Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 214

In short, Mr. Smith looked utterly unconvinced.

“She is, in fact, my wife.”

Timothy repeated the words, his gaze steady and earnest.

Mr. Smith had known Timothy for a decade. He was well aware that Timothy wasn’t the type to joke about such things.

So, despite his surprise, he had no choice but to believe that the beautiful young woman really was Timothy’s wife.

“Tim, you’re a lucky man to have such a beautiful wife. Congratulations.”

A faint smile tugged at Timothy’s lips.

Before anyone could say more, their attention was drawn by a commotion from Larkin’s group.

“It’s wrapped up so tightly—it almost looks like a painting.”

“It has to be a masterpiece, surely.”

“I think so too. After all, it’s a gift for Larkin—no one would show up with something ordinary.”

Sallie rolled her eyes. Jessica, bring a masterpiece? As if.

Sheila looked confused. Jessica had come all this way to Larkin’s birthday party, making such a show of her gift. Surely Timothy must have prepared it for her.

A pang of disappointment tugged at Sheila’s heart.

Kane let out a cold snort. “If you’re going to bring a gift, just bring it—no need for all this mystery. Let’s hope it’s actually impressive, or this will be embarrassing.”

Yates watched on, clearly intrigued.

“Even if it is handmade, so what? All flash and no substance. Anyone can see it’s not the work of a true master—the paper’s so new, it definitely isn’t an antique. All this fuss for something so ordinary?”

“Honestly, it’s not even as impressive as Miss Howard’s jade pipe.”

Though some were shocked by how lifelike the piece looked—its 3D effect so real it seemed to leap from the frame—these people were no strangers to fine art. Among the upper crust, only pieces by master artists or genuine antiques were considered truly valuable. Anything else, no matter how beautiful, had no place in their homes.

Sallie’s face grew even darker; she felt Jessica was making the Lawson family look ridiculous.

Sheila, for her part, knew Jessica was talented with paper-cutting—exceptionally so. But what did that matter? Jessica wasn’t a renowned artist; even a beautiful piece would draw ridicule if it didn’t have a famous signature.

It was just a flashy stunt—nothing more, and soon everyone would see it.

Larkin, however, was undeterred. He kept adjusting his glasses, examining the work from every angle.

Just then, an elderly man stepped forward. “You people have no idea what you’re looking at. This is bas-relief paper-cutting, a long-lost art form. Very few people alive could create something like this.”