Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 337

Yates kept berating Vince, oblivious to the fact that someday, the tables would turn.

Vince drained his glass in one gulp.

He couldn’t ignore the way Yates spat out his name—he felt it, sharp as a slap.

When he heard the crash, his heart lurched in panic.

Two years ago, he’d orchestrated that mess on purpose. Yet Timothy hadn’t really blamed him. He’d even shelved the project entirely. Vince had known full well that if he stayed out of it, Timothy would soon revolutionize the entire future of renewable energy.

It was thanks to his own efforts—or rather, the bond between them—that he’d managed to stall things, buying the industry two precious years to catch its breath.

Of course, the real reason was that Timothy hadn’t been out for blood.

Vince understood all of this better than anyone.

“So what now? Feeling guilty? Regretting it? What good does that do? Once you set your heart loose, can you really take it back?”

Yates, for his part, wasn’t all that worried about Timothy. After hearing Vince’s account, he figured Timothy would probably wake up in less than forty-eight hours. The guy was in great shape, drove well, and could think on his feet better than anyone Yates knew.

In a situation that dangerous, Timothy would have managed to dodge the worst of it.

Vince hadn’t mentioned the part where he stabbed Timothy—but then, Timothy hadn’t held it against him either.

And honestly, Vince didn’t regret it.

Given how things were at the time, he hadn’t had much of a choice.

Yates drank with Vince all night, but no amount of whiskey brought them closer to a solution.

Around eleven, Vince’s phone rang—Sallie. Timothy was awake.

The two of them rushed to the hospital.

Apparently, the first thing Timothy did after regaining consciousness—bruised and battered as he was—was demand to see Vince.

When Vince and Yates reached the hospital room, Yates took in the scene: Timothy’s head was bandaged, his right leg in a cast, handsome face marred with cuts and bruises. Yates frowned; the injuries looked bad.

Timothy narrowed his eyes, cold and unreadable, his voice slicing through the room like a blade: “However you managed to send her away, you’d better bring her back the same way. Or else…”