Chapter 177
Sullivan hung up the phone.
Leaning back on the couch, he quietly watched the light snow falling outside, Imagining Megan curled up on her sofa. Of course, he could drive over to her place now, taking a step further in capturing both her body and mind.
Without a doubt, she would be his by tonight.
She would wrap her antis around his neck, submissively enduring his possession simply because she liked
him.
But Sullivan didn’t move. There was no need, for he had already won her back; Megan was once again caught in the web of their past love….
The snow night was serene and quiet.
At the door of the study, a servant knocked and said softly, “Sir, there’s a Mr. Baldwin here to see you! He wishes to speak with you.”
Baldwin…
Sullivan guessed it was Cressida’s father.
He didn’t want to see him. Resting his hand on his forehead, he said in a weary voice, “Tell him to go back! Say I’ve retired for the night!”
The servant hesitated before responding, “The gentleman is kneeling outside the front door, şir. It’s bitterly cold tonight, if he freezes to death, it’ll be in the news tomorrow.”
At one in the morning, Sullivan met with Cressida’s father.
The lifelong, honest driver, who had in his middle age come to live a comfortable life through his daughter, was struck by the lavish decor of Sullivan’s mansion, his legs trembling from the cold snow clinging to them.
The servant brought him a cup of hot cocoa.
The aroma filled the room.
Caleb Baldwin sipped the cocoa, his rough fingers trembling slightly around the mug.
Sullivan, sitting back on the couch, his voice slightly weary in the night, said, “Cressida’s condition is stabilizing. Once the snow stops, she can head abroad for treatment. She’ll stay there for her recovery, and you and your wife should accompany her! The money I’ve provided will be more than enough for the rest of your lives.”
Caleb spilled most of his cocoa.
Tears glistened on his weathered face as he apologized to Sullivan, saying, “That’s just waiting for death! Mr. Lowry, I know Cressida is young and reckless, and she’s caused you and Mrs. Lowry much trouble, but… but please, for the sake of past affection, for the thought that you once considered marrying her, let
her… die at home.”
The honest man knelt down.
With tears streaming down his face, he said, “I’ve already told her mother, once Cressida is gone, we’ll
10:26
**Chapter 177
take her ashes back to our hometown. I promise you, if her mother causes even the slightest trouble, l’IE deal with that irresponsible woman myself.”
After speaking, Caleb, trembling, placed two items on the coffee table.
He bowed several times to Sullivan. The simple, weak man didn’t dare to ask for a response, leaving slowly into the snowy night.
Inside, the scent of cocoa slowly faded.
Sullivan picked up the two items with his slender fingers.
One was a photo of Cressida. Her cheeks hollow, her whole figure thin and sickly, making it clear she didn’t have long left.
The other item was a vinyl record.
Sullivan placed it on the antique record player, and the melancholic strains of Masne’s violin piece “Meditation” began to play. This melody was familiar to Sullivan, almost as if it were the tune Cressida had played for him during his periods of unconsciousness.
The violin music, laden with sorrow, was heartbreakingly beautiful.
It was a rare moment that touched Sullivan’s heart.
He listened quietly, his thoughts drifting to when he had considered marrying Cressida, spurred by the memory of that fleeting emotion–perhaps it was this melody that had moved him!
After a long while, Sullivan picked up his phone and dialed Blanca’s number, his voice indifferent, “Move Cressida to a special ward, tell the Baldwin family to stay out of the hospital if they’ve got no.business there, and most importantly, don’t disturb Megan.”
