Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love



Yolanda was all for it. She had a few choice words she wanted to throw out there, but since Martin was still around, it didn't seem right to diss his bro face to face. So, she bit her tongue and handed over the goodies to Rosemary, "My mom picked these up for you on her trip. Some snacks - didn't want them to go bad, so she told me to hustle and get 'em to you ASAP."

"Tell your mom thanks a bunch for me."

"Oh, and what about that vase from last time? My boss is on my case about it. They're jet-setting out of the country and are wondering if they can get it earlier."

Rosemary replied, "All done. I'll head back now and grab it for you."

It was Yolanda who had snagged that order, so she could do the hand-off.

Yolanda was about to say she had her own set of keys to Rosemary's place and could just pick it up herself, but seeing Rosemary itching to get out of there, she swallowed her words.

She wasn't looking to fetch the vase; it was clear as day she wanted to give Maxwell the slip.

Martin chuckled softly, probably reading her mind, "Go handle your biz. I'll babysit Maxwell for a bit."

The dude's fit as a fiddle; he doesn't need a babysitter.

But Rosemary thought better of voicing that thought. Better someone keeps an eye on him or he'll start stirring the pot again.

"Thanks, I'll be back before you know it. He's in bed 507."

She's still rocking the Mrs. Templeton title, and since the whole mess started with her, and even though Martin and Maxwell are tight, Martin's not obliged to play nursemaid. So she owed him at least a token thanks.

Martin smirked, "No sweat, get going."

The moment Maxwell stepped out of the elevator, he caught sight of the two of them sharing a laugh in the living room. He couldn't remember the last time Rosemary had flashed that kind of radiant smile at him. Thinking back, all he got from her were icy smirks or snarky digs.

Just moments ago in his hospital room, she was as prickly as a porcupine, seemingly ready to skewer him, but now she was grinning like the cat that got the cream at her white knight.

His stare was so intense, Martin felt it instantly and turned to see Maxwell storming over with a thunderous expression.

"Maxwell, you..."

Before Martin could finish, Maxwell brushed past him and yanked Rosemary into his arms.

She barely had time to react - mostly because he was so quick, zipping from the elevator to them in a blink.

Her nose slammed into his rock-hard chest, the pain almost bringing tears to her eyes on the spot.

She didn't know how it felt when Maxwell got hit the day before, but right now, it was a mix of sore and achy!

Martin frowned at Maxwell's rough move, seeing the pain written all over Rosemary's face.

Instinctively, he reached out to pull her away, but Maxwell squashed his hand with a warning grip.

Maxwell stood there, radiating a chilly aloofness, his jaw clenched, his eyes cold as ice picks, mercilessly drilling into your soul.

Martin had known him for ages, seen his fair share of Maxwell's darker moments, but this was the first time he saw such raw possessiveness in his eyes, "Martin, watch your step. She's technically still my wife."

Martin was taken aback, but in that split second of distraction, Maxwell had whisked Rosemary away.

The elevator was packed like sardines, and with Maxwell turning into a walking freezer, everyone instinctively kept their distance. Rosemary, cocooned in his embrace, was oblivious to the crush.

She didn't want to make a scene in front of an audience, so she kept her mouth shut, but the moment they stepped out, she shook off Maxwell's hold and strode towards the sickroom...

Downstairs, Martin watched their retreating figures with a soft sigh. His eyes, usually warm and smiling, now betrayed a hint of melancholy.

He pressed his lips together, deciding not to follow.

But Yolanda, who had seen the

whole thing, was heaving sighs of her own. She had wanted to step in when Maxwell grabbed Rosemary the guy looked scary as hell, and who knew what he'd do in a fit of rage. She had been bombarded with news about domestic violence lately, and she couldn't help but wonder how the inte always seemed to know exactly what grim stories to feed her.

She couldn't help but muse, "If Rosemary had married you instead, she might be living the dream by now."

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Whether they'd be happy or not was up in the air; after all, both guys weren't exactly head over heels for Rosemary. It was like choosing between the lesser of two evils But given Martin's easygoing nature, she figured he wouldn't be the type to cling to a dead marriage.

Martin just stood there, speechless.

He's not one to open up easily, especially to someone he barely knows.

As he was about to bid Yolanda goodbye, she blurted out, "Why did you stand her up at the bar back then?"

Huh?

Martin, puzzled, responded, "What do you mean?"

Yolanda looked surprised, "She went looking for you at the bar, like, three years ago... She brought up marriage in the morning, and you ghosted her, so she couldn't wait and found out you were at Night Club. She went to get your answer."

Back then, Rosemary was a bankrupt socialite, drowning in debt, not even able to afford a private booth at Night Club, stuck in the main hall.

Martin shook his head, "She never came looking for me."

At that time, he saw Rosemary as a sister from a distinguished family - not close, but if she had actually sought him out that night...

He tried to imagine it and couldn't quite pin down what his past self might have decided.

Yolanda was ticked off, "No way. She sent me a video from Night Club, nursing a bottle of booze, trying to work up the nerve to 'turn rice into cooked rice.' She even slipped a server a hundred bucks to run errands for her."

A hundred bucks wasn't much, but to Rosemary back then, dodging debt collectors and barely making ends meet, it was a fortune.

At this point, Yolanda wasn't concerned about saving face for her friend; she just wanted to expose this guy's phony demeanor.

"You turning her down, we get it, man - it's not exactly chump change we're talking about here. But denying she even came to see you? Isn't that kinda low, bro?"

Martin frowned, Yolanda didn't seem

like she was playing them, but theNôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

Night Club is a swanky joint,

waitstaff rake in decent dough, on par with office drones in big firms. Why would she bat an eye at a mere hundred bucks to pull something like that?

That night... wasn't she hanging with Maxwell? Could there be some kind of mix-up?