Alpha's Regret After She Kneels novel Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Raiden’s POV

The crowd shifts and swirls around me, a blur of movement and sound, but my focus remains fixed on Siena.

She walks away from the ballroom floor, her back straight, her head held high, moving with a grace that commands attention without asking for it. The light catches on her hair as she passes beneath the chandeliers, a faint shimmer that draws my gaze even though I don’t want to look.

No tears. No dramatics. No desperate pleas for my attention.

Nothing.

She doesn’t turn back, doesn’t falter, doesn’t give so much as a flicker of acknowledgment that I’m still here, standing in the middle of the room with Lila at my side.

The Siena I thought I knew–the version I’ve built in my mind over the past three years–would have caused a scene. She would have thrown biting words in my direction, a cutting remark designed to wound, or perhaps a melodramatic display of hurt designed to draw pity.

That’s who she’s supposed to be: spoiled, manipulative, shallow, always angling for attention.

But this woman? This composed, dignified Alpha who walks through the crowd like she’s untouchable? She’s not the Siena I married.

Doubt creeps in, slow and insidious, curling around my thoughts like smoke. It’s an unwelcome guest, one I’ve spent years keeping at bay, and yet it presses closer now, whispering questions I don’t want to answer.

Had I been wrong about her? It’s a question that shoots through me, through Horace like small knives. My grip tightening on Lila’s waist as the music shifts into the opening notes of the next dance.

My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, a low growl rumbling in my mind.

Nine years of marriage, I tell myself, and I know who she is. I’ve always known.

But the thought rings hollow now.

I watch as Siena pauses near the edge of the room, her attention drawn to an elderly Alpha who stops her with a hand on her

arm.

I know him–Rickard. Xeno’s beta. But…why os he here and his Alpha not?

What game are you playing Siena? What twisted offence are you cooking up against me?

He clasps her hands in both of his, speaking with animated warmth, his respect for her clear in the way he leans closer, nodding at her words.

Horace whines–it incessant. He is jealous, furious. His terrieorty is being taken from him.

She smiles at Rickard–a genuine, soft smile that transforms her face, lighting it from within. It’s not the kind of smile I’ve accused her of using before, the practiced charm I once dismissed as manipulative.

There’s no calculation in it, no artifice.

It’s real.

She’s happy.

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Chapter 31

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And it makes something in my chest tighten, a sharp, uncomfortable pang that I can’t seem to shake.

Had Zion been right?

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The question claws its way to the surface no matter how much I try to push it down. My bestfriend’s words come back to me, low and serious, cutting through the haze of my certainty.

“You’ve always seen her through a lens of your own making. Maybe you never really knew her at all.”

I’d dismissed him at the time, brushing off his concerns with sharp words and a curt dismissal. But now, watching Siena carry herself with quiet strength, with a dignity I hadn’t thought her capable of, I can’t help but wonder.

Had I been wrong?

Had I always been wrong?

My wolf huffs a low, mocking laugh in the back of my mind, his voice sharp and cutting.

“You said you’d never regret this. What’s this all about now?”

“I don’t regret it,” I answer silently, my jaw tightening as I force my attention back to the woman in my arms.

Lila leans into me, her body pressing closer than propriety allows, her hand sliding up my shoulder as we move in perfect time with the music. The scent of her perfume is cloying, heavy, a sharp contrast to the faint, clean scent of pine and rain that lingers in the air—Siena’s scent.

“You’re distracted,” Lila murmurs, her voice low and sweet, a practiced tone designed to soothe. Her lips curve into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and she tilts her head just slightly, enough to let the light catch the crescent mark on her neck.

The sight of it sends a fresh wave of unease through me, the same unease I’ve been battling since the day it appeared.

“Is something wrong?” she presses, her fingers brushing against the back of my neck.

“Nothing,” I reply tersely, my voice sharper than I intended.

Her smile falters, but only for a moment. She covers it quickly, leaning in closer as though proximity will soften Her movements are fluid, graceful, and calculated, designed to project intimacy to the watching crowd.

It’s what I wanted, isn’t it?

my mood.

To show the world that I’ve moved on. That I’ve chosen someone who understands me, who aligns with my vision for the future.

And yet, even as I spin Lila across the floor, even as I play my part in this carefully choreographed performance, my wolf refuses to settle.

His focus isn’t on Lila.

It’s on Siena.

I can feel it, the way his attention tracks her through the crowd like a compass drawn to true north. It’s maddening, this incessant pull, this traitorous instinct that refuses to align with the choices I’ve made.

My eyes betray me, flicking toward her again even as I try to resist. She’s still speaking with the elderly Alpha, her posture relaxed, her smile warm. The man laughs at something she says, his shoulders shaking with mirth, and she reaches out to touch his arm lightly, her gesture sincere and unguarded.

There’s a quiet confidence in her now, something I never noticed before–or perhaps something I refused to see.

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Chapter 31

Lila shifts in my arms, drawing my attention back to her. She’s smiling up at me, her expression expectant, but there’s a tightness to it now, a faint edge of impatience beneath the surface.

“You’re distracted again,” she says, this time with a hint of accusation in her tone.

“I’m not,” I lie, my voice flat and unconvincing.

Her lips press together, her frustration evident, but she doesn’t push the issue. Instead, she leans in even closer, her lips brushing against my car as she whispers, “You should stop looking at her.”

The words are a dagger, sharp and precise, cutting through the fragile threads of my composure.

“I’m not,” I bite out, my tone clipped.