Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

Totally freaking out, Rosemary propped her hand against Maxwell's shoulder, "Maxwell, chill out, will ya?" Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

On any other day, she would never think Maxwell could do anything to her, but the dude was plastered, and you can't reason with a drunk.

Sure enough, her resistance only led to a more aggressive approach from him.

The apartment wasn't huge. From the front door to the bed, it was less than ten meters.

But without bothering to walk that short distance, he just went for another deep dive into kissing her; the edge of the shoe cabinet jabbed into her back, which wasn't exactly painful, but was damn uncomfortable.

Rosemary was pushing him away, trying to dodge his touch, "Don't touch me."

She wanted to shove him off, but the guy was so freakin' strong; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't break free from his grip around her waist.

Maxwell's lips missed their mark but he didn't rush to go back for more. Instead, he just hung there, half-lowering his gaze at her.

Rosemary's fair face was full of disgust. If her hands weren't trapped and twisted behind her by him, and if she could actually get away, Maxwell figured she would've slapped him again without a second thought.

He nudged his cheek, and a weird chuckle spilled from his throat, with a voice husky with desire; then he forced her face back towards him.

His smothering kisses landed on her cheek, and rolled down from her jawline to her neck, leaving a trail of flushed marks on her fair skin.

Rosemary had just popped downstairs for a snack, so she was wearing a base shirt and cardigan under her ankle-length down coat, which made it all too easy for Maxwell to play the brute.

She was about ready to scream. All of her rejections and struggles were useless, and even the insults she hurled at him were like water off a duck's back.

With one hand restraining her, and the other growing more rough, he left his breath on her skin and taunted, "So, he's back and you're playing the virtuous martyr now?"

Even while talking, his lips never fully left her body.

Rosemary's mind went blank as Maxwell's overpowering invasion forced her to retreat. Her hands fumbled on the shoe cabinet until her fingertips found something. She grabbed it and slammed it into him.

"Thud!" The breath-stealing kiss halted!

Rosemary stared in shock at the blood suddenly trickling from Maxwell's forehead. Her grip loosened, and the object fell to the floor.

It was an aromatherapy decoration from the shoe cabinet.

Maxwell didn't move, and the blood trickled down her face like a tiny stream, but he showed no sign of pain.

He looked down at Rosemary; the hallway light was somehow shut off, leaving only a sliver of light seeping in from the window.

His blood-stained face looked kinda spooky in the dim light.

Rosemary panicked, "Sorry, I'll call an ambulance."

Although Maxwell seemed fine and was still coherent, a head injury needed a thorough check-up at the hospital, not to mention his forehead needed some bandaging.

She wanted a divorce, sure, but she didn't want the guy dead.

He might not like her, but he hadn't treated her badly in other respects. She was given an unlimited black card to splurge with and there was no wifey duties like serving tea or waiting on people. If it wasn't for the tangled emotions, it would be a dream life for many.

But once you start expecting more, it's a torture every second of every day.

It's hard for any girl not to fall for a guy like Maxwell,

If it weren't for that three-million debt, the money she was making would be more than enough for a comfortable life, and she could have not to force herself to endure such mental anguish.

Life's too short for unhappiness!

Rosemary was going to grab the first-aid kit, but then it occurred to her that she had just moved in yesterday and hadn't had the chance to get all that sorted.

Maxwell closed his eyes, looking a bit dizzy, and scoffed, "Afraid I'll kick the bucket?"

He said with a faint smile, "If I die, no one will bother you anymore. Though the Gellar family probably won't let Martin marry a widow. But hey, if he really loves you, he might be willing to take you begging on the streets."

Rosemary grabbed some tissue and pressed it roughly against his wound, "Even a hole in your head can't stop your mouth from running."

Even if Martin were to leave his fortune, he wouldn't be begging on the streets. Does this guy ever stop badmouthing people?

She rolled her eyes, "I'm not about to waste my prime years in jail making paper boxes. If I can find a hot, young guy to date, who'd want a late-in-life romance?"

Rosemary bent down to pick up her bag; as she reached for her phone to dial 120, Maxwell stopped her, "Jason's downstairs."

His condition wasn't serious, no need for emergency rescue, and the bleeding on his forehead had stopped with the tissue. No point in wasting emergency services.

Downstairs, Jason was having a smoke. When he saw Rosemary helping a blood-faced Maxwell down, he nearly lost it, and he hurriedly ditched his cigarette to help, "Mrs. Templeton, how'd the young master get so badly hurt?"

That was a tough question for Rosemary.

She wasn't afraid of Jason, but if word got to Pearl, heaven knows what she'd imagine.

Normal couples don't have wives who would put holes in their husbands' heads!

Maxwell just watched her, not lifting a finger to help her out of the jam.

Rosemary lied without batting an eye, "He fell. Next time he gets wasted, Jason, just send him back. Don't let him run wild. If I hadn't been quick to catch him today, he would've been hurt even worse."

Maxwell was speechless.

He just watched how Rosemary spun the story, and turned her from an aggressor into a heroine.

Jason looked troubled, "Mrs. Templeton, maybe you should move back. I'm just a servant, and I can't really handle the young master's stuff."

There was a private hospital nearby, just a ten-minute drive away.

After bandaging up Maxwell's wound, the doc said, "Shouldn't be a big deal, but if you're really worried, we could do a head CT. Or just play it by ear for now, and if you start feeling dizzy, wanna hurl, or get super sleepy, then we can run the scan."

Maxwell glanced at the woman by his side who hadn't made a peep, "Doc, I live solo."

"That's a no-go. You need someone to keep an eye on you. Some concussion signs don't show up early on. Either crash here for the night or let's get that brain scan done now."

Rosemary chimed in, "Doc, just write up the order for the CT."

Maxwell shot it down, "No CT."

She was losing her patience: "Then admit yourself."

He was nonchalant: "Not staying."

Rosemary was starting to see red. After all this hassle, her stomach was doing backflips from hunger: "No doing this, no doing that, what on earth do you wanna do then? Go crash at your mom's?"

Maxwell fired back, "You're the one who hit me, and you're asking me what I wanna do?"