Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

Maxwell seized Rosemary’s hand, shouldered open the door she had unlocked, and strutted into her room under her murderous glare.

Rosemary frowned. “This is my room. What do you mean by this?”

Maxwell flashed a sly grin. “Take a shower and sleep.”

His tone was casual, with a hint of amusement, but she could tell he was baiting her.

Maxwell was doing this on purpose; he wanted to see her driven mad with rage but powerless to act against him.

Rosemary had booked a room with a king-sized bed, with a sofa by the window but no other resting spots.

Maxwell wouldn’t demean himself by sleeping on the sofa, which meant she’d either have to suck it up and share the bed with him or pitifully lie on the sofa, all while watching him lounge comfortably sprawled on the large bed she paid for.

Rosemary pursed her lips, her tone displeased, “Go back to your own room.”

Though this hot spring hotel didn’t have a presidential suite, it boasted VIP hot spring rooms complete with private soaking tubs.

“We’re husband and wife. Wouldn’t sleeping separately give everyone the wrong idea about our relationship?” Maxwell spoke blatant lies. “Mr. and Mrs. Ferber are deeply in love, and our business partners prefer to work with harmonious couples. Don’t forget, you’ve been paid.”

His expression was a vivid billboard of disdain, as if it screamed, “Don’t act all high and mighty when you’re selling yourself!”

Moreover, if Mr. and Mrs. Ferber could be described with the words “deeply in love,” she might as well livestream herself drinking poison. Whether Maxwell was blind or deliberately trying to disgust her, he was desecrating the term.

Rosemary’s eyes and brows smiled with complete fakeness. “Our partners are interested in your company’s and your personal prowess, not in how good our relationship is.”

Maxwell let out a humph and ignored her, heading straight for the bathroom.

Glancing at the closed glass door of the bathroom, Rosemary’s expression darkened slightly. Her eyes swept over the bathrobe hanging in the closet. He seemed to have forgotten to change into the robe.

Just as she was about to ignore the bathrobe, the frosted glass door of the bathroom was opened a crack, and a man’s hand reached out.

“Hand me the bathrobe.”

The arm that reached out was covered in tight, powerful muscle, sleek and freshly washed. Droplets of water, not yet dried, were trickling down his skin.

Even so, Rosemary reminded herself not to be swayed by a pretty face. She held the reins now.

“You think I’ll just hand it over because you say so? Come out and get it yourself.”

She wasn’t about to indulge his princely tantrums. She wasn’t his “personal nanny” anymore!

A chuckle came from the bathroom, “If you want to see me naked, just say it. It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”

Damn it, who’d want to see him.

In the end, she had no choice but to grab the bathrobe, shut her eyes, push open the bathroom door, throw it in for him, and then without turning back, walked straight to the bed and lay down on it herself.

She might not have won the battle for the bathroom, but she refused to believe she couldn’t claim the bed.

A few minutes later, Maxwell emerged from the bathroom in a white bathrobe, its belt tied loosely around his waist. With the robe hanging open, the smooth lines of his chest were partially visible.

His hair was still dripping water, following the sharp contours of his face and disappearing into the collar of his robe.

He looked at Rosemary, who was lying on the bed scrolling through her phone, and frowned. “Get off.”

Maxwell was a clean freak, unable to bear getting into bed without bathing and changing, something Rosemary was well aware of. She locked her phone, placed it on the nightstand. “I’m tired and want to take a nap. Do as you please.”

After speaking, she pulled the covers over herself and rolled a few times on the bed, contentedly closing her eyes. “A king-size room for over a thousand bucks, it sure is comfy.”

Maxwell’s expression turned cold. He pressed his lips together and after a moment said, “Don’t you take a bath before sleeping?”

“No,” Rosemary answered matter-of-factly. “It’s not hot enough to sweat, and daily showers dry out the skin. I usually bathe every three days.”

She lied without batting an eyelid, even flipping her hair spread on the white pillow. “I almost forgot, today’s the third day. I’ll bathe tonight when we come back. It’s just a nap now, and we have to go

out later. Too much hassle.” This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Maxwell stared at her; his gaze sharp enough to pin this sloppy woman to where she lay!

Rosemary boldly flipped back the covers, patting the space beside her. “You have social engagements this afternoon. Why not make do with a nap first?”

Maxwell withdrew his gaze and, with a stone-cold face, made his way to the sofa by the window.

He wasn’t used to taking afternoon naps. If he wasn’t being considerate of Mr. Ferber’s travel fatigue, he would be discussing the specifics of the cooperation right now.

Rosemary watched him handle work affairs on the sofa, rolled her eyes without any unkindly, fearing she might lose control and show him a rude gesture. But knowing Maxwell’s scoundrel tactics, he’d surely have Harvey, his accomplice, pin a crime on her and have her locked up for days.

She must endure. Once she secures the cooperation, she could cut ties with this man for good!

Two hours later, Mr. Ferber was all rested up, and Maxwell took Rosemary to meet up with them.

This resort, Greenwood’s largest, boasts a golf course, hot spring hotel, indoor and outdoor pools, fishing, flower viewing—a full spread of leisure activities over a vast area, guaranteed to occupy any visitor for days on end without a hint of ennui.

Mr. Ferber was obviously not into exercise, huffing and puffing after just a few steps, so the group headed for the lakeside glass greenhouse for afternoon tea.

The afternoon sun shone through the glass, warm and cozy.

Rosemary continued to play the ornament, keeping her mouth shut unless spoken to.

Soon after, Mrs. Ferber, under her husband’s menacing gaze, asked, “Rosemary, what perfume are you wearing? It smells nice.”

Upon hearing this, Rosemary pulled out a slightly used perfume bottle from her bag. “It’s not a well- known brand. I bought it at a small shop. Mrs. Ferber, if you don’t mind, this bottle is yours. If I have a chance to go there again, I’ll buy a new one for you.”

She instinctively felt Mrs. Ferber’s bringing up the perfume out of the blue definitely had an ulterior motive. She had worn the same perfume that morning, yet no one had asked about it then.