They Regretted After Five Years Novel by Lilith Grey _ Novel




They Regretted After Five Years Chapter 01

It had been five years since I'd been exiled to the slums by my fiancé, Hayden Goddard, and my rich brother, Bryson Cardwell.
They found me again and asked if I knew what I did wrong.
I nodded numbly. "I do."
Back then, they'd been convinced I'd framed their shared precious woman. Together, they sent me away.
But Hayden forgot I was still his fiancée, and Bryson forgot that I was his sister.
Now, I'd learned my lesson, so I surrendered and chose to obey.
But Bryson slammed down his cup. "You were never like this before!"
And Hayden, who once loathed me, now had tears threatening to spill. "Please, Lottie. Just go back to how you used to be. Cry. Yell. I don't care. Just be her again."
***
It was five years after I'd been thrown into the slums when they found me.
At that time, I was crouched by the public tap in the alley, scrubbing an old bedsheet.
Suddenly, several pairs of polished leather shoes stepped into the puddles and stopped right in front of me.
I looked up and saw a face.
It was my brother, Bryson.
The past five years had barely left a mark on him, only making his gaze sharper and more imposing.
"Do you know what you did wrong?"
I stared down at my red, swollen fingers and whispered in reply, "I do."
At my answer, his frown relaxed. The corner of his mouth even lifted slightly.
"Come home with me," he said.
I nodded and started packing my things.
When I turned, another figure stepped out from the shadow around the corner.
It was Hayden.
He'd come too.
It'd been five years. He seemed taller, his features more chiseled.
His gaze settled on my face, his expression complicated.
"Lottie, since you've learned your lesson, you can still be my fiancée. Our engagement is back on."
I watched his mouth move as his words drifted into my ears.
Fiancée.
Engagement.
These two words sounded like terms from my previous life.
I nodded. "Okay."
It was the only thing I could say.
Five years in the slums had blurred the line between day and night in my life.
During the day, I wandered through noisy, filthy streets, picking up any odd job that could get me a bite to eat.
At night, I curled up in a shabby shack, listening to rats scuttle in the corners and drunks scream in the distance, staring wide awake until dawn.
All the life had been sucked out of me. All my spirit had been ground away.
Bryson's Rolls-Royce was waiting at the alley entrance.
Its black color was shiny and painfully bright in my eyes.
The car pulled away.
It quickly left behind the run-down shacks and the permanent stench in the air.
The scenery outside the window grew neater and greener.
Finally, the car stopped in front of the villa I left five years earlier.
The iron gate opened. The lawn was trimmed flat like a carpet.
Everything was almost as I remembered. And yet nothing felt the same.
Inside the living room, crystal lights blazed brightly.
The air smelled softly of flowers.
As soon as we stepped in, a maid hurried over.
"Mr. Cardwell, dinner is ready. Shall we serve it now?"
"Mhm." Bryson nodded.
Then, as if remembering something, he turned his head and looked at me. "Lottie, everything tonight is your favorite."
He said it so naturally, as if those five lost years had been nothing more than a short walk outside.
One dish after another was brought out, arranged like works of art.
Lobster, steak, truffle, caviar...
It was the kind of food I'd only seen on flyers next to garbage cans over the past five years, things that felt like they belonged to a different world.
I sat down silently.
Hayden sat beside me, picked up a napkin, and laid it over my lap with a familiar, practiced motion.
I felt stunned, overly undeserving. "Thank you. Thank you."
I hurried to take the fork he held out.
The moment our fingertips touched, my memories jolted.
When was the last time someone had done something like this for me?
Five years ago? Or longer?
I lost focus for a second.
Just in the second, the fork slipped from my hand.
It clattered to the floor, rolling before stopping beside Bryson's shoe.
The air went still.
I froze.
Then, almost instinctively, I crouched down to pick it up.
I moved too fast. My knee banged hard against the table leg.
But I felt no pain, only panic.
I feared that I'd be sent back to the slums.
I grabbed the fork and squeezed it tight.
"I'm sorry."
I stood up, my voice so quiet that it was barely audible. "I didn't mean to."
Bryson and Hayden were both staring at me.
Their eyes fixed on my hand, which clenched around the fork, for several long seconds.
Hayden spoke first, his voice flat. "It's fine."
A maid silently handed over a new fork.
From time to time, Hayden would place pieces of neatly cut food onto my plate as naturally as he used to.
I always whispered "thank you" and forced myself to eat it all.

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