His Five-Year Regret

I was broke when I was in college, but I was dating a guy who was anything but.

He was Leo Rhodes, of the New York Rhodes family. An heir to a fortune so old it was practically woven into the city’s DNA. Everyone in his circle called him by his last name, a title in itself.

No one, from my world or his, saw our relationship as anything more than a temporary spectacle.

Even he said it once, his voice a casual murmur over the rim of a whiskey glass: “We’re just having fun, Willa. Don’t make it serious.”

So when I ended it, I did it for my pride. I lied and told him I’d fallen for someone else. That I didn’t want him anymore.

The fury in his eyes was eclipsed only by the raw hurt that turned the edges of them red. He told me if I walked away, I’d better not live to regret it.

I never looked back.

Five years later, we met again. And the man the tabloids now called the cold, imperious head of the Rhodes Corporation cornered me on a dark film set.

His voice was a raw whisper. “I told you to go, and you just… left?”

He took another step, trapping me against the wall. “How could you be so goddamn cruel?”

A tremor ran through his powerful frame, and his voice broke. “I’m the one who regrets it, Willa. I am.”

1

When the director announced that one of our investors was visiting the set, the name Leo Rhodes never even crossed my mind.

At that moment, I was standing with my back to him, running lines with another actor. I could feel his presence more than see it, a gravitational pull surrounded by a hushed entourage of producers and executives. He was just a few feet away, standing behind the monitors.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. My fingers tightened on my script, the cheap paper crinkling into permanent folds.

Thankfully, the lead producer, a man named Stan, scurried over to greet the star of our film. He gestured grandly in Leo’s direction. “Mr. Rhodes, I’d like you to meet our leading lady. She’s one of the hottest rising stars right now.”

The woman, her makeup a flawless mask of ambition, turned a brilliant, practiced smile on Leo. “Mr. Rhodes, we met once at a gala at the Met. I don’t know if you’d remember?”

Leo barely acknowledged her. He lifted his gaze for a fraction of a second before it dropped back to the monitors, his expression unreadable.

He stared at the screen, his eyes dark and intense. For a split second, I saw a storm gather in their depths—a tidal wave of something fierce and unnamable—before it was gone, leaving behind only a calm, chilling surface.

The producer, flustered by the dismissal, glanced at the monitor, trying to see what had captured the titan’s attention. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Rhodes? Is everything alright?”

A slow, cool smile touched Leo’s lips. “Everything’s fine,” he said, his voice a low murmur that still managed to cut through the set’s low hum. “I just saw someone I know.”

The words were casual, but they hit me like a physical blow. The back of my neck prickled. My heart began to pound a frantic, panicked rhythm against my ribs.

“Oh! You have a friend in our cast? That’s wonderful! Who might that be?” Stan’s voice was slick with manufactured delight.

In that instant, I felt a dozen pairs of eyes sweep over the set, searching. And then, I heard Leo’s voice again, as cool and sharp as ice.

“Her.”

2

“Her. Maya.”

The young actress standing in front of me, whose lines I had been running, gasped.

I blinked, my mind struggling to catch up. For a disorienting moment, I had been certain he meant me.

Stan practically shoved me aside as he rushed forward, enthusiastically guiding Maya toward Leo.

Watching them interact, a wave of dizzying relief washed over me, and the breath I’d been holding escaped in a silent rush.

Thank God.

Thank God it wasn’t me.

All these years, and this was how we met again. The idea of some dramatic reunion of old flames wasn't just cliché; it felt… rude. Disrespectful to the lives we’d built separately.

Besides, they looked like old friends. Maya, completely unfazed by his reputation, playfully swatted his arm. “Leo! What are you doing here? I’m trying to run lines!”

A lazy, familiar grin spread across his face, softening the hard edges of the man he’d become. “Your brother sent me,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. “Said to tell you to stop messing around and come home.”

He looked nothing like the volatile, short-tempered man I remembered. And from the sycophantic grin on Stan’s face, it was clear this reunion was a welcome one.

So welcome, in fact, that the director and producers immediately suggested they continue their conversation over dinner at a nearby restaurant. Leo, surprisingly, didn't refuse.

