Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

Chapter 38

Maxwell frowned, "You're overthinking it. The Templeton Group's got a big deal under discussion, and the person in charge of the other company values family harmony. If I were to get divorced at this time, it would take me more effort to secure the deal. I can't be bothered with that."

Rosemary had asked the question to needle him, but his blunt reply still twisted her heart into knots.

"We're secretly married, and very few people know about our martial relationship."

"But it's not like nobody knows. If something were to change in this regard, it would be too much of a loss."

While talking, Maxwell had already carried her upstairs. From her angle, all she could see was the man's stern jawline, as unapproachable, haughty, and irresistible as that night in the hotel bed.

Upon entering the room, she was greeted by the all-too-familiar layout.

To outsiders, this place was a luxurious villa, too posh to put a price on, but for Rosemary, it was the gilded cage where she'd spent nearly three years of her youth, every corner shadowed by her solitary figure.

The more she thought about it, the more aggrieved she felt, until it all morphed into resentment and rage. Rosemary turned her head, unwilling to give the room another glance, unintentionally burying her face into the man's chest.

This sudden closeness seemed to alleviate some of the irritation that had been lingering in Maxwell's heart. To him, it was clear she was softening up to him.

Her breath, warm and moist through his shirt, pressed against his skin, causing Maxwell's body to stiffen suddenly, his voice carrying a slight, unobvious hoarseness: "Stop it, you'll move back tomorrow..."From NôvelDrama.Org.

But before he could finish the sentence, Maxwell abruptly cut himself off, a pained grunt escaping his throat. He raised his voice, incredulous: "Rosemary, what are you, a dog? Why biting people!"

Rosemary released her bite, looking at the bite mark on his neck, then raised her head to look at Maxwell, her eyes still rimmed with the red of her grievances.

She struggled out of his embrace. This time the man didn't stop her, simply putting her down, though his face turned cold and sour, as if he was staring at an ungrateful stray dog!

"Maxwell, get off your high horse. If it weren't for Yolanda, I wouldn't have come here tonight. And by the way, is force all you know when it comes to women? Did I give you permission to hold me?"

The old she would've killed for a moment of his tenderness, and now that he was willing to hold her, she actually disliked it? Refused it?

Maxwell felt inexplicably irritated and rubbed the center of his forehead.

Rosemary held back her emotions, remembering her purpose, and asked clearly, "Do you really need to let Yolanda go to jail over the slap mark on Victoria's face that's barely visible?"

"She hurt someone, she's got to pay the price."

Grinding her teeth, Rosemary recalled his earlier words, realizing she had no choice but to make a deal.

"You want that project, right? I can wait until you've clinched the project before divorcing you, but the condition is you have to release Yolanda."

The room fell silent instantly upon her words.

After a few seconds of silence, Maxwell, frowning, finally unwillingly nodded his proud head.

After "negotiating” over Yolanda's release, Rosemary couldn't wait to get out of there and left within the minute.

After leaving Meadowlark Retreat, she headed straight to the police station where Louis was still there. This time, following the formal procedures, she successfully bailed Yolanda out.

Yolanda asked worriedly, "Maxwell didn't make any unreasonable demands in exchange, did he?"

Rosemary shook her head, "No."

He hadn't asked for anything; it was she who had offered the condition, and he had just reluctantly agreed.

Yolanda didn't buy it. Maxwell had been so unyielding when he arrived at the police station, leaving no room for negotiation, and now he suddenly gave in. He must have made Rosemary agree to some condition.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault for losing control and dragging you into this."

"You didn't drag me," Rosemary smiled at her, "If you hadn't done something, I would have. So, in a way, you took the fall for me."

The conversation ended there, but Yolanda silently noted this event in her heart against that couple!

After all had been settled, Rosemary fell back into her routine: restoring artifacts at work, repairing ancient paintings after work, without receiving any news from Maxwell again.

One morning, as soon as Rosemary arrived at the studio, Oswald called her into his office.

"Rose, here's the thing. A TV crew contacted me about featuring our profession in an episode of their program. What do you think?"

"That sounds great. The public doesn't know much about our profession, and the number of people engaged in it is dwindling year by year. If more people learn about this industry, it would attract a lot of fresh talent in the future."

Most people can't stomach this line of work; facing a pile of damaged antiques every day without speaking much, the sedentary hours, heads down, dust, various chemicals leading to numerous occupational diseases.

Oswald thought the same, nodding, "Us old fellows won't hog the limelight. You've got the best skills among the younger generation, so we thought of having you record this episode. Show the laymen your expertise."

"Me?" Rosemary seemed troubled. She didn't want to be in front of the camera—not for that she want to be mysterious, but because she and Maxwell hadn't divorced yet. If she became a public figure on the program, their eventual divorce would certainly cause a stir.

"Don't worry, I know you'd like to keep a low profile. We can talk to the producers about not showing your appearance. After all, our profession values skills over looks, right?"

Rosemary got Oswald's gist, but.

Oswald added with a smile, "Being on the show would greatly boost both the studio's and your personal reputation. Fame brings more money, and isn't making money what life is all about?"

Rosemary was startled; such words didn't seem like something a venerable and incorruptible elder would say, but they struck a chord in her heart.

Indeed, fame would allow her to take on challenging tasks, and with it, more money.

And her current fame was limited to within the circle, not known much by outsiders.

Moreover, she was burdened with a debt.

Rosemary pondered for a moment, "I'll think about it."

As night fell, in the VIP booth of the Night Club.

Maxwell furrowed his brow, occasionally pinching the bridge of his nose.

He was slouched in the corner of the booth, with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, exposing a large portion of his bare chest.

Tonight, Archer had set up a shindig and invited him for drinks. The place was packed, all from close circles, so Maxwell hadn't held back and drank a few more glasses than usual.

The man took out his phone, squinting boozy eyes as he called Jason, his handsome features draped with a heavy drunken haze.

After a few "beep” sounds, a woman's indifferent voice came through: "What's the matter?"

Maxwell's brow creased, thinking he must be hallucinating. He had clearly dialed Jason's number, how on earth did the person on the other end turn out to be Rosemary?

Ever since the Yolanda incident, he hadn't seen this woman again. They had no interactions, neither publicly nor privately, especially since she was no longer his personal assistant.

Maxwell glanced at his phone screen, which displayed Rosemary's name.

He had dialed the wrong number.