Page 32 of Ruthless Regret

It might have only been a few days since my world turned upside down,butI’ve changed a lot in that time … and I don’t think I can return to the person I was.

I stare into my mug, the steam curling up in the dim light of the kitchen. It feels surreal sitting here, thinking about how different everything is now. How differentIam.

It’s not just that my life has been turned upside down. It’s that I no longer recognize the person I was before all this happened. My job, the house I share with my friends, my routine. It feels like it was someone else’s life. Or maybe a role I was cast into, but one that no longer fits quite right.

I can’t go back to it.

The thought shocks me with its finality. There’s no pretending anymore. No slipping back into the version of myself I tried so hard to maintain for all these years. That girl—the one who followed all the rules, who stayed under the radar, who avoided anything that might stir up trouble? She’s gone.

But if that’s true, then who the hell am I now?

I wrap my hands tighter around the mug. The nightmare still clings to me. I can still hear the masked man’s heavy breathing, feel his grip tightening around me, the gleam of the knife in the dim light. Zain’s voice.

Zain ...

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing thoughts of him away. But that just makes things worse. I don’t know what to think about him. About what he’s done.

About whatwedid.

There were moments, just brief flashes after we had sex, of a different version of the man I’d married. Something raw and broken inside him. And it mirrors whatIfeel.

I don’t hate him. I don’t hate him the way I should. The way I want to.

Despite all the things he’s done to me since being released from prison, despite the manipulation and threats, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe … just maybe, he’s as lost as I am.

And that thought terrifies me more than anything else.

I don’twantto understand him. I don’t want toseehim beyond the man who forced me into a marriage to punish me.

I want to carry on hating him. I want to hold on to the anger I’ve carried for years. It would be so much easier that way. To continue to cast him as the villain in my story, and walk away with a clear conscience.

But I can’t help it. Because I know …I knowthat Zain is the bigger victim in what happened all those years ago.

How can I hate him when I know he’s not the true villain?

He’s the victim. Of what happened all those years ago. Of the twisted justice system that threw him in prison.

But it’s not that simple.

And it’s not even true.

I’mthe villain inhisstory.

A new realization hits me hard.

I didn’t just ruinhislife. I ruined mine too.

We’re both broken. Both trapped in this endless cycle of blame and anger.

I put the mug back onto the table, and lean back in the chair, scrubbing a hand down my face.

I don’t want to acknowledge the fact that there’s so much more to him than the anger and bitterness that have defined our interactions so far.

But I can’t ignore it either.

A soft creak from the hallway beyond the door startles me, and I look around. The door is still closed, but the silence in the house feels more oppressive now, forcing me to acknowledge that I’m the only one awake.

I need to get out of my own head.

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