I watched their retreating figures, a small crowd parting before them like the Red Sea. I clutched the script, now mangled beyond recognition, and let out another slow breath.

I had survived. The day was finally over.

But just as the group was about to round the corner, Maya suddenly turned back. Her bright, youthful voice echoed across the now-quiet set.

“Willa! Hey, Willa! You want to come to dinner with us?”

3

For a heartbeat, time froze. The world went silent, and every face on set turned to look at me.

When my brain finally rebooted, my first instinct was to hide. I ducked my head, letting my hair fall forward to shield my face.

“No, thanks! You guys go ahead. I’ve got plans tonight,” I called back, my voice sounding strained and unfamiliar.

I didn’t wait for a reply. I turned and walked away, my steps quick and clumsy, bordering on a run.

I had no idea if he’d recognized me. The lighting on set had been dim, chaotic. Maybe he never got a clear look. Or maybe he did, and the woman he saw now held no significance for him. The girl from five years ago was a ghost, and he had no interest in acknowledging her.

After all, our breakup had been a public humiliation. I had wounded the pride of a man who had never known anything but victory. I had dumped him, coldly and decisively, in a way that had shocked everyone in our orbit.

I was the one who walked away. But I was also the one who cried myself to sleep for months afterward.

I could still hear his voice from that day, laced with a pain so deep it had curdled into rage.

“Willa Hayes, if you walk out that door today, don’t you dare regret it.”

His jaw was tight, his eyes burning. “Because if I ever see you again, I swear to God I will not let you go.”

I knew he was capable of making my life a living hell. So I packed my bags that night and disappeared.

I never looked back.

Until now. Five years later, and we were breathing the same air.

I chewed on my thumbnail, a nervous habit I thought I’d kicked years ago. A cold dread seeped into my bones.

Surely, after all this time… he wouldn’t still want revenge, would he?

4

Leo Rhodes had a bad temper.

That wasn't just my opinion; it was a universally acknowledged fact by anyone who knew him during our college years at NYU. He was the crown prince of New York City, the kind of guy who commanded respect and fear with a single glance. He had the family name, the looks, and a mind so sharp he never seemed to have to try.

If it weren’t for the fact that I was drowning in my mom’s medical bills, forcing me to take a gig as a promotional model at a luxury car event, our paths would never have crossed.

I met him for the first time in a private, members-only club in SoHo. He was perched on a high stool at the bar, legs crossed, lazily propping his chin on one hand as he watched me on a small stage, trying to smile my way through a Q&A with the event’s host.

The friend who got me the gig had said there was a bonus—a big one—for staying for the "private viewing" afterward, an exclusive showcase for the city’s young and wealthy elite. The word "bonus" was a siren song I couldn't resist.

So there I was, in a borrowed cocktail dress that was a size too small, teetering on heels and smiling at million-dollar cars until my face felt like it would crack.

I knew I was pretty. My roommates always said I had the face of an ice queen but the eyes of a lost fawn, a combination that disarmed people who didn't know the steel underneath.

But I was naive. I had no idea how predatory their world could be.

Before I had even stepped off the stage, a man with a fleshy, red face and a leering grin called out to me. "You're one of those NYU girls, right? Need a little extra spending money? I can help with that."

A hot wave of shame washed over me. I wanted to scream, but the thought of that bonus kept my mouth shut. I pretended I hadn’t heard him.

But in a place like this, a den of gilded excess, silence was encouragement. The murmurs around him turned into jeers and laughter.

Just as the man lurched forward, his hands reaching for my waist, a barstool sailed through the air from the second-floor mezzanine. It crashed into him with a sickening thud, sending him sprawling to the floor, blood instantly matting his hair.

He scrambled to his feet, clutching his head and roaring, "What the fuck? Who the hell threw that? You got a death wish?"

That’s when Leo Rhodes descended the stairs.

He calmly stubbed out a cigarette in a nearby ashtray, the smoke curling around him like a shroud. He scanned the room with a look of bored indifference until his eyes finally landed on me, cowering in the corner.

He turned his gaze to the bleeding man. "That would be me."

His voice was quiet, but it silenced the entire room. His lips were pressed into a thin, merciless line.

