Chapter 67
Megan stood frozen as Sullivan retreated to the bathroom.
Soon after the sound of running water filled the air, mingled with the occasional low baritone hum of a man at his ablutions.
Megan was a grown woman. She surmised that Sullivan was in there taking care of his physical needs.
After about twenty minutes, Sullivan emerged from the bathroom clad in a typical white bathrobe. Its collar slightly ajar, revealing his pale, firm chest detted with droplets of water that tmiled down his torso.
Sullivan paid no mind to it. He strode over and stood silently by the bedside, observing Megan lost in thought
Eventually, Megan lifted her gaze to meet his
The comers of her eyes were tinged red, and her gaze was misty with unshed tears. No wornan could stand such cruel treatment from her husband, even if she had endured this kind of marriage for three years.
She thought she’d grown accustomed to it.
Sullivan’s gaze fell upon her pitiful little face, unmoved. Any sympathy he might have harbored for Megan had been completely erased by a mere cake.
And it wasn’t just anyone–it was Begonia.
Sullivan’s eyes darkened, his voice was calm and restrained, as if he had wrestled with a great decision. Locking eyes with Megan, he declared. “I won’t divorce you!”
Megan’s lips quivered.
Sullivan allowed himself a faint, detached smile, then continued, “Megan, I won’t give you to Begonia.
He
tossed a document envelope onto the bedside table.
Megan realized what it was. She grabbed the envelope, her hands trembling as she tore it open with frantic haste. Inside were pieces of what once was a whole document.
A tom–up divorce agreement, with Sullivan’s signature on it
Now, it lay in shreds.
Megan watched, dazed, as she blinked back the sting in her eyes.
Freedom had once brushed so close, and now, because of a cake, Sullivan withdrew the last shred of mercy, deciding never to let her
Megan stared at the torn documents for so long that her eyes began to ache. Then, she raised her eyes to Sullivan, her voice shaky, “Sullivan, I can let go of everything.”
Her plea was almost servile.
But Sullivan was unmoved, a man of business, known for his heart of stone. He waited for his wife to calm down.
Only then could they continue to discuss things rationally.
He watched as the hope in Megan’s eyes turned to disillusionment, watched as her expression sank into despair. He thought it was just as well–he didn’t need a wife who was overly emotional.
Emotions, after all, were the most useless thing in the world.
Finally, the hospital room fell silent.
Not just silent, but eerily so.
Sullivan broke the stillness, speaking in a detached, businesslike tone, “Megan, everything in this world has a price. Marriage does! So do feelings! If there isn’t one yet, it just means the price hasn’t been agreed upon!”
Sullivan looked down, his gaze commanding as he surveyed his wife.
Megan’s face was ashen.
Yet still, he continued relentlessly, “I need you to be Mrs. Lowry! Whether it’s because you’re presentable, or my own desires, I don’t feel like changing wives right now! And since you’ve been reluctant to resume your role as Mrs. Lowry, well then, Megan.. let’s talk about the price!”
Megan was no fool.
la referred to as the “price” would surely be something she
Sullivan suddenly chuckled his hand caressing her cheek softly, his voice getle as a whisper. “What you want most in Wyatta. heedom isn’t a? When you fought with me even during our most intimate moments, you said you didn’t like me, all because i didn’t support vous famih. That I didnt help Wysht Fine, now 111 help you, but remember Megan, this in’t about affection, this
the cost for you to come back to me and be Mic Lowry?
