Goodbye, Mr. Regret

Lately, Jessica could drive a saint to their breaking point.

The wolf was already at the door, and she still acted like she had no idea how to keep her own child safe-spending every waking minute stirring up trouble for Timothy.

As soon as Sallie left, the room's atmosphere thickened with tension.

Timothy struggled to sit up, propping himself with a pillow behind his back. One arm hooked up to a blood transfusion, the other to an IV drip-every movement slow and deliberate, pain written in every line of his body.

Jessica stood by, arms folded, watching with a frosty detachment.

Once upon a time, she would have been a mess of worry, hovering over him, fussing and fretting, barely able to breathe for all the heartache.

Now, Timothy-pale in his hospital gown but still exuding that unmistakable air of privilege―gestured to the empty spot beside him on the bed. His voice was low, rough, yet gentle. "Come here."

Jessica didn't move. She stayed rooted to the floor, her beautiful face set in cold determination. She raised her hand. "Where's my money?"

Timothy lifted his gaze, his sharp eyes lingering on her. "I'm your man. You show up at the hospital and don't spare a word for how I'm doing, just come for your money?"

of people

was her

all this drama these past few days-you've just been

wish," she

with your whole heart spends his days thinking of someone else-writing her name over and over on paper. What

the jealousy

him a chance, wanted to lay everything bare between them. But he hadn't even waited for her

here," Timothy said again, his voice firmer, more like a command this time. Jessica didn't budge. She repeated her sign:

get your money," he replied, his tone carrying a

the empty

temper. If she didn't play

sat down at

deepened. He spoke softly. "By the way, I

a simple, ankle-length linen dress the color of oatmeal, a pale lavender cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her long, dark hair was loosely braided