The words feel inadequate, but they’re all I have.
She exhales slowly, her expression softening just enough to let me see the exhaustion beneath her composure. “Why does it take losing everything for you to finally see what was in front of you all along?”
Her question hits like a punch to the gut because I don’t have a good answer. All I can do is tell her the truth.
“I was a coward,” I admit. “I was afraid of what it meant to be vulnerable, to rely on you, to let you see all the parts of me I didn’t want to face. It was easier to push you away than to risk letting you in.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, her jaw tightening as she processes my words. When she looks at me again, there’s no anger in her expression, only a deep, quiet sadness.
“I loved you,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “I gave you everything I had, Raiden. And you made me feel like it was never enough.”
Her words break something inside me. “It was more than enough,” I say, my voice cracking. “I just didn’t see it. I didn’t see
you.”
“Recognition after the fact doesn’t undo the damage,” she says. “It doesn’t erase the years I spent trying to make you see me, trying to prove my worth to someone who wouldn’t even look at me.”
I’m feeling hollow against the depth of her pain. A shell of an Alpha, let alone a king.
She looks away, her gaze drifting to the gardens around us. “I’ve built a life without you,” she says softly. “I’ve found purpose, strength, and peace. I won’t let you take that from me.”
“I don’t want to take anything from you,” I say quickly. “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. For all of it. For not seeing you, for not supporting you, for failing you as a mate and as a partner.”
Her shoulders tense, but she doesn’t turn back to me. “I appreciate the apology,” she says after a long pause. “But it doesn’t change anything. It can’t.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I understand.”
She starts to walk away, but I can’t let her go just yet. “Siena,” I call after her.
She stops but doesn’t turn around.
“I hope you…”
She glances over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “Good bye Raiden,” she says simply, before continuing down the path and out of sight.
I stand there for a long time.
Alone.
She’s right. Recognition after the fact doesn’t undo the damage. It doesn’t erase the years of pain and rejection.
But at least now, she knows.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.