For a wild second, I was terrified they were going to brawl, right there, because of me.

But the man, who seconds ago had been a raging bull, suddenly transformed. His face went pale, and a sycophantic, terrified smile stretched his lips. He started bowing and scraping, his hands wringing together.

"A misunderstanding, Mr. Rhodes! A complete misunderstanding!" he stammered. "My apologies, sir!"

He looked like a grotesque, bobble-headed doll. It was pathetic. And terrifying.

That was the moment I understood. "Crown prince" wasn't just a nickname his friends used. It was his reality.

And it was the first time I saw his legendary temper up close. He completely ignored the man’s apologies. He simply nodded to the two security guards who had materialized at his side.

"Break his arm," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "The one he was about to touch her with."

After it was done, he sank into a chair, lit another cigarette, and rested the sole of his expensive shoe on the man’s chest, pinning him to the floor.

"Do me a favor," Leo said, exhaling a stream of smoke. "Try to keep the filth in your head from now on. Otherwise, I might just have to arrange a little procedure for you. To make sure your particular brand of stupidity doesn't get passed on to another generation."

5

A cold night wind whipped around the trailers.

I waited until I was sure they would have finished dinner, then pulled on a jacket and slipped out of the RV. The film set was blessedly quiet during the lull before the night shoot.

I walked down the familiar path toward the small diner I frequented, a comforting routine in a chaotic world. As I rounded a corner, I saw a silhouette standing in the narrow, moonlit alley.

At first, I thought it was a crew member returning from a break. But as I got closer, a jolt of recognition made me stop dead in my tracks.

Under the stark glow of the moon, dressed in all black, Leo Rhodes was almost one with the shadows.

A cigarette dangled from his lips. He looked up as I approached, his eyes meeting mine across the short distance. In the ethereal light, surrounded by a halo of smoke, his dark, painted-on eyes looked exactly as they had the first night we met.

The night he saved me. The night he ruined me.

6

The wind rustled through the trees, the only sound in the unnerving silence.

My body went rigid. My first instinct was to turn and run.

But his voice stopped me. "You're an actress on this film?"

I froze, my back still to him. I managed a small, tight sound. "Mmm-hmm."

"What role?"

"The third lead."

"Going to get dinner?"

"Yes."

"You know who I am?"

"Yes." The investor. The man who holds my career in the palm of his hand.

His rapid-fire questions made my palms sweat. I had no idea what he was doing, what game he was playing. Before I could process it, he asked another.

"Are you afraid of me?"

…

"No."

"Then why are you looking at the ground?"

"The… the wind is strong tonight."

A low chuckle, raspy from the smoke, rumbled in his chest. "You look like someone I used to know."

My heart leaped into my throat. "Is that so?" I forced a lightness I didn't feel. "What an honor. I guess I just have one of those faces."

"Maybe," he mused. "Happens all the time in your industry, right? People looking alike."

I had nothing to add, so I just nodded into the darkness. Silence fell again, thick and heavy. I watched him light another cigarette, the flare of the lighter briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face. He seemed to be holding something back, a dangerous energy simmering just beneath the surface. A chill ran down my spine.

I couldn’t understand the point of this conversation. I’d been in the entertainment business for three years. I looked different now, of course—more polished, more guarded. But I hadn’t changed that much. The dim light and his strange line of questioning left me utterly confused. Had he truly not recognized me? Or was I simply so insignificant to him now that I wasn't worth remembering?

Either way, it didn't matter. This kind of casual, heart-to-heart chat was not something we were capable of. Not anymore.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me. "Mr. Rhodes," I said, my voice muffled. "I have a night shoot soon. If you'll excuse me."

I stepped around him and started to walk away, my stride purposefully fast.

"Willa Hayes."

The sound of my full name, spoken in his voice, made my heart stop.

…

7

"Willa Hayes."

He said it again, tasting the syllables. "That’s your name, right? Maya mentioned it at dinner."

He paused, then added, as if it were an afterthought, "Same name as my ex-girlfriend."

"…"

For a moment, my usually quick mind went completely blank. "What a… what a coincidence," I stammered.

