Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

With a crisp "snap", the whole world went silent.

Rosemary looked like she was putting her back into it, but in reality, she had no energy at all. As she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday, and after running a fever for most of the night, her slap was more like a tickle than a punch – Maxwell didn't even flinch. This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

But the thing about slapping someone isn't about the pain; it's about the deep humiliation it brings!

When has Mr. Templeton, always the apple of everyone's eye, ever been slapped across the face?

He narrowed his eyes menacingly, hoisted Rosemary straight off the bed, and locked gazes with her, "Getting bolder, are you? Daring to lay hands on me now?"

His tone wasn't particularly fierce, but every word, every syllable, even every note, was seething with anger.

He looked so fierce that Rosemary even braced herself to be hit back. She thought that if he laid a finger on her, she'd give it right back and then march to the police station, with bruises all over her body, to report domestic abuse and file for divorce by force.

But Maxwell didn't hit back. He just stared at her, with a gaze as cold as death.

The woman, barely recovered from a serious illness, had a face as pale as paper, small and drained of energy. Yet, this fragile creature that he could crush with one hand was now looking at him with defiance, not showing any sign of backing down.

She was looking up at him, but it felt like she was looking down on him with contempt. Her eyes were bright and clear, with not an ounce of regret.

"Maxwell, you're such a shameless jerk."

Maxwell let out a cold laugh, "You slap me and then have the nerve to call me shameless? What do you want me to do, offer up the other cheek to show I've got some shame?"

Rosemary glared at him, "Someone with any decency wouldn't sneak around exposing private conversations like some petty thief."

Hearing this, Maxwell realized why she had gotten physical.

He suddenly smiled; with his thin lips curling into a smirk, he released his grip on her.

Rosemary, already weak, collapsed back onto the bed the moment his force vanished.

The man stood up, but then, with a sudden movement, kicked the trash can beside him, sending it flying.

"Rosemary, you've got half an hour to think about how you're going to make this up to me, or you're going to pay for that slap."

Maxwell dropped that bomb and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled.

Only when the room fell completely silent did Rosemary let out a long sigh. She felt like she just walked through hell; struggling to breathe under the oppressive atmosphere Maxwell left behind, she felt her body breaking out in a cold sweat.

As for Maxwell's demand that she sweet-talk him, Rosemary snorted coldly and tossed the thought aside.

Why should she appease him when he's the one in the wrong? Because he's a few fries short of a Happy Meal?

It was still early. As she felt much better, she got out of bed to get ready for the exhibition.

It was almost eleven and no one had called to rush her; only Hans had sent a text to ask if she was feeling better.

Half an hour later, as Rosemary arrived at the entrance of the exhibition, there stood Stacey.

She was dressed even more elaborately than the day before, in a warm-colored long dress that didn't suit her age at all, topped with a light coat.

It had rained the day before, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees. The wind made Rosemary feel cold, while Stacey, in her thin dress, looked like a flower blooming in the wind.

Of course, if she wasn't shivering, she'd make a decent vase.

"Rosemary."

Stacey was standing by the glass entrance doors. As soon as Rosemary approached, she came up close.

Ignoring her, Rosemary just dug out a temporary pass from her bag to swipe and enter.

But Stacey grabbed her arm, "I'm talking to you, are you deaf?"

Back when they were with the Chambers family, she was used to bossing Rosemary around, and although it never ended well for her, her parents doted on her. If she complained, Rosemary would get a beating.

After her family's troubles, they quickly fled overseas and lost contact with Rosemary. So in Stacey's eyes, Rosemary was still the Cinderella she could bully, not the unattainable Mrs. Templeton she could barely reach on her tiptoes.

Rosemary lowered her eyes to the wrinkled sleeve in Stacey's grip and said coolly, "Those high- and-mighty gentlemen aren't interested in a shrew. With your quick temper, you might as well give up on your gold-digging dreams."

Stacey immediately let go and glanced around like a thief before she commanded, "I've booked a restaurant. Send a message to Martin now and ask him out for dinner tonight."

She wouldn't have swallowed her pride to ask Rosemary if she wasn't desperate.

Martin had just returned to the country and hadn't taken up his formal position or joined the Gellar Group, so his information wasn't available online.

She had called her father last night to pull some strings, but they were all in debt and had fled overseas; their connections in the country were long gone. Only Rosemary knew Martin.

Rosemary cut her off decisively, "Not happening."

"You don't want your mother's keepsakes anymore?" Seeing Rosemary's swipe card hand pause mid-air, Stacey lifted her chin smugly, "Just get him to come out."

"Can you make that decision?" Rosemary interrupted impatiently, "Stacey, don't let me hear you mention anything related to my mother again, or I'll make sure you'll never climb your way into high society for the rest of your life."

Destroying a woman's reputation in high society is all too easy, and it won’t take much effort.

Stacey was fuming; she had secretly been convinced that Rosemary didn't want to introduce Martin to her because she still had feelings for him!

She sneered, "Does Maxwell know how much you care about another man behind his back?"

"He doesn't, so why don't you run off and tell him? Now get lost, and don't bother me."

"You!" Seeing Rosemary unfazed, Stacey resorted to being a nuisance, "If you don't agree, I'll follow you around. Dad already knows about this, so just wait for him to rip you a new one!"

Without bothering with her furthermore, Rosemary went to swipe her card. After all, Stacey couldn't enter without a ticket, and if she bought one, she was just making a donation, which Rosemary couldn't stop.

"Beep beep—" The card reader blinked red, "Error in information, please swipe your card again."

Rosemary thought she goofed up using the card, so she swiped it again, but no dice, same old story.

Stacey, seeing the whole thing, folded her arms and started to mock, "Ha, don't tell me you got the boot for screwing up at work? Slacking on the job and picking fights with clients? If I were you."

Before Stacey could yammer on, Rosemary cut to the chase and went straight to security with her pass. The guard said, "Hang tight," and made a call.

A few minutes later, the guard came back without returning the card and said, "Sorry, the big shot in charge of the exhibition said you don't need to come in for the next couple of days."

Rosemary furrowed her brows; she wasn’t an exhibition staffer and didn’t take orders from them.

She whipped out her phone and dialed Oswald at the studio.

The line was busy, and she couldn't get through after several tries. During the not-so-long wait, she braced herself for the worst until Oswald's call finally came through.

"Oswald, I can't get into the exhibition."

"Rose." Oswald's voice sounded worn and hoarse, like he had been talking for ages, "You've been working hard lately. Take some time off and rest at home. The studio's not bustling with work right now; it's a good time for you to take a break."

Rosemary had been clocking in at Heritage Revive Studio for a while. That ancient tomb were still being dug up, which meant that there was a steady stream of broken relics coming in daily. Plus, given the nature of the gig, they were always short-staffed, never short on work.

Without playing dumb, she asked point-blank, "Oswald, is someone putting the screws on you?"