Goodbye, Mr. Regret

Timothy's gaze was dark and unreadable as he stared at her.

A heartbeat later, he grabbed her hand and led her firmly down the hallway.

They rode the elevator in silence, straight to the top floor.

Jessica let herself be pulled along, passive, until they entered the penthouse suite.

Once inside, Timothy pressed her gently down onto the sofa. He crouched in front of her, eyes intense. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

His voice was low and a little rough around the edges.

Jessica looked down at him—a man in a perfectly tailored suit, always so composed and charismatic, effortlessly charming. Once, she'd found that impossible to resist.

Now, she had no desire left to love him.

She raised her hand, voice flat. "Didn't feel like it."

An unmistakable shadow of annoyance flickered in Timothy's dark eyes.

"You never used to act like this."

danced dismissively through the air. "Like you said, that was

really set on this

baritone had a

a scene," she answered quietly, her gaze

stood abruptly, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He paced the luxurious carpet, then crouched again in front of

us," he said, jaw tight. "Seven years of marriage—we've always been like this,

jacket, Timothy pulled out a velvet box, flipped it open, and held it out to

and my flight was delayed.

wife-gracious, considerate. Surely, she wouldn't hold a petty

for you. That's on

sincere. His voice

Jessica just gave him

for Sheila-twenty-three of them in total. Today, Sheila wore one; the rest, no doubt,

Jessica one of those castoffs,

over.

Was this what she was worth to him? Only what was left over after