Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 132

Or maybe, after all these years of living as a wealthy socialite, she'd simply grown too used to a life of comfort and privilege—too unwilling to go back to working hard.

That had to be it.

All that talk about divorce, about being able to support herself, about making delicate paper cuttings and drinking cheap bottled water—it was all just a show for his benefit, a ploy to get his attention.

No wonder, this time, she'd left Henry sick at home, and came alone to Capital City without asking his permission.

That comic-style painting of *The Grand Canal, Venice*—she'd seen it in their house before. She must have kept quiet about it, saving it for this very moment.

If Ines was her mentor, how could Jessica not be following Ines's recent exhibitions?

He realized, with a jolt, that he'd never truly understood his silent little wife.

So calculating. So composed.

For seven years, everything between them had been quiet and uneventful. He'd thought she was content being his dutiful, behind-the-scenes wife.

All because he hadn't taken her to that school event for parents and children.

That's when it started.

And it hadn't stopped since.

Now, it was clear—she was no longer satisfied with being his secret wife.

All these actions, every last one, were meant to force him to acknowledge her openly.

Timothy stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

His presence chilled the air, as if a thin frost had suddenly settled over the room.

"Tell me the truth," he demanded, voice cold. "Do you really not want to work?"

"No. No. No!" Jessica signed it out three times, emphatic and unyielding.

Seven years. She couldn't bear it any longer.

She refused to throw herself, warm and vulnerable, against the cold, unyielding wall that was Timothy Lawson.

Timothy let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Fine. If you don't want a job, then you'll be Mrs. Lawson—show up, smile, follow my lead. And while you're at it, tell Ines you'll never be working. Oh, and do her a favor—recommend Sheila as her next student."

What exactly had he done wrong?

For her, he'd spent nearly twenty million on a one-of-a-kind brooch.

Timothy seized Jessica's wrist and pulled her into the living room. He snatched the swan brooch from the coffee table and waved it in front of her.

"Do you have any idea how much I spent on this gift for you?"

Jessica let out a bitter laugh.

He really was a master of pretense.

If she hadn't already seen Sheila wearing that very same brooch, she might have believed him—she might have been genuinely moved.

She'd always thought that Timothy was above such games, that deception was beneath him.

For seven years, she'd studied his preferences—she knew what foods he liked, what he avoided, his sizes, his favorite brands.

She'd learned so much about him. She'd thought that meant she understood him.