know I haven’t exactly made it easy for you either, and I want you to know that, from this moment on…
that’s going to change.” I finished, honestly.
He inclined his head, bowing slightly, a gesture that felt oddly regal. Then he rose from the chair, smoothing the dress across his arm before laying it back on the seat. Doing so far more gently than I had when I’d thrown it there earlier.
“You were wrong, you know,” he said, his tone soft as he ran his finger down the fabric one more time, looking at it as if he could still see me in it.
“About what?” I asked nervously, before his head lifted and his gaze captured my own.
“It wasn’t wasted.”
I sucked in a breath, as the meaning behind his words was far louder than the words themselves. However, before I could gather a response, he looked up, eyes almost black in the low light.
“Sleep well, Alexandra. For tomorrow, both our futures truly begin.”
It was cryptic, yes. But for once, I didn’t challenge him on it. I only watched in silence as he turned toward the door. I had a moment of panic at seeing him leave, as admittedly, it was a sight I didn’t like.
“Wait,” I said before I could think better of it.
He paused, his hand hovering above the handle.
I gripped the comforter in my lap just to give my trembling fingers something to hold onto.
My mind raced for a reason to keep him here, even if it was only for a brief second longer.
Which was when it hit me, what I really wanted to know in that still, calm moment.
“I don’t even know your name,” I said softly. The words came out more vulnerable than I intended. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he looked back at me. His lips curved just enough to hint at something warm, something real.
“My name is Atlas Nikolaou,” he said quietly, making me suck back a quick breath. But he wasn’t finished, and his name was just the start.
“And I’m not a General,” he said, hesitating slightly, the faintest glint of power rippling through the air between us. The dream-light shimmered, his edges beginning to blur.
“I’m actually…” His gaze locked on mine, and something in the room shifted, like even the air held its breath. Then he finished what he intended to say…
“A King.”