"Yeah, a real coincidence," he said, and in the darkness, I could almost see the ghost of a smile in his eyes. "Except she wasn't as beautiful as you, Miss Hayes. Or as talented."

"…"

The glint in his eyes, the subtle shift in his tone—it was like looking through a tear in time, seeing the boy he used to be. The boy I had loved.

I was raised by a single mom. Her life was a sad, unlucky story. A cheating, gambling, abusive husband when she was young. She finally got a divorce, raised me on her own, and then, just as I was getting to college, she was diagnosed with brain cancer.

So when people whispered that I was only with Leo for his money, I never denied it. Because it was true. I was desperate for money. And money was the one thing Leo Rhodes had in infinite supply.

We were from two different universes. My world was scholarships and part-time jobs. His was trust funds and reckless freedom. The only things I had going for me were my grades and a face that people called beautiful. Everything I fought tooth and nail for, he possessed without a second thought. Even in academics, he could glance at a textbook once and ace an exam that I’d pulled all-nighters to study for.

No one believed our absurd, mismatched love story would last.

"He's just playing with her," they'd say. "There's no way a Rhodes would ever get serious with a girl from her background."

Even I believed it. This was just a diversion for him, a way to kill time between parties and trips to Europe.

But Leo… when Leo gave you three ounces of affection, he made it feel like a pound.

I mentioned once, just in passing, that I missed the fall colors back home. Two days later, after flying for twenty hours straight from a business trip in London without any sleep, he showed up at my dorm, exhausted and rumpled, just to take me for a drive upstate.

When I was delirious with the flu, he, a man who had probably never made himself a piece of toast, stayed by my side, clumsily trying to take care of me, on the phone with his family’s doctor one minute and trying to make me soup the next.

He constantly made fun of my taste, calling it childish and boring. But he was always the one who showed up with a carefully chosen, ridiculously expensive gift that was exactly what I’d secretly wanted. He was the one who took me to the top of the Rockefeller Center, to the private observation deck, and attached a lock engraved with our names to the railing, right in the most prominent spot.

He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in his world. That he saw you, and only you.

With my complete lack of romantic experience, I fell. Hard. I even let myself start to believe that maybe, just maybe, I was different. Maybe I was special to him.

All of those illusions shattered the day a girl named Sloane appeared.

…

8

"Willa! Willa, snap out of it!"

"Huh?"

I blinked, yanked back to the present. Maya was tugging on my arm, and I realized it was my cue. The director was waiting.

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus, and dove into the scene with Maya.

During a break, her face suddenly scrunched up in annoyance. She muttered under her breath, gesturing toward the director's chairs, "Ugh, why is she here?"

I followed her gaze. Standing next to Leo, who was holding court like a king, was a woman smiling demurely.

Sloane.

Five years had passed, and she looked even more polished, more expensive. Standing next to Leo, they looked like a perfectly matched set. A power couple.

Even the crew members were sighing. "They look so good together."

I tuned back in to Maya’s bitter commentary.

"She's like his shadow. Everywhere Leo goes, she's right there. Why doesn't she just have a house built on his belt?"

"Look at her, smiling and smiling. Her mouth is going to crack from all that fake, innocent-little-princess crap."

I listened with a small smile, amused by the sheer force of her dislike for this woman.

Perhaps sensing her vitriol, or maybe just feeling our stares, the couple looked over in our direction.

Suddenly, my eyes met Leo's.

Remembering our tense conversation from the night before, the unspoken things hanging in the air, I quickly looked away. But my gaze landed directly on Sloane.

Her brow furrowed in displeasure. Her eyes raked over me, up and down, with an undisguised hostility that hadn't faded one bit in five years. It was the exact same look she’d given me the first time we met.

…

9

It was three months into my relationship with Leo. My mom’s condition was stable, for the time being. The money from my part-time jobs, combined with our meager savings, was just enough to get by.

As my boyfriend, the guy who could solve any problem with a checkbook, Leo handled it with a surprising amount of grace. He never just threw money at me, the way people assumed he would.

He respected me.

He had asked once, his voice gentle, "Do you need my help?"

I said no.

He nodded. "Okay. But when you do, you come to me." He wanted me to turn to him not because he was a bank, but because he was my boyfriend, the first person I should think of when I needed someone.

