Missing Mrs. Lowry: The Billionaire’s Wakeup Call
Chapter 141

Chapter 141

Sullivan had only managed a meager three hours of sleep.

When he awoke, his arms were tightly wrapped around Megan. Her slightly disheveled silk nightgown had slipped, revealing a delicate shoulder that shimmered softly in the pale down light.

She was still there, in his arms.

Sullivan bowed his head, nestling his face in the crook of her neck, replaceing comfort in the warmth of her skin.

He lingered for a moment before getting out of bed. Them was an important bidding meeting at the office he couldn’t afford to miss.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, Sullivan was struggling with his tie when he returned to the bedroom.

Megan was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. At the sound of his steps, she looked up, and their eyes locked.

A few seconds later, she seemed to recall the events of the previous night. Her voice soft and detached, she spoke, “Sullivan, the truth doesn’t seem so important anymore. It’s been a long time, and I don’t hold onto it as I used to. We should move forward.”

The morning light bathed her in a gentle glow as she spoke with newfound clarity. “Think about what I said last night.”

Sullivan didn’t respond.

He took a step towards the bed, his voice husky, “Would you mind helping me with my tie? I just can’t seem to get it right.” His voice trembled slightly towards the end, perhaps recalling the few tender moments from their three–year marriage.

Unexpectedly, Megan didn’t refuse

She knelt on the bed as she used to and deftly tied his tie, leaning in to make it easier for her

They were close, so close that their breaths mingled, warm and quick

Megan’s fingers were skilled, and the knot she formed was beautiful

As she focused on the the, she revisited their earlier conversation, “Sullivan, about us

Her waist was suddenly in his grasp.

With ease, Sullivan’s hand encircled her, and he kissed her gently, not with force but with a tendemess that seeped into her bones. He

was patient, his lips caressing hers softly, his masculine scent enveloping her as his hand pressed lightly against her back, drawing

her close to him.

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The moon white silk of her nightgown contrasted with his dark slacks.

It was a messy, poignant image.

Sullivan was still a young man, not yet thirty, and his desires were easily stirred.

Eventually, he stopped kissing Megan and rested his forehead on her shoulder, his breaths coming out in shallow maps, “Megan, do

you want this? Because I really do.”

Megan’s response was nonchalant, “Don’t you have to be at the office?”

Sullivan’s gaze deepened. He didn’t actually crave her that much; he just wanted to see if she still had feelings for him. But when he

sought confirmation, he was met with disappointment.

Megan felt little. She remained calm, straightened her nightgown, and repeated, “Aren’t you supposed to go to the office?”

Sullivan checked the time and decided to leave first.

After he was gone, Megan lay back in bed.

Staring at the French ivory ceiling, she fought back tears, trying to keep her eyes wide open. All her feigned composure and strength

crumbled in Sullivan’s absence.

How could she just let go?

Because of one cruel twist of fate, she had lost the fervor of her youth, three years of her prime, and had been trapped in a cold

marriage.

How could Sullivan’s mere offer to start over compensate for all that?

She didn’t want his reparations, and she didn’t want himl

Her sobs were low and restrained, a necessary release after three years of endurance. No one knew how she had lived through those years, nor how desperate she had once been.

At three in the afternoon, Megan left the house alone.

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09:52

She drove herself in a white Maserati, a car she had bought long ago but seldom used. She used to prefer being candles, cherished

the moment the driver would open the door and address her as “Mrs Lowry