Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

The way he said it was cryptic, but Pearl got it in a flash. After all, she was the one who sought out a top-notch doc to prescribe that powerful tonic soup - it was bound to do the trick.

Her usually frosty face broke into a smile in an instant, but she still chided him, "What are you, a wet-behind-the-ears kid? Ever heard of being gentle? Go buy it already. Actually, drag Rosemary along too. And if it looks bad, make a beeline for the hospital - don’t want an infection turning into a hot mess."

Under Pearl's earnest gaze, he ended up calling Rosemary, telling her to get dressed and come downstairs ASAP.

Rosemary, sensing something was off in his tone, thought something had happened and hurried down after throwing on some clothes.

What she didn't expect was to find Maxwell and Pearl standing face to face. His voice was low and detached, "You're not feeling well. Come with me to get some meds." This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

Rosemary thought to herself, “When did I feel unwell?”

A glance at Pearl and the penny dropped - it was a bust; she was being used as a human shield! She rolled her eyes at Maxwell without a second thought. Talked about a sneaky jerk!

Pearl, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling between them, was all wrapped up in joy. She noticed Rosemary's tight jeans and quickly advised, "Change into something loose now; tight clothes won’t do your wound any favors. It's hot out; covered up like that you're asking for an infection."

"Pearl, what are you saying?"

What was she going on about? She wanted to know where exactly she was supposed to be feeling unwell?

Maxwell, however, stretched out and pulled her over. Rosemary, caught off balance, stumbled into his arms and was held close, "We're heading out; get some rest, Mom."

Pearl shot him a look, "Rosemary's injured and you're still roughhousing? If our family doc was a woman, I'd have already called her over, no need for your help."

"Right," Maxwell responded nonchalantly, while Rosemary was out of it, forgetting to resist as he led her out with an arm around her waist.

"Hold on." Pearl suddenly remembered something important, scurried to the kitchen, and returned clutching a bag of tea, "If it works well, take it with you. Drink it every night."

Maxwell's lips were pressed slightly, "Leave it for Dad to drink."

Pearl was blunt, "Your dad doesn't need it."

So, was he that impressive without it, or it was beyond saving even with it? Was this something she should be overhearing?

Seeing Maxwell wouldn't take it, Pearl stuffed the bag into Rosemary's hands, "Get going. Don’t just buy meds; head to the hospital and get checked out."

Once they left the Templeton family’s mansion and got into the car, Rosemary finally got a chance to speak, "What exactly did you tell her?"

Maxwell had no desire to continue that topic. He glanced at the bag still in her embrace, his tone cool and mocking, "Really? Planning to take it with you and ask me to drink it every night?"

Rosemary, taken aback for a moment, then tossed it into the back seat like it was trash, not missing a chance to jab, "Just goes to show, a mother knows best. She's aware you don't cut it; even got your meds prepped."

"Not cut it?" Maxwell drove one-handed, savoring those words. He glanced at Rosemary again, "Then that first time, who ended up in the hospital needing stitches and laid up for days?"

Rosemary looked at him with a hint of pity in her eyes, "Did it ever cross your mind that me needing stitches wasn't because you were any good, but because you’re just plain bad at it? Ever seen any other woman rush to the hospital for stitches after her first time? Such a unique case, and you never thought to reflect on yourself?"

Maxwell's eyes narrowed, displeasure and darkness on his face thick enough to drip, and he slammed on the brakes, "Get the hell out!"

They were on the main road now; cabs were plentiful. Rosemary figured he was itching to see Victoria at the hospital, and she had zero interest in watching a love fest.

Without hesitation, she stepped out of the car with her head held high and marched away.

With a roar of the engine and a cloud of dust kicking up, the car sped off, leaving her behind. Rosemary yelled after the disappearing vehicle, "That eager, huh? What, did she kick the bucket and you're rushing to play corpse collector?"

Silence was her only answer. Later, Rosemary stood by the roadside, waiting for a taxi. Instead, a sleek black Bentley pulled up smoothly in front of her.

Jason stepped out, the picture of respect, "Mrs. Templeton, Mr. Templeton asked me to take you home."

The subtext clear: he might have ditched you, but he had taken care of the aftermath.

She wasn't about to make things harder for herself and hopped right into the car. As she sat there, she mulled over making their divorce public - knowing Maxwell's pride, it would probably piss him off!

But riling him up now would be more trouble than it was worth. After all, it was just three months and ninety days. She could suck it up.

But after tonight, she sensed Victoria wouldn't wait that long, not with her character, and especially now that she was back in the country.

In the dead of night at the hospital.

Just as Maxwell arrived at the door of the ward, he overheard Victoria berating her agent Tracy, "You're paid by me; you should be listening to me. Who told you to go calling Maxwell on your own?"

Tracy stood her ground, not budging an inch, "Victoria, you don't take care of yourself, sneaking in dance practice with injuries like that, ignoring advice. I can't talk sense into you, nor can the doctors, so I had to call Mr. Templeton."

"It's my own business. He's married now. You shouldn't bother him with my affairs, putting him in a tough spot," she said coldly yet with an undertone of vulnerability, the tremble in her voice at the end tugging at people’s heartstrings whenever they heard it.

"You left for abroad because Mrs. Templeton didn't approve of your family background. You should've told him instead of suffering in silence. You wanted to become a world-class dancer not for yourself but to be his equal. But what about him? Back home, he married."

The rest of her words were cut short as Maxwell entered. Tracy's voice turned stiff, "Mr. Templeton."

She glanced at Victoria on the hospital bed and said, "Take a look at the gash on Victoria's leg, please. I'm gonna head out."

Once the room cleared, Maxwell walked up to the bedside, towering over her, "Lift up your pant leg; let me have a look at that wound."

Victoria had taken a nasty spill off the stage yesterday, slicing a long cut into her calf that needed over a dozen stitches.

But in that moment, she didn't do as told, and just shook her head in denial, "Don't mind Tracy's rambling - she's just making a mountain out of a molehill because she's worried about me."

Maxwell cut her off, his face unreadable, but his tone dripping with impatience: "Just lift it up."

Victoria bit her lip, and seeing that he was dead set, she reluctantly hiked up her pant leg a bit.