Missing Mrs. Lowry: The Billionaire’s Wakeup Call

Chapter 133

Sullivan returned to his villa just shy of 11 p.m.

As he stepped into the foyer, the maid approached him, her voice a whisper, “Welcome home, sir! Shall I prepare a late–night snack for you?”

Shrugging off his coat and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt, Sullivan replied in a subdued tone, “Just a plate of plain pasta, please. Is Madam already in bed?”

The maid, with respectful hands, took his coat and softly confirmed, “She had a light supper, played piano for a bit, and hasn’t come down since.”

“Understood,” Sullivan muttered.

As the maid disappeared, Sullivan settled at the dining table, reached out to open the French doors, and lit up a cigarette, taking slow drags. In the pale wisps of smoke, he remembered how Megan used to wait for him at home, always with a spread of dishes or a batch of fresh–baked cookies, eager for him to taste even a single bite, which would delight her for hours.

The dining table was just as empty now as it had been back then. Only now, it was Sullivan who sat there alone.

Lost in thought, when the maid brought the pasta, Sullivan absentmindedly said, “Sit down, join me.”

After a moment of silence and no response, Sullivan looked up, startled to find that it was just the maid by his side, not Megan.

the sting of pain. It must be the lights that

meal, he went upstairs to

were light as he ascended, careful not to wake Megan, who was enveloped in

finally did, Megan’s voice softly pierced the darkness,

He stiffened slightly.

of her silk nightgown loosened, revealing her pale, delicate skin clad in black silk

but tonight, he just wanted to hold her. Megan, however, had other ideas. She would prefer a purely physical exchange and even pragmatically suggested, “If you’re going to do this, make it quick. I’m tired.

Sullivan like

sat up slightly and asked through gritted teeth, “Megan, do you really think that’s all I want from

her back to him, her tone was indifferent, “What

settled in Sullivan’s

and share the same bed. They made love once or twice, but Megan was silent throughout, her face buried in the pillow, offering no response. It felt like a solitary act for Sullivan, leaving him unsatisfied and empty after the

but Megan brushed her off with a few words, softly assuring her that Sullivan had been very

repeatedly saying how good it

Megan was not

through a serious illness, her delicate face now even more strikingly refined. Sometimes, Sullivan thought she might shatter