Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

Once the car door slammed shut, the rugged off-roader roared off into the night, kicking up dust like nobody’s business. Mindful that Rosemary hadn't buckled up yet, the driver kept the pace slow enough not to get a ticket but loud enough to raise eyebrows across half the hotel.

By the time Maxwell made it to the entrance, all he could catch was a glimpse of the red taillights vanishing into the darkness.

He stood there, his gaze darker than the starless sky above, lips pressed into a thin line, the corners of his mouth turned down in a grimace.

A waiter helped the injured Victoria out, "Ms. Temple, I'll fetch the car, just a sec."

"Sure," she stood beside Maxwell, propping herself up against the doorframe to ease the pain in her foot, now adorned with disposable hotel slippers in place of her high heels, which only made her swollen ankle look worse.

Maxwell's eyes briefly swept over her, his lips twitching almost imperceptibly. Victoria, feeling his gaze and sensing he had something to say, cut him off lightly, "Go after her; don't worry about me."

She stared ahead, her demeanor proud and aloof.

"Why did she suddenly lash out at you?" Maxwell's voice was as cold and flat as ever, betraying no emotion, just like when he talked to anyone else.

Victoria finally turned to face him, her eyes still red from crying; she met his impassive look with a self-mocking smile, "The question on your mind wasn't about my foot, was it? You wanted to know what I did to make her come down from her high horse to hit me." NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

Maxwell was at a loss for words.

Victoria lifted her head, silent for a good thirty seconds before she spoke again, "You should ask her."

Although she had composed herself considerably, restraining her emotions, her voice still cracked with a hint of resignation, as if she was ready to throw in the towel, "Whatever she says goes."

The waiter pulled up with the car, and Victoria couldn't wait for him to get out and help her; hobbling over, she opened the car door.

Inside the off-roader.

Rosemary turned to glance at Hogan; tsk, the guy hadn't changed one bit since school - every cell of his body screamed “come at me”. But that familiar feeling was creeping back.

She buckled up, and then slumped into the passenger seat, visibly relaxing.

Hogan's mood had shifted from the euphoria of reunion to the profound sorrow of “my girl got hitched, and the groom wasn't me”. When he spoke, it came out harsher than he intended, not because he meant to be mean, but because he was used to barking orders at recruits, which made him look like he was scolding her, "Why didn't you wait for me?"

Rosemary felt wronged, "When did you ever ask me to wait?"

If she had known, she would have said no right away!

All her attention had been on outsmarting a cunning mother-daughter duo; she had no spare thoughts for romance. And who would have guessed that the guy who always had your back, who was like a brother, would secretly want to be her man?

Hogan replied, "The night before I left for the military, I told you to wait for me to come back and I'd treat you to meals for a lifetime. You agreed."

Rosemary was speechless.

Damn, talked about a raw deal. She turned her head, probing, "Hogan, have you not had a girlfriend all these years?"

She didn't mean to attack him personally, but she couldn't help herself.

Hogan was oblivious to the undertone in her words, "I asked you to wait for me; how could I look for someone else?"

Besides, in the army, the only females they ever saw were mosquitoes; everything else was, well, equipped.

Hogan steered with one hand, fiddling with a lighter in the other, restless, itching for a smoke, "When are you ditching the guy?"

His tone was casual, assuming, and Rosemary replied without thinking, "Don't know; have to wait three months before I can file a lawsuit."

Only after she spoke did she realize the guy beside her wasn't the same simple school tough guy from before.

Hogan cracked a smile, visibly cheering up, "Let's have dinner tomorrow. If you don't agree, I'll camp out under your apartment until you do."

Rosemary, who had given him her address earlier, thought to herself, “Big mistake!”

But it was just a fleeting thought. After such a long time apart, it was only right to have a meal together. As for Hogan's feelings for her.

They hadn't seen each other in years, and she was married now. Even if she was a bit vain, she wouldn't assume he had any real romantic feelings for her. It was probably just a bit of sour grapes after hearing she was married.

When they pulled up to her apartment, Rosemary got out of the car, and Hogan followed suit.

"What are you doing getting out?"

"I'm walking you up." Hogan, tall and long-legged, quickly caught up to her, "It's dark and creepy; who knows what might be lurking behind the bushes or trees."

"No need, the security here's pretty tight, and they don't allow parking. You should head back."

With a wave of her hand, and fearing he might actually follow, she dashed through the gate.

A car engine started up behind her. Rosemary glanced back reflexively, only to see a black Bentley pull up next to Hogan's vehicle. She didn't catch the license plate, but the model was unmistakable - it was Maxwell's.

The Bentley's door opened, and out came Maxwell, indeed. He was still dressed in the same suit from the auction, not even a coat to ward off the chill.

The man was stern-faced, his gaze fixed on her as he walked over with determination. But before he could get close to Rosemary, Hogan blocked his path, "She's off to bed. You should go back."

Maxwell followed the arm blocking his way to Hogan's rough face, marked by military life, and gave a half-smile, "I'm her husband. Naturally, I live with her. And thank you, Mr. Abbott, for bringing my wife back."

His tone was calm and polite, but coming from him, with that look on his face, it carried a sharp and mocking edge, which couldn’t be ignored.

Hogan's retort was equally sarcastic, but cruder than Maxwell's veiled jabs, "You're separated now, no damn point pretending to live together. Beat it, or I'll call the cops on you for trespassing."

His guess about the separation was just that - a guess. The apartments were posh but lacked kitchens and open flames, typically housing singles and unmarried couples. Given Maxwell's wealth, with staff and drivers at his beck and call, it was unlikely he'd stay there.

"Separated?" Maxwell glowered at Rosemary through the doorway, his mood as dark as a storm cloud.

He didn't utter a word, but his face screamed, "You even told him that?"

Rosemary flat out ignored him and turned on her heel. Maxwell tried to sidestep Hogan's grip, aiming to chase after her, but Hogan yanked him back by the arm.

His brows knitted together, and he hissed a warning, "Let go, and get lost."