Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 449

Did someone just send her a Christmas Eve gift?

Herbert.

It had to be him. Again.

Timothy grabbed his phone and called Secretary Allen.

“Go buy 999 gift-wrapped apples and have them delivered to The Gilded Whisper Estates. And arrange for a Christmas tree.”

He hung up before Allen could respond.

Timothy picked up the apple sitting on the vanity, meaning to toss it into the trash—but after a moment’s hesitation, he set it back down. The last time he’d pretended to throw away that necklace Herbert gave her, she’d been furious. Why was he getting so worked up over an apple anyway?

Was she out to dinner with Herbert again tonight?

Agitated, Timothy pulled out his phone and dialed Jessica.

Meanwhile, Jessica had already bought the gold-plated cutlery and bowls. Carlisle and his crew—five key members in all—were present to witness her officially naming Daisy as her goddaughter.

Just as her phone buzzed with Timothy’s call, Jessica glanced at the screen and muted it, choosing not to answer.

Vince beamed at her. “Hey, why don’t I take a photo of you and Daisy to commemorate the occasion?”

“Great idea,” Jessica replied.

Vince snapped several pictures, then helped Jessica get a few group shots with Carlisle and the others.

Earlier, on her way over, Jessica had noticed apple vendors lining the street. She’d bought a bunch, and now everyone was holding one, grinning for the camera as they posed for the photo.

At that very moment, the new movie’s trailer dropped across every social media platform. Vince had picked this date for a reason; now, movie teasers were flooding the internet, and there was even a promotion—on Christmas Day, theaters in every city would be giving away themed merchandise.

Catching wind of the campaign, Vince switched on the big screen in their private room. The film channel was running their trailer during primetime.

He changed the channel just in time to catch the start: the screen exploded in a wash of deep-blue waves, only to fade quickly to black. Over the sound of surging tides, words appeared, each letter tapping out with the rhythm of a typewriter:

“When the umbilical cord becomes a message in a bottle, can you hear the silent cry?”

A deaf boy lay sprawled on a beach as waves crashed over him. The umbilical cord snaked from his abdomen, twisting into a fragile glass bottle. Somewhere, a mother’s agonized cries in the throes of childbirth seemed to threaten the fragile vessel with shattering.

The scene shifted: a ship, moments before disaster. A pregnant woman in labor, her screams splitting the night as a storm raged outside. Just as the child was about to be born, a monstrous wave hurled the helpless ship against the rocks.

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