Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

As dusk fell, Rosemary hailed a cab to Meadowlark Retreat. She had intended to hash things out with Maxwell over the phone, but for some reason, whether he genuinely didn't hear it or was playing possum, he didn't pick up.

She wasn't sure if Maxwell would return here since he'd been a rare sight these past few years. But after three years of marriage without ever fitting into his circle, hunting him down here was her only shot, like waiting for a rabbit to hit a tree stump - she had no other choice.

After getting out of the cab, Rosemary hesitated in front of the villa swallowed by darkness, and then finally mustered the courage to go inside.

She unlocked the door with her fingerprint and groped for the light switch on the wall. The bright lights flooded the living room, revealing Maxwell reclining on the sofa, resting with his head back.

Brows furrowed, Maxwell raised his hand to shield his eyes and commanded in a very unpleasant tone, "Turn off the lights."

Rosemary hadn't expected him to be here. After the huge blow Victoria took today, she thought he'd stay by her side, offering comfort. She even braced herself for the possibility of a wasted night.

But since he was home, why the heck was he sitting in the dark? Weirdo!

She turned off the living room lights, leaving only the foyer light on for a little illumination, and then sat down on the sofa opposite Maxwell, cutting to the chase, "Maxwell, drop the case. If you've got beef with me, bring it on. But leave innocent people out of it."

She wanted to wrap things up quickly and get Yolanda out. Of course, Maxwell was well aware of her agenda.

Maxwell dropped his hand, his stomachache so bad he could barely muster the energy to talk. Already in a foul mood, his temper was now flaring even more, "Is this you asking for a favor or picking a fight?"

Rosemary was momentarily speechless. It was neither a plea nor a provocation; she was seriously trying to negotiate!

Before she could speak, he went on, "Last time you were dining with some unrelated dude in a lover's restaurant, and now you're here for another unrelated person. Should I call you Mother Teresa or just two-faced?"

His lips curled into a slight, cold, mocking smile. Rosemary's first instinct was to snap back, but thinking of Yolanda locked up in the police station, she swallowed the anger rising in her throat. Let him say whatever; she just wanted results.

"Spit it out, what will it take for you to let Yolanda go?"

Maxwell knew she'd come to him. If he really wanted to throw Yolanda behind bars, he wouldn't have shown up tonight, nor would he have given her the chance to talk. Playing hard to get, huh? He sure knew how to pull the strings.

Maxwell glanced at the disposable shoe covers on her feet and scoffed, "Already treating this place like a hotel when we're not even divorced? What's next, not even coming inside?"

Rosemary didn't want to get into these trivial matters with him. In the two years and nine months she lived here, when had he ever cared whether she changed her shoes or wore shoe covers?

Bringing this up now was just to vent for Victoria, making excuses not to free Yolanda. Taking a deep breath, Rosemary asked, "What's it gonna take for you to actually talk?"

"I haven't eaten all day; my stomach hurts. I don't want to talk," Maxwell closed his eyes like he was showing her the door.

Rosemary felt a throbbing in her temples out of frustration. She pressed her lips resentfully and asked, "So if your stomach didn't hurt, you'd talk?"

Maxwell's voice was indifferent, "Probably."

Rosemary knew he was brushing her off. Probably? Who knew what excuse he'd come up with later to make things difficult. But for now, she had to bet he'd be willing to talk after filling his belly. She had no other choice.

Biting back her rage, Rosemary headed to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she found a few bottles of water, a pack of pasta, and some eggs - the latter two she had bought a while back.

The pasta was fresh with an expiration date, which was today. The nearby convenience stores were closed at this hour, and the closest supermarket was a half-hour drive away. Rosemary couldn't be bothered, so she settled for the pasta that was about to expire.

But just as she cracked an egg into a bowl, she heard Maxwell's chilly voice from the kitchen doorway, "I don't want pasta."

"There's only pasta." Rosemary responded without turning around, "The stores are closed."

"Then go to another store. It's not like all the stores in Greenwood are closed, right?" NôvelDrama.Org is the owner.

At his words, Rosemary couldn't hold back any longer. She slammed the cutlery into the sink, turned around, and snapped at him, "Take it or leave it!"

In the past, she would have made all sorts of dishes for Maxwell, no matter how late he returned. But those meals either ended up in the trash or with the driver and bodyguard. Now, her making him

a plate of pasta was already charity, and he had no right to be picky.

Maxwell watched her, his gaze heavy, "Don't want to bail out Yolanda anymore?"

Rosemary mentally cursed. In the end, she threw in the towel and asked him, "What do you want to eat?"

He listed a few dishes, “braised prawns, crab, pork, salt and pepper ribs, and a vegetable soup.” These were all dishes she had made before that he had merely glanced at and remembered.

Rosemary's brows furrowed - he sure knew how to order! But saying no would just lead him to use Yolanda as leverage again. She quickly found a legitimate excuse, "It's late, and you're having stomach pains. You shouldn't eat greasy foods."

Maxwell's gaze on her flickered, his voice suddenly softened, a picture of all kindness, "Then what should I eat?"

Rosemary replied, "Porridge."

"Huh," Maxwell chuckled, his features softening, giving off a suave, gentlemanly vibe.

Was that a yes? Rosemary breathed a sigh of relief, but like a switch in an opera, his expression darkened, "Is this how you ask for a favor?"

Oh well, some jerks never changed.

On the way to the supermarket, Maxwell drove with a painful stomach, while the woman in the passenger seat looked furious, staring out the window, ignoring him since they got in the car.

Arriving at the supermarket, Rosemary made a beeline for the fresh produce section. She used to shop here occasionally and was fairly familiar with the layout.

She was striding along at a brisk pace, the wheels of the cart clattering across the ground. Maxwell, with one hand casually in his pocket, strolled along behind her, his words slowly drifting forward laced with a mocking tone, "So eager to whip up something for me to eat, huh?"

Rosemary shot a cold glance over her shoulder, "Vanity, that's an incurable disease."

The supermarket was pretty bare at this hour, with only a few shrimps left, listlessly lying at the murky bottom of the tank, unable to tell if they were dead or not.

She scooped them up with a net, didn't even give them a glance, and dumped them all into her bag in one go. Maxwell, on the other hand, crinkled his nose in distaste, "Have you always been this slapdash with grocery shopping? Didn't you notice these shrimps are dead? Am I not paying you, or are you trying to get back at me on purpose?"

Rosemary turned her head and retorted with full conviction, "If you dare lay a finger on Yolanda, dead shrimp will be the least of your worries. I might just spike the dish with a little something extra."