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.

his eyes, trying to ease the sting of pain. It must be the lights that

finishing his meal, he went upstairs to

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

a profound sense of loss, he yearned to hold her. When he finally did, Megan’s voice softly pierced the darkness, “Sullivan, are you in the

He stiffened slightly.

began to undress. The ties of her silk nightgown loosened, revealing her pale, delicate skin clad in black silk lingerie,

desires had always been strong, 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

struck Sullivan like a

hotter than any daylight sun, he sat up slightly and asked through gritted teeth, “Megan, do you really think that’s all I

her back to him, her tone was

settled in Sullivan’s

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

sensed something was amiss, calling once, but Megan brushed her off with a few words, softly assuring her that Sullivan

was thrilled, repeatedly saying how good it was to have him

was not

her thin. In just a few weeks, she seemed as though she had been through a serious illness, her delicate face now even more strikingly refined.