He Regrets: I Don't Return by Delilah Moonlit : Want the full story? Comment now, and I’ll share the link shortly.

He Regrets: I Don't Return by Delilah Moonlit https://writers.firefreeapk.com/dressed-1/ The rain came suddenly, pounding against the windows in the dead of night. Unconscious but restless, Winifred Yates murmured in her sleep, her brow furrowed and skin slick with sweat—the same nightmare had found her again.

She remembered being eight years old, trapped in a dark basement with a boy she barely knew. He had distracted their kidnappers, giving her just enough time to escape.

"Greg..." The name slipped out before she was fully awake.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the room just long enough for her to see a tall figure looming beside her bed. Her heart pounded as she instinctively pulled back. "Who's there?"

Before she could move, Gregory Hoffman was upon her, his face suddenly visible in another flash of lightning—his features twisted with barely contained anger.

"Greg—" she started, but his hand shot out and seized her throat.

"Who is Craig?" His voice was dangerously calm.

Winifred struggled for breath as she stared up at Gregory, his face as handsome as it was merciless. "It's always been you," she choked out. "Why can't you remember what we—"

"Enough lies." His anger flared. "I never forgot anything, Winifred. So if you're still dreaming about another man, why are you still here?"

He had heard the name "Craig" too many times in her sleep to let it go.

Her hope crumbled. For three years, she had tried to make him remember the boy he once was. But all Gregory remembered was the name she called in the dark—and he hated her for it.

"Sign the divorce papers," Gregory said, tossing the document toward her.

Winifred looked up, eyes sharp. She couldn't believe he'd come home late, soaked from the rain, just to hand her divorce papers.

That familiar cold expression gave nothing away as she searched his face. After a long silence, she finally asked, "You won't regret this?"

"I don't regret things," he said, voice final.

She inhaled slowly, tilting her head back to stop the tears. "Fine." She grabbed the pen and signed without reading.

Gregory exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath—but his chest felt strangely heavy.

He pocketed the papers. "We'll file after Grandpa's birthday."

"Alright," she said, offering neither fight nor resistance, only quiet acceptance.

He lingered a moment longer, studying her passive acceptance. 'Why wasn't she putting up a fight? The money, the status, the entire Hoffman family fortune... she was letting it all go?' The thought nagged at him as he turned and strode from the room.

Rain tapped steadily against the window. Winifred reached under her pillow and pulled out an old copper plaque—once gold, now worn down to bare metal.

She remembered being eight years old at the harvest festival, when her father brought her and her brother to Lavisburg.

They'd gotten separated at the amusement park, and she'd stumbled into Gregory, the Hoffman heir who'd ditched his guards on purpose.

At the carnival, he'd won a gold medal and passed it to her—a keepsake for when she was old enough to come find him and become his wife.

But on their way home, kidnappers ambushed them. They'd come for Gregory, and she was just caught in the crossfire, an unlucky bystander.

Three years earlier, the Hoffmans had been ripped apart by a brutal corporate battle. Gregory's father was killed in a car crash, while his mother survived—only to be left paralyzed.

Gregory himself hovered near death, his kidneys shredded by glass. Without a transplant, he wouldn't survive.

At the time, she was working as a nurse at the hospital where Gregory was admitted. Without hesitation, she volunteered to be his donor.

When Joseph Hoffman, Gregory's grandfather, demanded to repay her, she made her condition clear—she wanted to marry Gregory.

People assumed she wanted the Hoffmans' money—that she was just another gold digger. But Winifred knew the truth. She was keeping a childhood promise.

What she hadn't expected was that the boy who gave her that medal would forget everything. He didn't even recognize her as the girl he'd once saved.

Winifred studied the tarnished medal in her hands, wondering if she'd ever truly mattered to him.

Winifred pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. Three years had passed since she last dialed her brother's number—three years since she'd spoken to Truman Chappell.

Truman answered immediately. "Hello?"

His voice—so painfully familiar—sent a sharp ache through her chest. Tears rose before she could stop them. "Truman," she whispered, the word catching in her throat. "Please... come for me."