Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

After confirming the authenticity, Rosemary carefully packed the painting into a box and whipped out the contract she had prepared earlier for Victoria to sign.

As Victoria put her signature on the dotted line, she couldn't resist taking a jab at her, "Look at you, once the cream of the crop at the art school, raking in a cool 300 grand for a painting before even graduating. And now? You've hit rock-bottom, playing errand girl as someone's assistant. How's that feel?"

This whole ordeal was like a stain on Rosemary's life that just wouldn't wash out. Yet, Victoria never got the satisfaction of seeing Rosemary blow her top. Her face, a cocktail of allure and aloofness, remained an emotionless mask.

Without a word, she hugged the painting and made her exit. She walked away with her back ramrod straight, only slumping down like a deflated ball once she was safely inside a cab.

This painting was in bad shape - a massive project with time ticking away. There was no time to lose, so she headed straight home once she had the artwork in her possession.

Her two-bedroom apartment had one room transformed into a studio. Rosemary laid out the protective paper on the table, smoothed it out with a damp brush, and then placed the unrecognizable ancient painting on top, misting it with lukewarm water around 50 degree centigrade.

Restoring paintings required the patience of a saint. By the time she finished the first step, night had completely fallen.

The buzz of her phone broke Rosemary's concentration. A glance at the screen - It was Maxwell calling.

Her eyes flicked to the ancient painting in front of her, recalling Victoria's barbs from earlier today about the supplementary card Maxwell had given out.

With furrowed brow and an irked tone, she answered, "What do you want?"

Maxwell was also frowning on the other end, "Did someone light your fuse?"

"Spit it out if you've got something to say, or else I'm hanging up," just as she was about to cut the call, Maxwell's command stopped her in her tracks.

"Come downstairs."

"What?" It took a few seconds for Rosemary to react. She strode to the window, yanked back the curtain, and sure enough, there was that familiar Bentley parked below. He had actually shown up.

"I'm busy; let's talk over the phone."

She feared seeing Maxwell would make her lose her cool, and maybe even use her stilettos to give his face a new look!

On one hand, he was coldly handling legal issues with his wife, and on the other, he was flaunting his mistress around town with his credit card. Even a dog wouldn't be that showy!

"I'm taking you out to eat." After a brief pause, Maxwell's voice returned with a sly undertone, "Or would you prefer I come up and drag you to the restaurant?"

Rosemary rejected the offer without hesitation, "Not hungry, I'll pass."

"Mom made the reservation. If you're not going, tell her yourself."

That remark took the wind out of Rosemary's sails.

Pearl had wanted them to go out like a regular couple, to dine out now and then. She had gone through so much trouble, booking couple's restaurants for them to share intimate moments, but Maxwell was too chilly to even hold hands in public, let alone go on a date.

And as for couple's restaurants, they had never been to one. Now he was suddenly playing the obedient son?

But after a few seconds of hesitation, Rosemary went downstairs anyway. She hadn't eaten since noon and was famished. The fridge was barren except for a few bottles of yogurt. She'd just chalk it up to filling her stomach - pure and simple!

Pearl's choice was, as usual, a romantic couple's restaurant with dim lighting, flickering candlelight on the tables, soothing piano music, and secluded rooms - perfect for a date.

Walking in, Rosemary caught sight of a few couples kissing. Instinctively, her gaze turned to Maxwell, not with any particular intent - if there had to be a reason, it was out of sheer awkwardness.

Maxwell's face was expressionless, but his words made Rosemary want to slap him on the spot.

"Jealous, huh? Want it?"

Suppressing the urge to smack him, Rosemary lowered her voice, "There might be reporters here."

Such a place was prime territory for gossip hounds chasing scandals of the rich and famous. He had previously avoided coming here, afraid of exposure, right?

Seeing Maxwell unfazed, Rosemary figured her warning was superfluous. Finally, with a feigned sigh, she answered his earlier question, "Yeah, I'm green with envy. But the thought of it being with you just kills the mood."

"Not interested in kissing me, then who are you interested in?" Maxwell turned to face her, his jaw clenched, his gaze unblinking; even in the dim light his eyes were clearly brimming with menace.

He was being outrageous, and their exchange caught the attention of many around them, all wearing smirks on their faces.

Not wanting to have this embarrassing conversation in the middle of the lobby, Rosemary quickly found a seat.

Eager to return to her work, she grabbed the menu to order, reminding the waiter, "Please, make it quick."

Watching her hurried actions, Maxwell frowned, "What, haven’t eaten a meal in your lifetime?"

She was just plain unwilling to spend time with him.

She kept her thoughts to herself, and while waiting for their meal, she brought up the terms of their agreement again, "I'll pay you back the 300 million I owe."

In the shadows, Maxwell's eyes were still brooding, repeating the same question he had asked on the phone, "And why should I trust you?"

Rosemary was on the verge of losing it! He was doing this on purpose. Despite her promise to repay the money, he kept dragging his feet.

"Victoria's back; aren't you concerned?"

Maxwell didn't even look up, "Concerned, so hurry up and pay back the money." Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

"I won't dodge the debt just because we're getting divorced." Rosemary tried to reason with him, "Besides, you're not short of that money."

What she implied was: Compared to his happiness, money was nothing.

Maxwell's eyes lifted to her agitated face, and finally, he smiled, "Mrs. Templeton, just because I'm not short of money, you act like a dead mouse not feeling any cold. Who gave you that audacity? Instead of wasting time here, you should be figuring out how to make that 300 million faster."

Rosemary was seething at his remark, "Don't you dare call me that!"

Throughout their marriage, he had always addressed her with such formality, devoid of any affection. Now that they were about to divorce, he kept using “Mrs. Templeton” - it was nothing short of mockery!

Maxwell sneered, "Don't want to be Mrs. Templeton, aiming to snag the title of Mrs. Gellar instead?"