Chapter 140
Even in the most upscale hospital room, the persistent pitter patter of rain could be heard, tapping incessantly against Sullivan’s
conscience.
He unlocked his phone and scrolled through his gallery until he found the picture of Megan sprawled across the pillow.
Camille’s words began to echo in his mind. “But Sullivan, think back to that first month of marriage, you came home every night, can you honestly say you weren’t addicted?”
He couldn’t deny it.
That photo was the ultimate proof of his insatiable appetite. Three years into the marriage, he despised Megan yet was addicted to her body.
It was he who had tormented her for three years.
It was all him!
The rain outside continued its relentless descent as Sullivan began to dress.
On a rainy night, a sleek black Rolls Royce glided into the driveway of a villa.
The windshield wipers kept swaying back and forth even as the car came to a stop, and the golden Spirit of Ecstasy stood proudly in the deluge as if weeping in the rain.
Sullivan sat in the driver’s seat. His white shirt stood out in the dark, but the house servants had all retired for the night, leaving no one to greet him. He tilted his head towards the second floor, where the lights were out.
Sullivan sat silently.
Returning to the mansion, he realized his impulsiveness. He hadn’t even thought through why he had come back. And yet, here he was, longing to see Megan.
He even wished that these past three years had been nothing but a dream.
If he could just go upstairs now, embrace her, whisper an apology in her ear, then maybe he could wake from this dream and give Megan back her life.
Sullivan leaned back in the seat, eyes tightly shut. He now felt that even touching Megan was a sin.
At four in the morning, Sullivan stepped out of the car and into the quiet house, the autumn rain having chilled the air to its core, sending shivers through his shirt–clad frame.
The master bedroom on the second floor, however, was warm.
Megan was presumably asleep on the bed, breathing softly, always a gentle sleeper.
Sullivan approached, removed his shoes and socks, and lay down beside her.
He did whisper an apology by her ear, but time couldn’t be rewound. They couldn’t return to the past, and Megan was still Mrs. Lowry.
In that moment, Sullivan’s heart was overwhelmed with anguish. His face trembled lightly against Megan’s slender shoulder.
Megan woke up.
She didn’t turn around but allowed him to hold her quietly. She had faintly heard his apology. Her proud, ever–unyielding husband had said sorry.
She wasn’t foolish. With a little thought, she understood why.
After three years, Sullivan had finally sought the truth about that night, realizing they had both been set up. So this apology… Was it his confession?
Sullivan knew she was awake. His arm tightened, pulling her closer, and he murmured near her ear, “Megan, let’s start over! Let me make it up to you!
Megan closed her eyes gently in his embrace.
Indeed, she should have been grateful for his honesty, at least. Sullivan hadn’t sunk to the level of hiding the truth and continuing to torment her. He had even stooped so low as to suggest they start over, to make amends.
“Sullivan, I don’t want any compensation. There’s no starting over for us! I’ll wonder if this is just a new trick of yours, if my heartfelt sincerity will once again be callously trampled into the mud and shattered. Sullivan, it’s too late. I don’t love you anymore.” Sullivan held her tighter, his whole body trembling….
