Lost in thought, he replayed Megan’s words in his mind.
The door swung open, and thinking it was Megan coming back, he blurted out, “Megan, did I ever feature in your dreamer
Cressida stood there, her face ashen. She couldn’t believe her Bars. She had heard Sullivan’s near confession to Megen, his tons 60 tender and soft, a tone he had never used with her
Silence hung at the doorway.
Sullivan looked up and saw Cressida.
Exhaustion filled his eyes, and he leaned back slightly, saying wearily, “What are you doing here? It’s late. Go back to your room and get
some rest”
Cressida was hurt. She stared at Sullivan for what felt like an eternity before mustering the courage to ask, “Do you really like her that much?”
Sullivan said nothing.
Cressida was on the verge of tears, but she forced a show of strength. “It’s alright, Mr. Lowry! I’ll just be happy for you! But it would be even better if Mrs. Lowry loved you back.”
Sullivan wasn’t interested in her words. He called the nurse’s station, asking them to take Cressida away
Dahlia came in, ready to make a fuss, but one look at Sullivan’s face made her swallow her words.
The door closed gently, and the world was quiet once more.
Sullivan rubbed his temples. Suddenly, Bianca’s suggestion came to mind: /Mr. Lowry, why not send Cressida abroad for treatment?”
He felt a slight shift in his heart.
Just as he thought of Bianca, she appeared.
She wasn’t there to visit the sick; she had brought Sullivan a confidential file that he had paid a private investigator to dig up. It was about the incident at the Hilton Hotel years ago.
Blanca placed the file down, her gaze lingering on the wound on Sullivan’s forehead.
“Did Megan do that?” she asked.
Sullivan’s lips thinned. “Who else would dare?”
ཤ ཡེ ཆེནྡརྗ པོ
Bianca fell silent. She knew Sullivan well and could imagine the circumstances that would lead Megan to strike him–it must have been some marital spat! She found herself feeling not only indifferent to Sullivan’s pain but also slightly schadenfreude after moving on from her own feelings for him.
Sullivan dismissed her curtly, “You can go now.”
Bianca’s expression became solemn as she left in the dead of night, aware that the file she delivered wasn’t meant for her eyes.
Once alone, Sullivan opened the video file.
A dimly lit corridor and a 20–year–old Megan pushing open a door. Although blurry, the room number above the door was unmistakably 8201.
Room 8201!
Megan hadn’t lied; she had indeed gone to room 8201 that night while Sullivan had been staying in 8202. There was only one possibility – The room numbers had been switched the night before; someone had orchestrated the encounter between him and Megan, forcing them into marriage.
As he sifted through the file, a photo fell out.
It showed an elegant lady caught in a clandestine exchange with the hotel manager.
Sullivan’s gaze fixated on the photo. His face went pale in an instant. It all became -his own mother had arranged the accident that made Megan his wife. He had misunderstood Megan for three years, neglected her for three years. He had treated her like a cheap woman for three years, turned a girl so passionate about him into what she was today, the girl who proposed a transaction, suggesting they let each other go, owing nothing after parting ways.
Megan had suffered so much, yet she let go so easily!
Sullivan suddenly closed his eyes, his long lashes trembling, his facial muscles twitching uncontrollably. He struggled to accept this outcome, this reality, that he had wounded Megan so deeply and yet the truth was she was innocent.
From the beginning to the end, she was innocent. She should have had a perfect life. If she hadn’t married him, she might have soared high by now, and when they met again, she would have said in a pleasant voice, “Sullivan, I actually had a crush on you back then.
1/2
10:30
The Megan of that time would have grown into the person Sulivan admired.
The girl he adored.
