Whispers of Destiny His Belated Love

Victoria couldn't stand her carefree attitude and snapped coldly, "Maxwell and I are just friends. Don't assume everyone is as twisted as you. And you and Martin, that's a real scandal, isn't it? What role do you have in taking care of him now, huh?"

She had already gathered the whole story when she passed by the nurses' station.

Casting a glance at the bag Rosemary was holding, she added, "That store isn't exactly around the corner from the hospital, is it? You've really gone out of your way. Did you bring anything for Maxwell too?"

Just as Rosemary was about to retort, she saw Maxwell coming out of the ward. His wounds had been treated, and he was wrapped in white bandages.

His words from earlier echoed in her mind, and suddenly she lost the will to argue. "Instead of buzzing around me like a fly, you'd better figure out how to keep him on a tight leash and snag the Mrs. Templeton title after I divorce him."

Maxwell came over, his gaze landing on Victoria. He said to her, "Let's go, I'll give you a ride back."

"Sure."

Victoria looked at Rosemary with a hint of smug superiority in her eyes.

She could see it clearly; Maxwell hadn't spared a single glance at Rosemary.

It seemed like Rosemary had finally given up for good. And rightly so; no normal guy would forgive being cuckolded, let alone someone like Maxwell. Archer had sorted out the paperwork and was waiting in the car. Maxwell slid into the passenger seat: "Let's drop Victoria off first."

"And you? Heading back to Meadowlark Retreat? How about crashing at my place tonight? Alone in that big house, if you catch a chill in the middle of the night, there won't even be anyone to find your cold body."

"No thanks."

They were both grown men; Archer wasn't in the mood for coddling. If Maxwell didn't want to, that was that.

After dropping off Victoria, Maxwell asked, "Fancy a drink?"

"Are you out of your damn mind? Drinking in your condition, are you in a hurry to meet your maker or something?" Archer gave him a look and said flatly, "Dying's no use; Rosemary won't be playing the grieving widow."

Maxwell grimaced, his brows knitting together as he glanced down at Archer's lower abdomen: "No wonder Yvonne dumped you."

Men know men best; no matter how subtle, they can taste the bitterness. Archer scoffed, "You want a drink? Fine, let's go. You're the one dying, not me. And it's not my wife who's looking to remarry."

"Yeah, Mr. Big Shot, why don't you win Yvonne back?"

Words can be the sharpest weapons. With each sentence, Maxwell was practically stabbing Archer in the heart.

Archer sneered back, "You've pissed off everyone around you, enjoy your lonely life," and, not content, he added, "Serves you right to get beat up; you won't even have visitors on Tomb Sweeping Day."

The two men weren't fussy; they just found a bar on the road.

Maxwell was in a foul mood, knocking back drinks like there was no tomorrow. Even the best of drinkers can't handle that kind of punishment, and soon he was showing signs of intoxication.

The bar was too noisy; even speaking had to be shouted into the ear to be heard. Archer didn't have the patience to comfort someone under such grueling conditions, so he let him drink.

Two hours later, Archer dumped a drunk Maxwell back at Meadowlark Retreat. The villa was empty, not a soul in sight. He cursed, "Should I get a bodyguard to take care of you?"

Maxwell wasn't completely wasted, just foggy. He didn't want to move or open his eyes. Lifting an arm to shield his eyes from the glaring light, he muttered, "No need, just get lost."

Archer huffed and really did get up and leave without a second glance.

Stepping out of the villa, he rubbed his throbbing temples and ordered a nearby bodyguard, "Go fetch Rosemary for him."

Drunk as a skunk, someone had to

keep an eye on him, and since

Maxwell was one to dislike strangers hovering over him-why else would he have no live-in help the villa-it made sense that Rosemary, the instigator of the mess, should be the one to look after him.

As Archer's car pulled away, Victoria, who had been waiting, slipped inside.

She was worried about Maxwell's injuries and knew that Meadowlark Retreat would be unstaffed at night. With Rosemary no longer living there, she decided to check on him herself.

The bodyguard recognized her at the door; not only did he not stop her, but he even greeted her.

...

Rosemary was dragged back to Meadowlark Retreat from her home by the bodyguard; she had already been in bed when he barged in, so she was still in her pajamas.

Thankfully, winter pajamas are long-sleeved and conservative, so there was no worry of exposure.

"Did Maxwell send you for me?"

She had asked this question on the way over, but the stony-faced bodyguard hadn't uttered a word. Maybe fed up with her questioning or because they had arrived, he finally said, "Mrs. Templeton, Mr. Templeton is plastered. Needs someone to watch over him, could be dangerous otherwise."

"He's the one who let himself get wasted, and you're worried about his safety?" Rosemary finally shook off the bodyguard's grip and turned to leave. The bodyguard caught her arm again: "Mrs. Templeton, you're going the wrong way."

"

She suspected he was doing it on purpose. Her intent to leave was clear, yet here he was, telling her she's going the wrong way. But given his dead- serious demeanor, Rosemary wondered if she was reading too much into it. Maybe he was just a blockhead.

But whatever she thought, this blockhead didn't let go of her for the rest of the trip.

Not until they reached the villa door did he release her: "Mrs. Templeton, you can go in. We can't enter without a summons."

Rosemary had no choice but to enter despite her reluctance. The bodyguard simply wouldn't let her go. She pushed the door open with a face full of resentment, using her fingerprint to unlock it, and was immediately stunned by the scene inside.

Though it was dark, the light from outside poured in as soon as the door opened, allowing her to make out the faint outlines within.

From the foyer to the living room.

Clothes were strewn all over the floor, both men's and women's, mixed together, telling the tale of what had transpired inside.

Rosemary totally didn't expect the

sight that greeted her when she opened the door, and she froze on the spot, like a deer caught in headlights. But it wasn't just her who was shell-shocked; the bodyguard who dragged her here was also rooted to the ground.

The folks in the living room caught wind of the commotion and rose from the couch.

It was Victoria.

The couch was hiding most of her, but from what the eye could see, from her neck down to her shoulders, she was in the buff.