Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 167

They arrived at the Red House.

Kane and Yates had claimed the best booth in the place—prime seats with a perfect view of the action.

They hadn't bothered to reserve a private room, which didn't surprise Timothy in the least; that was just typical Kane.

Red House was one of Riverside City's most well-known clubs. At night, the main hall came alive with a spectacle of pole dancers—new faces rotated in every week, each one more stunning and alluring than the last. The show had earned a reputation, drawing crowds from across the city and beyond.

As soon as Kane spotted Sheila, he sprang up, arms wide, swept her off her feet, and spun her around several times. Sheila shrieked, startled, clutching at his shoulders. "Kane, put me down! Right now!"

Yates, meanwhile, lounged in his seat, having just lit a cigarette. When Timothy walked over, Yates wordlessly offered him one. Timothy sat, and Yates flicked his lighter, holding the flame steady until Timothy's cigarette caught.

Kane finally set Sheila down, laughing. "Come on, don't be such a spoilsport! I haven't seen you in ages—just one hug! Timothy doesn't mind, does he? Or are you worried he'll get jealous?"

Sheila shot him a stern look. "Timothy's married now. Watch what you say."

Kane grinned, unruffled, and steered Sheila to the sofa, insisting she sit beside him. He leaned in close, eager to catch up, as if he had a lifetime of stories to share.

"How am I out of line? Don't think I've been out of town and missed all the gossip. I saw it in the news—Timothy bought Flameheart and gave it to you, didn't he?"

"Enough! Not another word." Sheila snatched a glass of wine and shoved it into Kane's hands. "Here, drink this. Maybe it'll keep your mouth busy."

Kane, always the talker and thrilled to see Sheila after so long, pulled her into an animated conversation.

Timothy took a slow drag from his cigarette, his features thrown into sharp relief by the shifting, colored lights overhead. The dim, moody glow flickered across his face, making him look all the more handsome and enigmatic.

He raised his glass and clinked it against Yates'. After taking a sip, Timothy asked quietly, "So, what do you need me for?"

Yates lifted his glass and they toasted again.

"Come on, don't sell yourself short. Other people might not know what you can do, but I do," Yates said, his voice low and confident. "With your contacts and information network, you've got a better shot than anyone. Just do what you can. If you actually pull it off, with the way my dad and Mr. Zimmerman are, I probably won't even get a say in whether or not I marry her."

Timothy chuckled. "You're overthinking it. Let's see… if she's been missing for twenty years, she'd be, what, twenty-six by now? At that age, she could already be married."

Yates shrugged, half-grinning. "That'd be a relief. Maybe it'd finally get my dad off my back."

Timothy's glass was empty. He set it down, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another drink—then paused, catching sight of a familiar figure walking through the door, trailed by a man who bowed and scraped with every step.

Timothy's eyes, usually calm and deep, suddenly grew dark and unreadable.