By the Time I Regretted, It Was Over

“Don’t you plan to explain yourself?” Alaric asked coldly.

“There’s nothing to explain,” I replied.

“If you admit it, I’ll charge you with intentional injury.”

I froze, staring at him in disbelief.

He met my gaze without flinching.

“Or…” he continued, his voice tightening, “tell me the truth about my sister’s death, and I’ll drop everything.”

I turned slightly to glance at Arianne.

Then I took a deep breath. “You’ll find out eventually.”

A flicker of hope lit his eyes.

“But not now.”

My shoulders stiffened. His face darkened, eyes burning red.

“What’s your relationship with that murderer? You’d rather go to prison than turn him in?”

“I’ve told you already, Alaric. I have nothing to do with him.”

He was trembling with rage now, so furious he could barely form words.

He ground his teeth and nodded slowly.

“You really think I won’t sue you?”

I didn’t reply.

He shoved me aside and stormed out.

Three days later, I received a court summons.

When I pleaded guilty, Arianne arched a brow, clearly unsurprised—like she’d known it would end this way all along.

Only Alaric’s face was pale and terrifyingly grim.

He had hired one of the city’s top attorneys. The lawyer dissected every moment of the incident, stretched the legal jargon to its limits, and twisted my silence into malice.

In the end, they raised the sentence to eight years.

Alaric visited me in custody.

“If you testify for Seraphine,” he said, voice low, “I’ll find a way to get you out.”

I smiled faintly. “Alaric, take care.”

His breath hitched.

For a second, he looked like a broken man.

“You knew everything…” His voice cracked. “You were there that night. It was just you and that monster. You saw it all, didn’t you?”

I said nothing.

“I stayed quiet—I let it go, because I believed you.”

His fists clenched. “Back in school… Seraphine used to spend her lunch money just to make sure you had something to eat. Have you forgotten that?”

Tears welled in my eyes. I shook my head. “No. Never.”

“Then why?” he choked out. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why not then?”

“Not yet.”

“Do I have to die before you’ll finally tell me?”

I shook my head again, more firmly this time.

“It’s not him who dies,” I whispered. “It’s me.”

“The murderer will be convicted—without my testimony. But if I spoke now… I was afraid you’d lose your mind.”

I bowed my head.

If everything went as expected, the truth would come to light during my imprisonment.

But then, less than a month into my sentence, something changed.

The court abruptly overturned the verdict. I was acquitted.

When I stepped out of the gates, dazed and uncertain, a black Rolls-Royce waited at the curb.

Alaric stood beside it in silence.

Neither of us spoke during the entire ride home.

As I stepped out of the car, I turned back. “Thank you.”

He paused on the stairs, didn’t look back.

“Elysia,” he said coldly, “you’re such a jerk.”

I smiled.

And the tears fell.

Arianne’s child had survived.

But Alaric never brought her home again. Nor did he flaunt their affair in front of me anymore.

We lived under the same roof, yet moved like strangers in parallel lives.

When we crossed paths in the hallway, he didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at me.

He refused to eat anything I cooked.

I didn’t complain. I simply went on with my quiet routines.

A full month passed like that.

Then one night, there was a knock at my door.

When I opened it, he stood there—reeking of alcohol, eyes bloodshot.

“Let’s talk,” he said, voice hoarse.

I stepped aside, letting him in. For the first time in a long while, we sat together calmly, without pretense.

“Please,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m begging you. Testify for Seraphine.”

He swallowed hard.

“If you do… I’ll have Arianne abort the child. I’ll give you everything—my fortune, my company. Anything.”