Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

Maxwell was silently watching her, yet his gaze seemed to pierce through her, reaching out to another girl whose smile was as bright as sunshine. Her eyes used to sparkle brighter than the sun on the horizon, unlike now, where her eyes were heavy with twilight, showing not the slightest glimmer of hope for the future.

She had never looked this way, not even when she was dodging loan sharks left and right.

Back then, despite the dire straits, she was brimming with hope for the future. Her emotions were so vivid and distinct - hatred and joy, anxiety and fear.

But now, just three years later...

"Are you tired of it all," he asked quietly, his voice husky, "or did you find out Martin's got the hots for you too, and you just can't wait to run off with him?"Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

After what felt like an eternity, Rosemary spoke up, her voice hoarse and laced with a distant chuckle, "Maxwell, we were married, for better or worse. Do you really want to drag this out to the bitter end, to a point of no return?"

Maxwell's eyes narrowed abruptly, a sharp pain struck his heart, followed by a wave of ruthless desire to just destroy her. He lowered his head and let out a low chuckle, "If I don't agree, what's your plan? To off yourself, or to off me?"

Rosemary used up what seemed like her last ounce of strength with those words, so she fell silent.

"Still thinking about snapping photos for evidence at a time like this, Rosemary. Should I praise you for your smarts or say you're heartless?"

"1

Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose, all his emotions settling into a calm. He wasn't sure if it was her 'fight to the death' spiel or if he was just plain tired, "If you're that eager, then let's get a divorce."

He finished speaking and closed his eyes wearily, every pore exuding an icy hardness that pushed people miles away.

Rosemary had been obsessing over a divorce, even dreaming about getting the marriage certificate with Maxwell at the civil affairs bureau. But now that he had actually said "let's get a divorce," she was stunned, even doubting her own ears. She pursed her lips, "When should we do the paperwork?"

Having been jerked around before, Rosemary was somewhat skeptical of his straightforward agreement.

Maxwell: "Tomorrow morning."

Not one extra word was spared.

Rosemary: "For real?"

The man opened his eyes impatiently, his gaze cold and mocking as he looked at her, his eyes bloodshot, "Rosemary, there's a mirror upstairs. Go take a look. See for yourself what's so special about you that I can't let go. Is it your looks, your figure, or your bedroom skills? You've got none of that, but sure, dream on."

With those words, Maxwell went straight upstairs, unwilling to spend another second with her.

Rosemary glanced at the wall clock; it wasn't long until dawn. Fearing he'd change his mind after sobering up, she decided to stay at Meadowlark Retreat until morning and head straight to the civil affairs bureau with her documents.

Upstairs in the study.

Maxwell didn't go to his room; instead, he headed to his study.

Opening the topmost drawer on the right side of his desk, aside from a photo frame and some letters, there was nothing else.

The girl in the photo, sixteen or seventeen, beamed at the camera, her features youthful and full of life. Nobody could tell she had suffered the loss of her mother and lived in such a troubled household.

Thinking of her now, her face as still as dead water, Maxwell felt a jolt in his chest. The pain, delayed, surged from the deepest part of his heart like a tidal wave, drowning him completely.

Even the deepest blows hadn't wiped the smile from her face, yet these three years of marriage had changed her from a vibrant young girl to what she was now.

Maxwell closed his eyes, his lips white from the pressure, his grip tightening.

"Crack."

The glass of the photo frame shattered.

The broken glass, pushed by his force, pierced deep into his palm and fingers, and the crimson blood flowing out instantly stained the picture in his hand.

The pain was sharp and real.

Maxwell was pulled back from his drifting thoughts by the acute agony. He looked down at the unrecognizable photo in his hand and tossed it into the nearby trash can.

As he withdrew his hand, he casually grabbed a letter from the drawer.

The envelope and stationery were cartoonish, the handwriting bubbly and youthful...

The essence of a young girl hit him full force.

In the center of the envelope, in neat writing, it said 'For Martin's eyes only', with a chibi version of Martin drawn next to it.

Maxwell's blood stained the light envelope into a chaotic mess. The paper, already fragile from age, quickly soaked up the blood.

He didn't open it, though he knew its contents by heart, having read it countless times.

Every sleepless night, he'd pull it out,

the girl's andisguised, blatant affection for another man laid bare. The more he read, the less he slept. It was a cycle of self-torture he couldn't seem to break.

Rosemary dozed off on the armchair, only to be jolted awake by a loud 'bang' from upstairs, as if something had been smashed or accidentally dropped.

She didn't go up but was too disturbed to fall back asleep, staring at the ceiling, waiting for dawn.

Maxwell didn't come down again that night.

By 8:30 a.m., with no signs of life from upstairs, Rosemary grew anxious. She kept glancing upstairs and at her watch, her brows knitting into a frown. Was Maxwell having second thoughts now that he was sober?

This thought grew heavier in her mind and just as she was about to go up to check, he finally made his belated appearance.

He'd changed into a new outfit, his hand hastily wrapped in a few loops of gauze, reminding her of the noise from last night.

His expression was as cold as ever, with just an added hint of blue under his eyes.

He looked at her as if she were invisible, his gaze sweeping over her without a second glance.

The two hopped into a car and

headed for the civil affairs office, making a pit stop at Rosemary's place to grab some documents. The place was buzzing with activity at year's end, but most folks were there to tie the knot. The divorce corner, though, was pretty deserted, with just a couple of disgruntled pairs.

Makes sense when you think about it - with barely half a month till the New Year, those who can't stick it out a second longer and are dead set on splitting are hardly going to be the amicable sort.

They took their place in line, and before long, it was almost their turn.

The staff did their usual spiel, trying to patch things up. Rosemary was like, "Sis, it's a lost cause - we've even been through the wringer at court."

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Everything was in order - no kids, no was in property drama - so the paperwork went through like a breeze. The official stamp came down with

thud, and voilà, two divorce certificates slid across the table towards Rosemary and Maxwell.