Goodbye, Mr. Regret

Ever since Sheila came into the picture, Jessica realized she never truly knew Timothy at all.

All this time, she'd only scratched the surface.

They were married-legally, on paper.

But that marriage certificate, that supposed shield for her rights, was nothing more than a scrap of paper. Worse, it had become a shackle, keeping her from walking away.

He never saw her as a wife.

Yet she'd deluded herself, sinking into this marriage for seven long years, moved only by her own wishful thinking.

Timothy's voice was sharp with anger. "Eighteen million, four hundred thousand! Even a fraction of that would take most people a decade to earn, Jessica. What are you even complaining about? Isn't this life good enough for you? Hm?"

Jessica's throat tightened until she could barely breathe.

She had nothing left to say; honestly, she was never good with words anyway.

She turned to leave.

Suddenly, Timothy's arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his touch tracing the curve of her hips. His voice softened, coaxing, "Alright, I don't want to fight. Isn't all this drama just because you want a little more attention from me?"

He rested his chin in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent, his tone husky. "Fine. I'll give you what you want. I'll come home more often, keep you company. Be good, alright? No more drama."

He didn't want to argue. Arguing with her was pointless-she never fought back with words, and he'd always end up furious, alone. It was getting old.

His hands slid up from her waist, unclasped a brooch, and pinned it to her coat, then gently turned her to face him. One hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her cheekbone.

"It suits you," he murmured.

Jessica was at a loss for words.

She reached up to remove the brooch, but before she could, Timothy caught her around the waist and, with a quick motion, lifted her off her feet.

Afraid he'd drop her, she didn't dare struggle.

He carried her into the bedroom.

Timothy had booked the presidential suite; the bedroom alone was over two thousand square feet, outfitted with every luxury imaginable.

He sat down on the sofa, still holding Jessica tightly, cradling her in his arms like a child.

His piercing blue eyes held her captive. "I remember you wanted to talk with me— never did, though. I've got time now. Let's talk."

He wanted to clear the air, figure out what, exactly, he'd done to deserve all this drama that had left him at his wit's end.

Jessica no longer wanted to talk.

What was the point?

She'd assumed it was just her imagination, some misunderstanding.

But in the blink of an eye, he'd flown off with Sheila for a business trip-Henry,

their own son, in on the secret, hiding it from her.

Her legal husband's heart was with Sheila.

Her own son resented her muteness, wanted Sheila to be his mom, and even told the nurse Jessica was just the housekeeper.

What hope did she have for either of them?noveldrama

All she wanted was a divorce. To get away, and spend her last six months on her own terms.

Her face set in stubborn lines, Jessica signed furiously, her hands moving in agitation. "There's nothing to talk about."

Suddenly, Timothy's large hand squeezed her waist, making her stiffen, her body trembling despite herself.

She pounded her fists weakly against his chest.

They barely made a sound.

Timothy arched an eyebrow, a wicked smile on his lips. He caught her hand mid- swing, his voice low and rough. "Trying to seduce me?"

He was impossible.

She was angry. Couldn't he see that?

Lately, it was as if he was going through some kind of midlife crisis. The man was shameless.

He pressed her hand to his chest, his gaze dark and unreadable. Lowering his head, he rested his chin on her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin.

His lips brushed her ear, his voice a secret meant only for her...