Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 156

"I thought you already knew she was my wife."

Timothy's lips curled into something between a smile and a sneer, his gentle tone laced with a threat that sent a chill through the air.

Herbert was left speechless, words caught in his throat.

Timothy didn't stop there. "A woman of mine—even if I'm done with her—someone like you could never have her."

Jessica mustered all her strength, raised her hand, and slapped Timothy across the face.

The sharp crack echoed in the room.

Timothy rolled his tongue against his cheek, eyes glinting. "You've got some nerve. Hitting me in front of your lover, is that it?"

He finally tore his gaze from Herbert and stared down at Jessica in his arms.

But Jessica had already fainted.

Timothy's arms jerked in surprise. "Jess!"

Herbert rushed forward, but Timothy shoved him aside and scooped Jessica up, cradling her effortlessly in his arms.

His eyes, cold as steel, cut into Herbert. "My wife isn't someone you can covet, Mr. Herbert. Do yourself a favor and stay away."

With Jessica in his arms, Timothy strode away.

Herbert took a few steps after them, but stopped. As long as Jessica was still married to Timothy, he had no right to intervene.

All he could do was watch as Timothy carried Jessica to his car.

Herbert pressed his lips together, fists clenched.

Seven years ago, if he hadn't buried himself in the lab and cut off contact with the world, would things have turned out differently for him and Jessica?

She and Timothy belonged to two completely different worlds. How had she ever ended up marrying him?

Timothy's car pulled up in front of the hospital. He stepped out, sliding his arm around Jessica's waist, just as she suddenly opened her eyes.

She realized they were in the hospital parking lot.

Timothy hesitated, but moved to carry her out anyway.

Jessica quickly signed, "I'm fine. I don't need to go to the hospital."

"We're already here. Sick or not, we'll find out soon enough."

He took her silence as confirmation.

Letting go of her waist, Timothy leaned against the car door. "So, the reason you pretended to be sick was so I wouldn't stop you from taking Sheila to the hospital?"

Most of his anger seemed to have faded.

Jessica almost admired his logic. She raised her hands, signing, "You know exactly what you did."

Timothy's expression remained impassive. "Maybe you should take a good look at yourself—do you even know what you're doing?"

Last night, they'd agreed on everything. By morning, she'd changed her mind, just like that.

People said he had money, power, and guts. If he wanted his true love, why didn't he just go after her, instead of forcing Jessica into this?

All that nonsense about being a shield, a tool—he didn't understand a word.

It drove him crazy.

Timothy fished a pack of cigarettes from his suit pocket, lit one, and waited for Jessica's answer, patience hanging by a thread.

Jessica watched him through the haze of smoke—sometimes his face was sharp and clear, sometimes blurred by the swirling gray—but whether clear or obscured, he was impossibly handsome, untouchable.