Missing Mrs. Lowry: The Billionaire's Wakeup Call novel Chapter 1

Megan Quigley didn’t know if it was common for unfaithful men to have two cellphones.

While Sullivan Lowry was taking a shower, his mistress sent him a selfie. It was a very young girl with delicate features, dressed in opulent clothing that seemed too mature for her age, which made her appear somewhat uneasy.

“Mr. Lowry, thank you for the birthday gift.”

Megan stared at the photo for a long time until her eyes began to sting. She’d always suspected that Sullivan had someone on the side, but she had never expected it to be such a young girl. Beyond the ache in her heart, she was surprised by her husband’s taste.

She thought, what a pity to have stumbled upon Sullivan’s secret.

The sound of the bathroom door sliding open interrupted her thoughts.

Moments later, Sullivan emerged, enveloped in steam, his defined abs and solid chest wrapped in a white bathrobe—a picture of rugged attractiveness.

“How much longer are you going to look at that?”

He snatched the phone from Megan’s hand, gave her a sharp glance, and started getting dressed.

His demeanor lacked any sign of embarrassment at being caught by his wife. Megan knew he felt secure in his financial power over her, as she was now kept at home by him, even though she had been a renowned violinist before their marriage.

Megan didn’t argue over the photo. She couldn’t afford to.

Seeing he was about to leave, she hurriedly spoke up, “Sullivan, I have something I want to tell you.”

He leisurely buckled his belt, then looked at his wife, possibly recalling her submissive tenderness on the bed earlier, chuckled arrogantly, “What now? You want more?”

But this affection was merely toying. He had never truly considered this wife of his important; she was merely an obligation following an unexpected turn of events.

Sullivan withdrew his gaze as he picked up a Patek Philippe watch from the bedside table and put it on his wrist, speaking indifferently, “I have five minutes left. The driver is waiting downstairs.”

Megan guessed where he was headed, her eyes dimmed, “Sullivan, I want to go out and work.”

Go out to work?

Sullivan finished fastening his watch and turned to look at her. After a long pause, he pulled out a checkbook from his pocket, scribbled a figure, tore it off, and handed it to her, “Isn’t good enough to be a full-time housewife? Work doesn’t suit you.”

After saying that, he was about to leave.

Megan followed, her attitude very humble, “I’m not afraid of hardship! I want to go to work… I can play the violin…”

But he had no patience to listen. In his mind, Megan was like a frail creeper  that had grown accustomed to being tended to, utterly unsuitable for public exposure or hardship.