Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 462

Timothy didn’t move a muscle. He wasn’t worried at all.

He knew Jessica too well—she could never go through with it. She was just too kind.

“One week,” he said softly. “In a week, I’ll take you home. After all these years of marriage, we’ve never taken a trip together.”

The next second, Jessica pulled the knife away from his neck.

He thought she was backing down.

But then, without warning, Jessica drove the blade straight into his abdomen.

Blood gushed out, soaking Timothy’s shirt in seconds.

He stared at her, shocked and speechless.

Jessica hadn’t cut his throat—she was afraid she might hit an artery by mistake.

On this island, their house was the only one for miles. If Timothy got hurt, he’d have no choice but to leave the island for treatment.

And that meant she could finally get away.

Her face was set with fierce determination.

He’d pushed her too far. Now, nothing was off the table.

Compared to the pain he’d caused her, this stab was nothing.

Still gripping the paring knife, Jessica’s voice was steady and cold. “I’ll never hurt myself again. But if, after my cooling-off period, you still lie to me, I won’t hesitate to take you down with me. You think you can drug my water? Then I can poison your dinner just as easily.”

With that, she yanked the knife free. Blood spurted out, dark and fast.

Timothy just stood there, not even bothering to press a hand to his wound. The fabric around the gash quickly turned crimson.

Jessica dropped the knife to the floor with a sharp clatter.

She turned and walked into the bedroom.

She figured it wouldn’t be long before Timothy had someone arrange for him to leave the island and get stitched up.

A housekeeper hurried out and, seeing Timothy’s bleeding wound, blurted anxiously, “Sir, do you want us to get you to a doctor?”

“No need. You can go,” Timothy replied.

He leaned on his cane and lowered himself onto the couch.

Blood continued to seep from his wound.

But Timothy ignored it.

He kept replaying the look on Jessica’s face—utterly blank, devoid of any emotion.

She really didn’t care about him anymore.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his photos. There was one Sallie Lawson had sent him—a picture of Jessica’s handwriting.

“When I want them, they’re precious. When I don’t, they’re nothing.”

He remembered once, years ago, when he’d nicked his finger slicing fruit at home. Jessica had panicked, first popping his finger into her mouth, then frantically disinfecting and bandaging the tiny cut, brow furrowed the whole time.

That same woman had stabbed him today.

She didn’t even blink at all this blood.

He really was nothing to her now.

Jessica waited in the bedroom—fifteen minutes, then thirty. Still, no one came.

She finally stepped out.

Timothy was sprawled on the couch, ghostly pale.

She hurried over.

Blood was still trickling from his wound.