Goodbye, Mr. Regret

The memory of Timothy tying her wrists, of how he'd forced himself on her, made Vince's heart clench with a violent ache. He strode out of his office, barely able to breathe.

Marquis hurried after him, matching his pace as they rushed to Jessica's small apartment.

The front door wasn't locked. They pushed it open and hurried inside.

The bedroom door stood ajar. Vince almost burst through it.

The sight that greeted him nearly shattered him.

There was a heavy, unmistakable scent in the air. He was a man-he knew exactly what it meant.

Timothy's clothes were scattered across the floor. The bed sheets were tangled and torn.

Timothy lay on the bed, shirtless, his dress pants hanging loosely off his hips. Even now, he slept as if nothing had happened.

Marquis immediately turned away, retreating from the room, unable to look any longer.

Vince's hands shook as he unfastened his suit jacket and slipped it off. Step by heavy step, he crossed the room to Jessica. With trembling gentleness, he wrapped his jacket around her, shielding her torn nightgown and broken dignity. Bruises—harsh, purple fingerprints-marked both sides of Jessica's jaw. At the corner of her mouth, something white and dried clung to her skin. Her exposed flesh was covered in a chaotic patchwork of bites, kisses, and handprints.

Vince knew Timothy well. He couldn't imagine Timothy doing something like this to Jessica—not in his worst nightmares.

the moment she saw Vince, tears spilled silently down her

reached out, wanting

feet, a paring knife

knife without a second thought, striding to the bed, rage blinding

blade

eyes flying open in pain and confusion. He swung instinctively, his fist stopping

yanking the knife out. Blood

raised the knife to

him back. Jessica's

The knife clattered to the

turned, and saw Jessica's

there would be

aching temples, his mind thick with pain. Fragments of the previous night flickered through his memory like a

lurched upright, his

her shredded clothes and skin, covered in those ugly, overlapping marks. Her face her lips-her hair, always

hands curled into trembling fists. Guilt strangled his

closed around her name. Any excuse

now.