Goodbye, Mr. Regret

Chapter 315

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.

But the moment she saw Vince, tears spilled silently down her cheeks. Her body shook with sobs she could

burst. His fingers trembled as he reached out, wanting to comfort her, but he couldn't bring himself to touch her, not after

feet, a paring knife

the knife without a second

drove the blade into Timothy's

flying open in pain and confusion.

the knife out. Blood spurted, splattering

the knife to strike

behind, pulling him back. Jessica's head pressed

slack. The

saw

Timothy now, there would be no

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

his

those ugly, overlapping marks. Her face her lips-her hair,

hands curled into trembling fists. Guilt strangled his

around her name. Any

now.