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Chapter 137
Chapter 137
In the dead of night, Sullivan stumbled into the Lowry Hospital, a steady stream of red soaking through his hastily buttoned dress shirt and chinos. The reason? Excessive blood loss.
No matter how much he tried to hide it, the scent of masculinity clung
endured before seeking medical help.
him, a telltale sign of the physical ordeal he must have
The doctor, his expression a mixture of concern and disbelief, could only shake his head as he prepared to stitch the wound.
“Mr. Lowry,” the doctor said with a light cough, trying to sound as casual as possible, “If this happens again, you need to stop whatever sport you’re playing immediately and get to a hospital. These wounds can be dangerous if not treated promptly.”
“Can’t stop, Sullivan grunted, slumping against the couch and casting a sidelong glance at Megan, who had accompanied him. Her presence was a surprise – perhaps she was there to gloat over his misfortune.
Megan, seemingly uninterested in his plight, scrolled through her phone.
Sullivan couldn’t help but wonder if she was exchanging sweet nothings with that young boy she mentioned behind his back.
Sensing his thoughts, Megan spoke up without looking at him, “Not everyone is as sleazy as you.”
Sullivan scoffed, “Sleazy or not, you seem to enjoy it.”
The doctor, feeling like an unwilling voyeur into Mr. Lowry’s rocky marriage, hastily finished his stitching, a neat six stitches that he assured wouldn’t leave a scar.
“I’m not a model. A scar or two doesn’t matter,” Sullivan responded nonchalantly as the doctor internally lamented the waste of such a handsome face. ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .
Sulivan He had ho are and
Sullivan was ordered to stay overnight for observation. He had hoped Megan would stay with him, but she felt she had done her duty for the day. As Sullivan settled in, she began to gather her things.
“Aren’t you staying?” he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of hope and annoyance.
Megan hummed an affirmative, her tone tired. “I need some rest. Besides, Cressida is here. She can wheel herself in any time to check on you. It would be awkward if I stayed.”
Sullivan’s reply was icy, “I should give you a medal – ‘Most Considerate Wife Award.”
Her retort was equally biting, “Well, you and Cressida play your little games. I just took my chance to shine.”
Suddenly, Megan’s voice softened, and she spoke with a cold rationality, “Enough, Sullivan. This is pointless. The love and wrongs between us. It’s all in the past. There’s no need to keep hurting each other. Let’s let go.”
The harsh hospital lights made her pale face seem even more delicate as she continued, “The shares I hold in The Lowry Group are worth a fortune. Help my brother win his case, and I’ll return them to you. Then we can part ways, no strings attached. And Cressida… she can fulfill her dream of being your wife.”
She looked at him, her eyes void of love or hate, as Sullivan’s
gaze
flickered.
After a pause, he managed a strained smile, “What about you, Megan? What’s your dream?”
ཅན ཧ ཕ ཆཆ ཇ བ
She didn’t answer, simply turned and left the room, leaving Cressida outside in her wheelchair, her face etched with worry. Megan just glanced at Cressida. She didn’t flaunt her status or lash out; she no longer saw herself as Mrs. Lowry.
In the game of love, those unloved are the true outsiders. It was the cruel reality.
As Megan walked away, her heels echoed in the long, lonely corridors of the hospital. She thought about Sullivan’s question – her dream.
Once, Megan dreamed of being Sullivan’s doting wife. But reality shattered that dream. Now, she just wanted to be herself. When Megan was gone, Cressida cautiously entered the room. She had heard Sullivan was injured – by Megan’s hand! She ached for him, wanting to comfort him, believing their relationship was a mutual salvation, tragic yet beautiful.
Sullivan sat there, a bandage wrapped around his head, a shadow of pain and contemplation on his rugged face.