Missing Mrs. Lowry: The Billionaire’s Wakeup Call

Chapter 63

Sullivan pulled into the driveway of his sprawling estate, the sound of gravel crunching under the tires of his luxury car breaking the silence of the peaceful evening. The sight of his return caught the maid off guard, as she had no idea about Megan’s hospitalization and had assumed Sullivan was out of town on business

As Sullivan killed the engine, the maid rushed to open the car door “Six are you here for dinner? The staff in the kitchen wasn’t expecting you, and it might take about an hour to prepare something,” she said with a slight tremor in her voice, aware of Sullivan’s usual impatience

Sullivan, ha face etched with fatigue, replied with a dismissive wave, Just whip up something light.”

The maid scurried away to carry out his orders.

Stepping out of the car, Sullivan made his way into the grand foyer of the mansion. His staff had kept the place spotless, as if in anticipation of his retum. Despite his absence, the house gleamed, the windows shining and the floors polished to a mirror finish.

After a night of restless busyness, Sullivan was ready to head upstairs for a hot shower. But as he pushed open the door to the master bedroom, his gaze fell upon the large wedding portrait hanging above the bedhead

In the photo, Megan’s smile was sweet and captivating. Their wedding had been a hasty affair, and since he wasn’t fond of her at the time, he had been reluctant to pose for pictures. This particular image was a composite, created by a photographer Megan had paid for

she

claimed he despised her, that she was tired of the mutual torment, that she longed

–

to leave without giving him the chance to reconcile his feelings. He couldn’t

stared at the photograph for a long while before he finally moved into the walk–in closet to grab a bathrobe. Searching for his toiletries, he realized just how out of place he felt without Megan. Life without her was something he wasn’t accustomed to,

it was hatred, it was

live with Megan, her presence a constant in his life, her body available whenever he desired it. Yet, he never used to think of her during work, while sleeping, or even care

pleasant realization for Sullivan, especially since the person in question was Megan –

the dresser that Megan would often sit at, lighting a cigarette and taking a long, thoughtful drag. Megan had left without taking her belongings with her. The dresser was cluttered with her myriad lotions and potions, a testimony to her nightly beauty rituals that left her

to find more

he pulled open a drawer, exp cosmetics. Instead, he found a pale pink diary, thick and evidently

Sullivan scanned the pages filled with Megan’s youthful handwriting, documenting her affection for him at 18-

ignored me all day today]