She Left Without Hate, But He Lived With Regret

Vivienne busied herself through the night, her hands moving in practiced motions.

As she baked the cake base, memories surfaced, clear, vivid, inescapable. She and Rafael had once tried baking together. It had been their first attempt, and neither of them had any control over the heat. The batter had sunk, the edges had burned, and yet, through every failure, they had laughed.

Later, while she spread the cream, Rafael slipped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting against her shoulder. His warm breath brushed her skin, and his voice rumbled softly.

"Vivienne, you're so good to me."

Then, he'd turned his head, kissing her cheek.

"Can you make a cake for me every year from now on?"

She had dipped her finger into the cream, smearing it across his face with a playful grin. His stunned expression had sent her into peals of laughter.

The sharp chime of the oven dragged her back to the present.

Vivienne took out the cake, and a sweet aroma filled the dining room.

She reached for the cream, a small smile tugging at her lips, and then, a sudden sound from the bedroom shattered the warmth.

A teasing, breathless voice rang out.

"Oh no, your injury hasn’t healed yet! You can’t, you can’t touch me!"

"I don’t care; I’ll touch you anyway!"

Laughter followed, light, coy, filled with unmistakable intimacy.

Freya’s voice was heard, saying, "Brother, you said you’ll always be by my side tomorrow, right?"

"Of course," Rafael answered.

"Brother, you're so good to me. I feel so happy, so, so happy."

Another giggle.

"Ah, I told you not to touch me there; it tickles!"

"Forget it. You might as well just eat me up. I can’t escape from your grasp anyway."

The laughter that followed was laced with breathless gasps, intimate and teasing.

Vivienne felt something inside her twist violently, as if an unseen hand had wrenched her heart from her chest. Her vision blurred. She pressed her fingers against her eyes, rubbing hard, willing herself not to see, not to feel.

So, she busied herself, anything to drown out the sounds echoing in her mind.

The three-tiered fruit cake was complete when the first light of dawn spilled through the window.

Rafael had always asked her to limit sugar, so she had added only a hint of xylitol, letting the fresh fruit’s natural sweetness carry the flavor.

Vivienne placed the cake in the fridge. The exhaustion she had been ignoring finally caught up to her. She rested her head on the dining table, and before she knew it, sleep pulled her under.

And in her dreams, she drifted back to a time untouched by pain, to days that had once been so simple, so beautiful.

Senior year had been relentless, with nights of studying stretching endlessly and stealing her sleep. She often stole short naps between classes, resting her head on her desk whenever exhaustion weighed too heavily.

The golden sunlight had always spilled through the windows, warm against her face.

"Why are you sleeping here? You’ll catch a cold."

Rafael’s voice was gentle, familiar.

She had felt the soft weight of his coat as he draped it over her, careful not to wake her.

Such a familiar feeling.

Such a warm dream.

Vivienne didn’t want to wake up. But the moment her arm slipped, she startled upright, reality dragging her back.

Blinking, she wiped away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes, not even realizing when they had fallen. Slowly, she straightened her posture.

A thin coat slid from her shoulders, pooling onto the floor.

It was Rafael’s jacket.

The stillness in her heart, once as quiet as an undisturbed lake, rippled with faint waves.

She picked up the jacket, running her fingers gently over the fabric.

It carried his scent.

Her gaze lifted, landing on a large gift box on the dining table.

It was wrapped exquisitely and adorned with a bold red bow, the satin ribbon tied with perfect precision. Beneath it, a small card rested.

"Wear this dress, or you’ll embarrass me."

A tremor ran through her hands as her fingertips brushed against the bow.

Lifting the lid, she found an evening gown nestled inside, fiery red, vibrant, breathtaking.

A memory surfaced, his voice echoing softly in her mind.

"You look beautiful in red."

Vivienne stood frozen, her fingers tracing the fabric as she lifted the dress.

For a fleeting moment, something stirred within her, a heartbeat she thought had long since withered.

But it was gone just as quickly as it came. Before she could even try on the dress, her phone vibrated with a message from Freya.

She was at a boutique, selecting outfits for the banquet.

With Rafael.

The image that followed made Vivienne’s breath catch.

Rafael stood tall in a perfectly tailored suit, his presence commanding even with the faint bruises marring his face and the slight unsteadiness in his step. None of it dulled his striking allure.

Beside him, Freya wore white. Not just any dress. A light wedding gown.