I remember he used to come with me to my waitressing job. I was stunned that he never complained about the grime or the long hours. He’d just slouch in a booth, looking bored, and then without a word, he'd take the heavy crate of beer bottles from my hands. "What can I say?" he'd mumble through a yawn, his voice raspy with fatigue. "You're my girlfriend, aren't you?"

The words were a complaint, but the tone was laced with an undeniable, baffling tenderness. I’d watch him, with his pouting lips and weary eyes, and think that maybe he wasn't the spoiled brat everyone made him out to be.

That illusion was shattered on a rainy night, when I was cleaning up the last table. Sloane appeared out of nowhere.

"So you're the new girlfriend."

Her eyes, full of a strange mix of confusion and disgust, scanned me from head to toe. "His taste really has gone downhill."

She didn't wait for me to respond. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Leo's fiancée."

She let that hang in the air. "Yes, one of those old-fashioned family arrangements you see in the movies. A merger of dynasties. There's no love between us, but let me be honest with you. Even if it weren't me, it would never be you. Your… situation? Their family would never allow it. You're not from the same world."

She smiled, a sharp, cruel thing. "Do you know why he isn't here with you tonight?" She pulled out her phone and held it out to me. "Because he's out street racing. You know what that is? Driving a car that costs more than your mother's life."

I looked down at the screen. Leo's defiant, handsome face filled the frame. The boy in the video was a stranger. Wild, reckless, and drenched in the kind of casual wealth I couldn't even comprehend. It was exactly as Sloane had said: a world I could never touch.

"Is he being patient with you right now? Gentle?" she cooed. "Don't be a fool. You think you're special to him? Everyone in our circle knows. He's like that with everyone."

Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard, making my skin crawl.

But I still went to him. I had to ask.

When I asked him about Sloane, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. After a long moment, he told me she was just some obsessed girl who was in love with him, that she wasn't mentally stable, and that I shouldn't believe a word she said.

At the time, I chose to believe him.

10

Then my mother passed away.

I was lost in a fog of grief for over a month. I barely saw Leo.

When I finally picked up my phone, it was flooded with messages from him. A one-sided conversation of his growing worry.

Sweetheart, are you feeling any better today?

I miss you.

I’m at a bar with some friends. If you see this, can you come get me?

I sighed, a hollow ache in my chest. I took the cash I had scraped together from working nonstop since the funeral and went to the address he’d sent.

I found the private room, but I stopped outside the door. I could hear their voices, loud and boisterous.

"Rhodes, it's only been a few days since your girl stopped calling. You look like hell. Don't tell me you've actually fallen for her."

"That Willa girl is gorgeous, no doubt," another voice chimed in. "But you're about to be engaged to Sloane. Don't you dare bring that one home. Your old man would skin you alive."

Then I heard Leo's voice, low and raspy. "We’re just having fun. Don't make it serious."

Laughter. Then another question. "She's so broke. You're just throwing money down the drain lending it to her. You think she's ever gonna pay you back?"

Leo's reply was impatient. "I never expected her to."

His words, so clear, so casual, pierced through me, one after another. My hand, clutching the wad of cash in my pocket, tightened until my knuckles were white.

I knew Sloane had been trying to manipulate me. But I couldn't deny the truth in what she'd said. The gap between Leo and me wasn't just about family background. It was about worlds.

So I borrowed money from everyone I knew, scraped together every last cent, and paid him back.

And to salvage the last shred of my pride, I lied. I told him I'd fallen for someone else. I told him I didn't want him anymore.

His face contorted with rage. He demanded to know who it was, swore he would kill him. I couldn't tell him a name because there wasn't one.

I never expected what happened next. Leo Rhodes, the proudest man I had ever met, grabbed my hand in front of all his friends, the edges of his eyes red with unshed tears, and begged me not to go.

"Willa, please. Please don't like someone else."

His voice was a broken whisper. "Please don't leave me."

But I was cold. I pulled my hand away. "I have to."

The hurt in his eyes hardened into something dangerous. He spat the words at me, the final blow. "Fine. Go. But if you walk out that door, don't you dare regret it."

And so I left.

And I never looked back.

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