Drowning Him In Regret novel Chapter 7

Chapter 7 Thick–Skinned Bastard

Jude treated his phone like it was the Holy Grail–nobody got near it without a fight.

So how the hell had it happened twice now? First the cops, then me, and both times, it was Vivian’s smug voice purring through the line.

“If you’ve got nothing worth my time, I’m out. We’re slammed,” she said, leaning hard into the “we” like she was shoving it in my face that she and Jude were glued at the hip.

“Tell him to hit me back when he’s done washing up,” I said, my voice cracking, pain twisting through me like a knife.

That little shake in my words? It was like I’d handed her a fucking trophy. Her tone turned so bubbly it made my skin crawl.

“Oh, sweetheart, after his shower, he’s got way better plans than dealing with you,” she fired back, dripping with venom. “Got something to say? Lay it on me. It’s all the same.”

My lips twitched into a bitter smirk. God, she thought she was running the show. But I was too worn out to sling mud with her–not today, not like this.

“Vivian,” I said, keeping my voice cold and steady, “those fancy little getaways to Sorene City? All paid for with our money–Jude’s and mine.

“Those lovey–dovey pics of you two? That’s cheating, plain as day. If I haul your ass to court, you think you’re skating without paying me back?”

I’d hit a raw nerve, and she lost it. Her voice screeched high enough to shatter glass.” Ada, you better watch your damn mouth! You think Jude gives a shit about you anymore? Dried–up, pathetic old cow–wake the fuck up!”

“All you ever talk about is money, you grasping bitch. Selfish doesn’t even cover it. Jude wishes he’d never laid eyes on you,” she spat. “What, you want cash? Keep dreaming.

“You could waste away, starve, or drop dead, and he wouldn’t spare you a second glance.”

Beep-

The call cut off. I stared at the phone, the screen gone dark, and let out a breath so heavy it felt like it’d been locked in my chest forever.

What was even the point of fighting to stay alive? If I cared–really cared–wouldn’t I have begged? Clung to the phone, pleading for a piece of him? Instead, I was just… empty, staring into the void and wondering when I’d stopped giving a damn.

Just then, a voice shouted out,“Ada? Ada!”

The curtain between the hospital beds got ripped open, and there was Casey Olsen, eyes wide like she’d stumbled into a nightmare.

1/4

Chapter 7 Thick–Skinned Bastard

She cried out,“What the hell are you doing here? Did you–holy shit, did you have surgery? What’s happening?”

“Is it back?” she demanded, voice breaking. “They swore it wouldn’t come back after

the last one!”

She threw questions at me like punches, and I had nothing to throw back–just sat there, tongue–tied and hollow.

When she finally ran out of steam, I managed to rasp, “Why’re you here?”

She nodded toward the next bed, where an old woman lay, brittle as a dried leaf. “That is my grandma. Flew in, came straight here.”

Her eyes flicked back to me, soft for a second before turning fierce. “But you–what the hell’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Where’s Jude?”

Then it clicked for her, and her face twisted with disgust. “Hold up. Was that his fucking mistress on the phone? He’s that much of a scumbag now?”

The room went dead quiet, save for the faint beep of the monitor tracking my sorry heartbeat. I knew well the call wasn’t private–hospital rooms are about as soundproof as tissue paper.

But what was I gonna do? My body was a prison, chaining me to this bed, too weak to dodge the mess my life had become.

Casey’s jaw tightened when I didn’t answer, her anger flaring hot. “Why the hell didn’t you call me? You can’t handle this shit by yourself!”

I reached for her hand, my fingers trembling like they might break apart. When I grabbed hold, the tears came, raw and relentless, flooding my eyes as I clung to her.

Casey was my college roommate, my rock, the kind of friend who’d wade through hell with me and crack a joke on the way out.

When the doc hit me with the news that my cancer was back, my gut screamed to call her. It was like a reflex, this desperate pull to hear her voice, but I clamped it down

hard.

She was off in some far–flung country, pouring her soul into a major international competition. Inside, it felt like I was splitting in two–aching for her to be there, yet sick at the thought of dragging her into my shitstorm.

I tried to play it cool, flashing a smile I hoped didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “Surgery’s in the bag. I’m fine, right?”

She saw right through me, pinching my cheek with a smirk. “Goddamn, you look like death warmed over. Don’t force a smile if you ain’t feeling it.”

“Where the hell’s Jude?” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “What kind of lowlife bails on his wife’s surgery?”

“If that bastard hadn’t fucked you over, you wouldn’t be in this mess,” she kept on, her

2/4

Chapter 7 Thick Skinned Bastard

words clawing at wounds I’d tried to bury. “And now he’s just… what? Off living like he’s got no cares in the world?”

I’d heard this tirade a million times. I yanked at her sleeve to shut her up. “You’re here now, so do me a favor, yeah?”

My hands moved on autopilot–pulling off my earrings, slipping the ring off my finger. Each motion felt like shedding skin.

I nodded at the purse in the corner. “Grab some random bag and dump everything from that purse into it. Then sell it all. Purse, ring, earrings. The works.”

“That bag set me back 25 grand,” I said, my voice flat, like I was reading a grocery list. Find someone who’s not gonna screw me over. The ring and earrings? Probably worth dick–all.”

My fingers grazed the pendant at my neck, and I froze. I couldn’t do it–couldn’t tear it off.

Jude might be a heartless prick now, but back then? He was my sun, the one thing that made the world feel right. That memory was a ghost I couldn’t shake, wrapping around my heart even as I tried to smother it.

But one thing was non–negotiable: I needed cash. A shit–ton of it. And I’d rather sell my soul than crawl to Jude for scraps. This was on me to fix.

The surgery went off without a hitch, but the real kicker was coming–chemo, injections, bills that’d make my head spin.

I’d already done the math: if divorce was on the table, the jewelry at home was mine to take. Legally untouchable. If it came to it, I’d smash that glass display case to splinters.

Let Jude call the cops if he wanted to play hardball. I’d checked–family drama like that wouldn’t get me locked up.

Casey’s face was all worry, her brow knotted tight. She tried to shove the ring back into my hand. “I’ve got money. Take it. You need it.”