Alpha's Regret After She Kneels novel Chapter 89

#Chapter 89: Thunder of the Heart

#Chapter 89: Thunder of the Heart

(Raiden’s POV)

Thunder crashes violently overhead, shaking the cabin walls, as if nature itself demands I finally lay bare the secrets I’ve guarded far too long.

The steady rhythm of rain pounds relentlessly against the roof, creating a constant, murmuring backdrop to the silence hanging between us.

“I don’t know yet…”

Siena sits across from me near the hearth, her amber eyes fixed thoughtfully on the smoldering embers. A single blanket wraps gently around her shoulders, creating a barrier that feels symbolic–a wall between us that I desperately wish to cross, yet fear to breach.

I take a deep breath, my heart hammering painfully as I prepare myself to reveal truths I’ve hidden away, buried beneath layers of pride and fear.

“Siena,” I begin softly, my voice barely audible above the storm’s fury. “There’s something you deserve to know.”

She looks up, eyes wide and cautious, waiting silently for my explanation. Her quiet patience pierces me deeply, reminding me how little I’ve truly given her.

“Lila’s deception ran far deeper than you realize,” I finally admit, feeling shame twist sharply inside my chest. “From the very beginning, she systematically manipulated everything–communications, messages, even fabricated a pregnancy–to drive a wedge between us. She preyed on my insecurities, exploiting every fear I had about vulnerability.”

The words spill from my lips, raw and painful. Siena’s eyes widen slightly, surprise and sadness mingling softly in her expression.

Yet beneath her shock, I sense quiet understanding, a wisdom I’d once foolishly dismissed.

“I allowed it,” I continue hoarsely, accepting full responsibility rather than shifting blame. “I chose to believe her lies because they reinforced my own fears, my own resistance to opening myself fully to you. Lila didn’t create my pride or my stubbornness–she merely exploited weaknesses already there.”

Siena watches me silently, her expression softening subtly, compassion flickering gently through her eyes. Her quiet empathy unsettles me deeply, piercing through the last vestiges of my prideful defenses.

“Why didn’t you try harder to contact me after discovering the truth?” she asks softly, voice gentle yet carrying quiet pain.” Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

My throat tightens sharply. The honest answer rises swiftly, vulnerable and raw–words I’ve long resisted admitting even to myself.

“Because I didn’t deserve forgiveness,” I whisper roughly, voice breaking under the weight of my admission. “I still don’t.”

The quiet vulnerability in my confession hangs heavily between us, starkly contrasting the prideful Alpha I’ve always presented myself as. Siena’s eyes widen in surprise, breath catching softly, clearly unprepared for such honesty.

“I hurt you deeply, Siena,” I continue quietly, gaze locked softly upon hers. “Every mistake, every rejection–I own them fully. I never expected you’d forgive me, so I didn’t try.”

She nods slowly, eyes shimmering gently in the firelight.

Silence settles softly again, broken only by rain’s steady rhythm against the roof.

The storm outside intensifies, lightning illuminating the tiny cabin in brief flashes of stark brightness.

“We may be stuck here awhile longer,” Siena murmurs, glancing toward the window as wind rattles the cabin door. Her voice aims for neutrality, but I catch the slight tremor–a hairline fracture in her carefully constructed composure.

I nod, my heart thundering so loudly I wonder if she can hear it. “The storm’s getting worse.” My voice sounds strange to my own ears–too hopeful beneath the concern.

Hours crawl by, the blizzard shrieking outside like a living thing. When Siena moves toward the small stove, I watch her silhouette against the firelight, my chest aching with longing.

“I’m just going to…” she gestures vaguely at the sparse provisions.

“Let me help,” I offer, the words tumbling out before I can reconsider.

Our fingers brush as I reach for the same potato, and the jolt that passes between us makes us both freeze.

“Sorry,” we say in unison, then share a startled glance that melts into something dangerously close to laughter.

“Remember that time in Blackwater?” I ask suddenly, slicing onions with far more concentration than necessary. “When we tried to cook for the entire pack?”

1/3

#Chapter 89: Thunder of the Heart

Her knife pauses mid–chop. “And set fire to the ceremonial tablecloth?” The smile in her voice makes my heart soar. “Elder Mira wouldn’t look at us for weeks.”

“Worth it though, I murmur, risking a glance at her face.

“Was it?” She meets my eyes, vulnerability raw and beautiful.

My wolf surges forward, craving her closeness. “Siena, I-”

“Don’t,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move away when I step closer. “Please don’t say things you’ll take back tomorrow.”

“I never should have taken them back the first time,” I confess, my voice breaking as I reach for her hand. “I’ve missed you. Every day, every minute–I’ve missed you like breathing.”

Her fingers tighten around mine, tears gathering in her eyes. “Raiden…”

The potato soup boils over, hissing against the hot stove, but neither of us moves to save it.

For the first time, I don’t deny or deflect the intensity of my feelings. I allow myself to fully experience them–love, longing, regret–without prideful protection or stubborn avoidance.

“Siena,” I whisper softly, my heart pounding fiercely as courage gathers slowly inside my chest. She glances up curiously, her amber eyes gentle yet guarded, waiting patiently for the words I desperately wish to speak.

“I–I want you to know…” My voice falters softly, vulnerability trembling dangerously beneath the surface. The confession of love rises swiftly to my lips, yet something holds me back–recognition that mere words cannot repair years of damage, cannot fully heal wounds I’ve inflicted.

Instead, carefully, I shift toward genuine curiosity about the life she’s built without me. “Tell me about your itarian work,” I ask softly, sincerity clear in my tone. “I’ve heard others praise your efforts, but I’d like to understand more.”

Surprise flickers gently across Siena’s features, quickly replaced by quiet appreciation when I ask about her international work.

“It started in Geneva,” she begins softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just a three–month assignment, but then…” “Then what?” I prompt, leaning forward.

“Then I saw what was actually happening on the ground.” Her eyes meet mine, something tentative in her gaze. “These weren’t just statistics in reports. They were families, children, entire communities devastated.”

I nod, encouraging her to continue.

“We built seven refugee centers along the border,” she says, her voice growing stronger. “Not just shelters, but places with schools, medical facilities, counseling services.”

“That must have been challenging,” I offer, genuinely fascinated.

“The politics were brutal,” she admits with a small laugh. “But watching a mother who’d lost everything find her footing again…” Her hands gesture expressively. “There’s nothing like it, Raiden. Nothing.”

“Tell me about the children’s program,” I ask, remembering the photos I’d seen.

Her face transforms, lighting up completely. “You remembered that? It was my heart project. We created safe spaces where children could just be children again, even in the midst of chaos.”

“Of course I remembered,” I say quietly.

She pauses, studying my face. “You really want to hear all this?”

“I want to hear everything, Siena.”

Her voice grows animated, passionate, sharing stories of lives touched, hope restored. Watching her speak, pride and admiration swell softly inside my chest.