Missing Mrs. Lowry: The Billionaire’s Wakeup Call

Chapter 136

He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

A tangle of clothes, shoes, and stockings lay discarded on the floor, a testament to the heated moment.

Megan, slightly tipsy, felt the room spinning around her. She couldn’t help but wrap her arms around Sullivan’s sturdy back for support.

Just then, the smartphone on the nightstand burst into life.

It was Megan’s phone.

She reached out to grab it, but Sullivan was quicker. He suspected it was Begonia calling to share some mundane slice of life with his wife, but upon unlocking the phone, he was met with an unfamiliar yet strikingly young and attractive WhatsApp profile picture.

[Girl, I miss you. Can we meet up?]

Sullivan’s expression darkened like a gathering storm. He fixed his gaze on Megan and questioned, “Someone from the bar? You added him on WhatsApp?”

In truth, it was Lucia who had done the adding.

far from confessing; instead, she wrapped herself around him, her voice sultry and defiant, “Yeah! A young, handsome guy! Sullivan, you can play your flirty games with Cressida, so why can’t I have someone on my phone… to cheer me up? And Sullivan, if you can’t handle it, we can always get

hair sprawled across the pillow, stunning in its

Sullivan felt an urge to strangle her with his bare hands, but she was his Mrs. Lowry. He couldn’t do that to her. Instead, he would ensure that her heart and

her down as if she would never escape his grasp, as if she could never fly away

knew Sullivan too well. His care and consideration were not about love; they were

cynically that if Cressida were a beauty without equal or boasted a healthy body or a prestigious family background, then she wouldn’t stand a chance. To him, she was nothing more

for now, she didn’t

grew tired of her, she would be free… Free as a bird in the vast sky, where past acquaintances would become strangers, and a simple “long time no see” would be an insult to their shared

her head

eyes caught sight of a new photo on the nightstand. Not the old one that one she

composite created

gripping the frame tightly. It was almost as if she and

the forehead. Crimson blood trickled down his face –

slightly. The alcohol in her system

quivered as she whispered, “Sullivan, if I had a choice, I