Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

Just one sentence was enough to make Victoria's face turn fifty shades of red. The smugness that she wore while reveling in someone else's misfortune just moments ago had vanished, leaving behind a frozen mask of embarrassment.

She got the hint loud and clear: Rosemary, as Maxwell's wife and family, didn't need two separate invites.

Victoria was itching to clap back, but catching sight of Oswald still standing there, she swallowed her words in the end.

She turned to say goodbye to Oswald, but didn't forget why she came, "Oswald, do me a solid and keep tabs on Rose for me, will ya? Even though she's not officially on the radar, with your sky-high rep in the social circle, sniffing out some freelance restorer should be a piece of cake. I'm good for the money, whatever she quotes."

Oswald caught another glimpse of Rosemary's icy demeanor and awkwardly nodded before showing Victoria out.

After clocking out, Rosemary stepped out of the studio to find Maxwell's car parked at the curb. A custom Bentley with a flashy license plate was a rare sight even in the swanky parts of town, let alone here, naturally drawing stares from all around.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, a text from Maxwell, "Come over here."

Rosemary wasn't about to play his game, so she headed straight for her apartment complex instead.

She wasn't keen on being the center of attention now, or the talk of the town tomorrow. Back at the Templeton Group, when people thought she was dating some rich man, the snide remarks and

backhanded comments really got under her skin.

As Maxwell watched her walk away, his eyes narrowed and suddenly, he let out a chuckle, but it was the kind that sent shivers down one’s spine.

Rosemary hadn't gone far when his car pulled up beside her. The window rolled down and Maxwell's chilly voice cut through, "You want me to play rough?"

Rosemary frowned, knowing full well he wasn't bluffing.

"I'm going to change my clothes."

She was covered in dust after a day's work.

Maxwell fell silent, just peering at her with his stormy eyes that were colder than ever. Unaware of his mood, she kept walking until the car suddenly sped up beside her and screeched to a halt. The door swung open and she was yanked inside by a strong arm.

Her ankle banged against the door frame, a sharp pain shooting up her leg, bringing tears to her eyes. In that moment, she really wanted to curse out loud - was Maxwell out of his freaking mind?

"Change clothes?" Maxwell pinned her down, his tone flat and emotionless, but it was clear he was seething, "Maybe throw on some makeup? Fix your hair?"

Rosemary had no clue what set him off. She turned her head away from the fingers on her cheek, responding coolly, "If you don't care, I can go like this."

Her outfit, picked up from a night market for less than 50 bucks, screamed “barely passable” - far from branded, not to mention quality.

If Mrs. Templeton showed up to a fancy shindig in this get-up, Maxwell would be the talk of the town.

After a tense silence, he let her go and instructed the driver, "Jason, head to Shining Studio."

Shining Studio was the go-to for a unique makeover, a big hit among the rich girls' club, where a single style could set one back four figures.

The dress was brought over by Christ, a more casual, high-end brand design. By the time they got to Rosewood Villa, it was late.

Maxwell tossed the car keys to the valet and escorted Rosemary inside. Right before walking in, he handed her the gift box he was carrying.

The lobby was abuzz with clinking glasses and chatty clusters.

Rosemary's arrival drew most guests’ attention; cautious of the formidable Maxwell at her side, no one dared to gossip openly, but those disdainful glances spoke volumes - how dare she show her face here?

Maxwell led her towards Martin.

Today's welcome-back party was casual, no suits required. Martin didn’t wear business suit; decked out in a white shirt and black trousers, and with his pleasant features, he looked the part of the cultured gentleman.

At the sight of Maxwell, he greeted him with a smile, "You're late. Was starting to think you'd bail on us." After that, he flicked a cool glance at Maxwell’s wife and acknowledged her with a nod.

Maxwell replied, "Got held up. Where’s Archer?"

"Hasn’t arrived."

Rosemary stood by, lips pressed tight, eyes on the floor. She had zero interest in their chit-chat and just wanted to bolt.

Back then, she'd first reached out to Martin when she was desperate, but he hadn't given her a straight answer. Later.

Her proposal recording was leaked online, along with videos of her and Maxwell at a hotel. Overnight, she became the shameless, slutty “fallen socialite” everyone loved to hate.

Rosemary was about to sneak off while they talked, but Maxwell stopped her, looping an arm around her waist.

He looked at her with a half-smile, "Tired? Hand over the gift to Martin; then I'll take you to the lounge for a break."

Rosemary’s eyes twitched; a bad feeling crept over her. Though she wasn't sure what Maxwell was up to, when had he ever spoken to her with such indulgence? This abnormal behavior meant he probably had some evil idea brewing.

With the gift in her hands and Martin now paying attention, along with the prying eyes around, she hesitated for a second before passing over the box.

Martin took it with a neutral expression, "Thanks." Then his gaze was back to Maxwell, "Much appreciated, Maxwell."

Maxwell lifted his chin, "Why not give it a look?" Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

Martin didn't think twice and opened the box. Inside was a watch, a custom piece from an ultra-luxe brand.

Maxwell spoke in a nonchalant tone, "Didn't you say you lost that watch before? Last time I was on a business trip; I casually hit up the original designer to whip up a new one."

But the moment Rosemary caught sight of that watch, her face went ghostly pale! Others didn't notice, but Maxwell, who had his arm around her, felt her barely contained shivers crystal clear.

She forced herself to look away, coolly removing his hand from her waist, her voice trembling slightly, "I need to hit the restroom."

Maxwell's eyes turned stormy as he watched her beat a hasty retreat. He stroked his jaw, the corners of his mouth dropping into a frosty curve.

Martin caught the interaction but was clueless, "What's up, is there something off with that watch?"

"No." Maxwell replied, detached and clearly unamused, brushing off a wrinkle on his shirt, "You go ahead with your thing."

With that, he strode off in the direction Rosemary had fled.

In the restroom, Rosemary slammed the stall door shut as if she were drained of all strength, slumping against the door.

She had been married to Maxwell for three years, and since the wedding, she had never seen him wear that watch again.

That night, if it hadn't been for that watch, she wouldn't have gone to the wrong bed. And she wouldn't have been trapped in this torturous marriage for three years.

After who knew how long, the silence of the restroom was broken by voices.

"Can you believe Rosemary has the nerve to show up? If I were her, I would have drowned myself in a basin after Martin leaked that recording online."

"Back in the day, she was notorious. I can't fathom what kind of dumb luck she had, not ending up with Martin but instead marrying the even more eligible Mr. Templeton!" A woman let out a scornful laugh, "Everyone in the circle knows her dirty laundry; no idea what Mr. Templeton was thinking, actually marrying her!"

Someone chimed in, "Maybe she's got some special skills, you know, like she's good at using her hands, and then there's,"

The person didn't finish their sentence when the restroom door was pushed open.