Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 439

He couldn’t afford to back himself into a corner.

So he stepped aside and let her pass.

Jessica swept into the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood. With a sharp bang, she slammed the door shut behind her.

A wave of helplessness washed over Timothy.

He remembered how easily she’d agreed to marry him all those years ago. Back then, winning her hand had been effortless. She’d always been so quiet, so undemanding—until she lost her temper. When she did, coaxing her back was nearly impossible.

Ever since she started this latest argument, he hadn’t managed to comfort her, not even once.

The only time she’d softened was on her birthday, and even then, it lasted just a couple of days before she stormed out again.

Frustrated and restless, Timothy left The Gilded Whisper Estates and got into his car. He pulled out his phone and called Yates Bryant.

“Want to get a drink?” Yates chuckled. “Are you out of your mind? It’s not dinner, it’s not even evening—it’s the middle of the afternoon. Shouldn’t we be having tea, not whiskey?”

“I need a drink,” Timothy replied.

“Well, I don’t,” Yates said flatly. “Not in the mood.”

“I’m in a lousy mood. Can’t you keep me company, just this once?”

Something in Timothy’s voice made it clear he was at a low point.

Yates sighed. “Fine, fine. Since you’re about to get dumped, I’ll do you a favor and join you.”

“Anywhere you want. My treat.”

“How about The Velvet Ivy? I’m nearby.”

Timothy instructed his driver to head to The Velvet Ivy. The place was across town, so it took nearly half an hour to get there. As they neared the entrance, Timothy sent Yates a quick text.

Yates replied that he was already waiting in a private lounge.

When the car pulled up outside The Velvet Ivy, Timothy stepped out—and immediately spotted the Bentley Jessica had been chasing earlier that day.

So the owner was here, too?

He pulled out his phone and called his assistant, Allen.

“I need you to check a license plate for me,” Timothy said, rattling off the numbers.

At the same time, Jessica was messaging Vince, asking him to look into the same car.

Glancing at the Bentley once more, Timothy ended the call and finally headed inside.

He leaned heavily on his cane as he entered the private suite. Yates glanced up from his seat. “How’s the leg? Any better?”

“It’s been twenty days since the surgery. Shouldn’t be much longer now.”

Thankfully, the injury hadn’t been as bad as it could have been. Four to eight weeks on crutches, the doctor said, but he could hardly wait to walk on his own again.

Yates poured them each a drink. “So, what’s got you in such a foul mood?”

“My wife’s finally talking,” Timothy said with a wry smile. “She’s got a sharp tongue, and honestly, I can’t win an argument with her.”

It wasn’t just that—she actually had a point, and he knew it.

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