Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

At night, when Rosemary got the call from Maxwell, she had already finished her nightly routine and was ready to hit the sack.

She had been pulling all-nighters for several days and was finally managing to get to bed early tonight, but this call totally messed that up. So she sounded none too pleased, "What's up with the late-night call?"

"Open the door."

The man uttered just three words before abruptly ending the call, leaving Rosemary with her retort, "Are you out of your mind?” lingering unsaid, caught in her throat.

Pfft, as if she was going to indulge him?

Rosemary threw her phone away and lay down to sleep, not knowing whether Maxwell had guessed her thoughts or simply ran out of patience. Just as she closed her eyes, she heard a thunderous noise from the security door!

With a click, it was the neighbor's door that swung open.

The person next door was an elderly lady who didn't seem the friendliest from the few times Rosemary had seen her.

Sure enough, the old lady launched into a tirade the second she opened the door: "What's with the banging in the middle of the night? You think people don't need sleep? Have you no sense of public decency, as a grown man?!"

Soundproofing in these ordinary apartments was mediocre at best, and with the old lady's shrill voice, Rosemary could hear everything crystal clear from the innermost bedroom.

She didn't hear Maxwell speak; probably, this scion of fortune was experiencing such a scenario for the first time and was left dumbfounded?

"Don't you dare knock again, or I'm calling the cops for disturbance of peace!"

Maxwell's voice was calm but convincing: "My wife lives here. She struggles with severe depression, mania, and even schizophrenia. When she has an episode, she either wants to kill herself or others. Today, I made her mad, and she hasn't been answering my calls for half an hour."

He didn't finish, but the old lady's mind filled in the blanks with a series of grisly scenes, slapping her thigh, "Oh dear, she's a lunatic? Well, you better bust the door down and drag her out, or I'll call building management. We can't have her dying in there."

Before she could finish, Rosemary swung the door open, her face as dark as the bottom of a pan, "Come in."

That damn Maxwell, now she had to live with the tags of being suicidal and homicidal—how was she supposed to keep staying here?

The man's lips curled into a faint smirk as he strolled in, not a hint of guilt on his face for slandering her.

Rosemary frowned, irritation in her voice, "What on earth do you want?"

The entryway was dark, lit only by the light from the living room. Maxwell's gaze landed on her slender, well-proportioned fingers, "Don't you have anything to confess to me?"

"Do I have anything to confess to you?" Rosemary yawned, her eyes glossy with fatigue—it was obvious she was dead tired, "If you have something to say, then say it. Stop speaking in riddles."

His eyes cooled, and with a contained emotion, he reminded her, "The morning after the birthday banquet."

As he spoke, his hand reached for hers, ignoring her wishes and forcibly seizing her fingers. They were beautiful—long and well-shaped, with a thin callus on the pads of her thumb and index finger.

Rosemary couldn't pull her hand back, her brow furrowed in displeasure. She thought back to the morning after the banquet...

Suddenly, she realized it was about the check Martin had given her.

Maxwell knew?

At the same time, a vague pain emanated from the fingers the man held.

Rosemary's heart tightened, and she instinctively denied it: "I didn't take his money."

It wasn't fear of Maxwell actually breaking her fingers; she feared it would complicate their divorce.

Maxwell's tone was laden with sarcasm: "Why should I believe you? If you didn't ask him for it, why would he give it to you for no reason?”

"Believe it or not, that's up to you. And even if I did ask him, it was a loan, and I'll pay it back."

The difference between "taking” and "borrowing” was crucial; the ideas brewing in Maxwell's head were undoubtedly more sordid, and if she didn't object, he'd probably throw insults about selling herself next.

Maxwell's gaze settled on her face, dark and brooding.

Rosemary couldn't guess what was on his mind, but she felt an unusual and intense unease.

She stepped back, pulling her hand free, "If I had taken Martin's money, I'd have thrown it in your face and made you file the paperwork with me first thing in the morning."

That was the strongest explanation she could offer, and she really had been wanting to do just that —if only she had the money.

Maxwell's temple twitched, clearly irked by her last remark. He took a deep breath to prevent himself from strangling her on the spot.

"Stay away from Martin."

Rosemary arched an eyebrow. Was he ordering her around?

Whether to see Martin or not truly wasn't her decision; these few times weren't initiated by her wanting to see Martin. It was mere coincidence they always ended up in the same place, but without Maxwell, such coincidences would be greatly reduced.

"He's from your circle. If you divorce me swiftly, I'll be completely cut off from his circle and won't even have the chance to see him."

In a place as big as Greenwood, running into someone frequently wasn't easy.

"Heh," Maxwell chuckled darkly, leaning in and effortlessly trapping her between the wall and himself, "Setting a trap for me?"

"I'm stating the facts," Rosemary, uncomfortable with his proximity, turned her head away with a frown, "I'm going to bed. If you have nothing else, then leave."

His towering presence was intimidating, especially in such close quarters.

She had a feeling that any second now, Maxwell would just lean in and kiss her.

Although the thought seemed a bit self-asserting, it wasn't as if he hadn't done such things before!

Maxwell saw her resistance and his expression darkened quickly. Annoyed, he switched topics, "About that business deal I mentioned last time, the person in charge from the other company has come to Greenwood. Come with me, and the three hundred million you owe will be settled."

Rosemary pulled a cold smile, expressionless, "Do you think I'd still fall for your lies?"

She had heard his conversation with Archer at the Night Club last time. Securing this collaboration was just a matter of a few words for Maxwell. Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

With a frown, she tried to push him away, clearly repulsed by his closeness.

His expression darkened rapidly, and the anger stoked by Martin's three hundred million surfaced again, even more intensely than before.

He had his long fingers gripped around a woman's waist, his eyes dark as if splattered with ink, "The contract hasn't been officially signed yet; changes can happen at any time."

Rosemary rolled her eyes—what did matter to her whether there were changes or not?

Depending on splitting the assets yet being indebted by three billion, she would rather he went bankrupt!

Maxwell squinted, her expression... she's really pushing her luck!

"You borrowed money from another man behind my back. I'm not in a good mood right now. I'll give you one minute to agree to my proposal, to soothe my temper."

Rosemary heard what seemed like the biggest joke ever, to soothe his temper?

"Maxwell, do you need me to escort you to the neurologist to get your head checked?"