Missing Mrs. Lowry: The Billionaire’s Wakeup Call

11:13

Chapter 17

Megan dashed back to the modest apartment she was renting

From a distance, Cora, holding on umbrella, anxiously waited downstairs

Megan slowed her pace. “Cora, how come you are here?”

Once inside, Corn gave her a towel and began drying Megan’s damp hair while saying, “I was worried, so I came to check on you. How could you not call a cab in this downpour?”

Megan repited softly. “It’s not easy to get a cab when it mins.”

Cora urged Megan to take a shower. When she came out, Cora had heated up some soup to warm her up.

As Megan sipped her soup, Cora hesitated before asking. “So, what’s the latest with you and Sullivan?”

Megan paused. Then, continuing with her soup, she murmured, “He refuses to sign the divorce papers! I can’t find a lawyer willing to take the case just yet, but I’ve filed for separation. In two years, whether he likes it or not, I’ll be free.”

Cora chose not to press further. She silently applied ointment to Megan’s finger her eyes tearing up at the sight of the injury.

In those years, Megan was a high–talent student at the music academy; many maestros wanted to take her as a student, including that musical genius, Paxton, who had knocked on her door several times.

Now, here she was… playing her violin in such places.

knew what was on her mind. She reassured Cora, “Once Dad gets better and my brother’s out,

Maybe one day you’ll be a musician.”

a faint smile.

since she had smiled like this. When she smiled, two little tiger teeth were faintly visible, which

her room, she sat on the bed, carefully wiping her cherished

I thought of you night away! Play for four hours and you’ll make 5,000 bucks–it’s like money falling from the sky! I know you need money. Let’s split it fifty–fifty. That’s

for four

not usually sociable, she still managed to butter up the

her, “Dress

in

up, she couldn’t help but embrace her violin, caressing

she saw the white silk blouse paired with a black long dress. Megan

ages since she’d last

evening, the at a high–end French restaurant located on a prime road in Borough City, the lights were

bustled with their trays, weaving

in a flowing silk gown with her hair swept up, accentuating

the grace with which she played

black Bentley pulled up outside. Sullivan leaned against it, casually smoking. He wore a black shirt and casual pants–a more relaxed look than his usual

instantly tom apart by the night

of male

handed her their business cards, but Megan

Sullivan was