Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

The folks who were heatedly gossiping got the fright of their lives when this voice popped up out of the blue. Spinning around on reflex, they quickly hid their phone behind them and muttered, "Christ."

Although Christ wasn't a scary dude, he's Mr. Templeton's right-hand man, which meant he's Mr. Templeton's eyes and ears. And it's common knowledge that Mr. Templeton isn't a fan of gossip in the office, even during breaks.

"Christ, how about we just go to the finance department and take care of the fine ourselves? Could you turn a blind eye? It was an accident; I just clicked and peeked for a sec."

Christ frowned, sticking to his guns, "What was that show called? Answer my question and save the rest of the chatter."

The secretary rolled her eyes and called him a big lummox inwardly before she replied, "That Masterpiece Stuff."

The documentary was all about the preservation of intangible cultural heritage, with the first episode featuring a restorer of cultural relics.

But what piqued Christ's interest in the show wasn't the content; it was the person who remained faceless throughout the episode. The show only filmed their hands, leaving viewers to guess their gender based on their clothing and hand size.

Having only glanced briefly at the show earlier, Christ felt a sense of familiarity with those hands. And now, he was certain, those hands belonged to Ms. Chambers!

Armed with his tablet, he knocked on the door to the boss' office.

"Mr. Templeton, Ms. Chambers is on TV!"

Maxwell's brows knitted together; his first thought was that his relationship with Rosemary had been leaked to the media. Although reporters weren't invited to Pearl's birthday party, it can still be leaked by someone on site as there were so many people around back then; walls have ears, after all. "Just have the PR department handle it. No need to bother me with such trifles."

Christ swallowed hard and bravely passed the tablet to his boss, "Mr. Templeton, you might want to see this."

If it were just a typical explanation of artifact restoration, that'd be one thing. But there was a clip of two hands clasping together, and for whatever reason, this generation of netizens loves to ship even the most bizarre couples. What was clearly a simple mistake sparked a myriad of wild fantasies.

Now, there were netizens who had snipped this particular clip and posted it on a video-sharing website.

The show wasn't a smash hit, but this handshake video was catching fire, with the potential to trend.

The comments section was a mix of a few compliments on the guy's looks, but mostly, people were begging the woman to show her face.

You've got to hand it to the director—they knew how to hook viewers' curiosity. A documentary about professions was shot like a romance drama, with one character's face shown and the other's hidden, which was driving people nuts.

This was the clip Christ showed to Maxwell.

The man watched the video coldly; there was the accidental touch of hands and the quick separation. And the woman's distorted and deep voice of saying "no problem" echoed in his ears.

The emotion in his eyes was tumultuous; something was churning inside him, but he kept a tight lid on it.

Maxwell had a good memory; he recognized the man in the video instantly, he was the one who had sat next to Rosemary at the food stall.

Maxwell looked up, his penetrating gaze falling lightly on Christ, "You recognized Rosemary just from a pair of hands?"

Christ's heart skipped a beat, sensing something off in his boss' tone, but he was clueless as to what he'd done to upset the unpredictable man.

He answered honestly, "Ms. Chambers has a mole on the back of her hand."

It wasn't a particularly distinctive feature, but not many people shared the same mark on the same spot.

Maxwell's gaze returned to the tablet, which repeatedly played the clip of hands being clasped together.

Then he said in a low voice, "You can go now."

Christ hesitated, unable to gauge his boss' mood, but he left the tablet and quickly exited the the office pervaded by increasingly suffocating atmosphere.

Maxwell paused the video with a stoic look, and his eyes darkened at the sight of that slender, fair hand being touched by another man; even if it was brief, he found it irritating.

He dialed Rosemary's number from his call history; they hadn't been in touch since their last argument, almost half a month ago.

"Sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable."

Maxwell was speechless.

Ten minutes later, he tried again, still no answer.

The man scoffed; he donned his coat and left the office. Walking past Christ's desk, he suddenly found himself driven by an inexplicable urge, and he snatched Christ's phone to call Rosemary.

After a brief silence, the busy tone came through the earpiece.

So, she had actually blocked him!

His expression turned even colder. Without waiting for the call to connect, Maxwell hung up.

Heritage Revive Studio.

Rosemary was about to wash her hands and take the call, but it ended before she could pick up. She glanced at the caller ID and didn't bother to call back.

If Christ was looking for her, it meant Maxwell was, and it was never good news.

She returned to her work, and the phone rang again—this time it was Yolanda.

She didn't need to guess why her best friend was calling; she'd seen the video too. With the added fan-made filters, it did seem to have a certain romantic tension.

Stepping out into the hallway and answering the call, she was immediately greeted by her friend's excited voice: "Rosemary, you move fast! Already got a new guy, and this Hans is quite a looker, huh?"

"Zip it with the fantasies, okay? All those comments online are fake. Hans and I are just colleagues, nothing more."

"But for now, just colleagues, right? Give it a little effort, and who knows? Hans is a big deal in the circles, a professor-level expert in artifact appraisal, thanks to his dad. His mom used to be a university professor before starting her company; they're rolling in dough now. His grandparents on both sides are all academics."

Rosemary said nothing.

Seeing Rosemary unfazed, Yolanda felt frustrated as hell and continued, "Sure, he might not be rolling in dough or have some high-flying social status like Maxwell, but the guy comes from a family of scholars and his character is top-notch. If you guys hit it off, he'll be a rocket booster for your career! You've got the home-court advantage since you're working on the same show. Seize the moment, girl! Why not invite him out for dinner and drinks? With your looks, smarts, and talent, you'll have him wrapped around your finger in no time."

Rosemary couldn't help but chuckle. "Given how your love life's been going, maybe you should keep those pearls of wisdom to yourself."

"That's all just a bunch of misunderstandings. Alright, I've got to run. But seriously, don't let this chance slip through your fingers, decent guys are rare these days!"

With that, Yolanda hung up in a hurry, and Rosemary stood in the hallway for a moment before heading back to her workspace.

Except for Hans, the place was deserted.

Rosemary blinked in surprise, "Where is everyone?"

"They've gone to grab a bite," Hans said, gliding over on his chair with his phone in hand and scrolling through some apps. "What do you feel like eating tonight? I'll order us some takeout."

Rosemary shook her head, "No, I'll eat something after I finish up here." NôvelDrama.Org content.

The studio had been swamped lately with a rush order to restore a batch of ceramics. A trust fund baby was throwing a vase exhibition, all the ticket proceeds of which were to help kids in impoverished mountain areas get an education. Time was tight, and everyone was working overtime.

"You don't know how late we'll be here. Have something to pad your stomach now; you'll be too wiped to bother once you get home."

As Hans said this, Rosemary actually started to feel a bit peckish, "Alright then."

She walked over to join him in picking out some food. As Rosemary drew closer, a gentle and soothing fragrance wafted towards him, nothing like the overpowering scent of generic perfumes—it was more like a subtle hint of shower gel.

Hans tilted his head slightly, admiring her profile. Her skin was fair, her complexion smooth, and he could see the soft fuzz on her cheeks.

Just then, with a "click," the door to the workspace was twisted open from the outside.

Standing at the entrance with a poker face, Maxwell coolly observed the two who were standing a bit too close for comfort.