Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 178

Jessica stared at the blood pouring from Timothy's wound, her eyes reflecting the vivid scarlet, as if the color had seeped into her soul.

More than once, she nearly reached into her purse for a handkerchief, wanting to press it against his bleeding neck.

But she forced herself to stay back.

Eleven years of love—how could anyone expect a heart to reset in a matter of hours? Even a car racing at full speed can't stop on a dime; it has to surge forward a few more yards before coming to rest.

Her fingers trembling, Jessica fumbled for her phone, but lost her grip. It hit the hardwood floor with a sharp crack.

"Timothy? Jessica? What on earth is going on in here?" Sheila's voice cut through the silence as she burst into the bedroom. Her eyes widened at the sight of Timothy's blood-soaked collar and the crimson trail snaking down his neck. In a panic, she rushed forward, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and pressing it firmly to his wound.

Sheila's voice shook, on the verge of tears. "Timothy, what happened? Come on, I'm taking you to the hospital."

Timothy's gaze, cold and unfathomable, lingered on Jessica for a long moment. "Don't go wandering off," he said quietly. "I'll be back after they patch me up."

With that, he followed Sheila out.

He could feel the blood running down his neck, warm and insistent. There was no time to waste—he needed a doctor.

Jessica bent to retrieve her phone. A thin crack had splintered across the screen.

Timothy and Sheila had barely reached the driveway when headlights flashed in front of them—another car pulled up, blocking their exit.

Sheila leaned on the horn, exasperated. Just then, Vince stepped out from his car, carrying a small case. He crossed the driveway and tapped on Timothy's window.

Timothy rolled the window down.

Vince's eyes narrowed at the sight of blood. "You're hurt?"

"Yeah."

"Then you'd better get to the ER. I'm just here to see Jessica—it won't take a second."

He turned, intending to move his car, but Timothy stopped him. "Wait."

Timothy set the case on his lap and opened it with one hand.

Inside, bundles of cash—easily two, maybe three million.

He clenched his jaw, fists tightening around the case.

Through the rearview mirror, Sheila caught a glimpse of the money, her frown deepening. "What on earth did Jessica sell to Vince for that kind of money?"

Timothy shut the case, his face turning even paler, eyes darkening with anger. He didn't answer.

By the time they reached the hospital, Timothy's strength gave out. He lost consciousness as soon as the car stopped.

Sheila shouted for help. Paramedics rushed out, pulled Timothy onto a stretcher, and wheeled him inside.

She spared a quick glance at the case left on the passenger seat, then hurried after them into the hospital's bright, sterile corridors.