Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

The knocking was frantic, ear-splitting; not just folks on this floor, but probably the whole three-story stack got a rude awakening.

Rosemary rolled out of bed, took a few strides to the door, and yanked it open with a vengeance.

The person outside was Stacey, wrapped up like a burrito; no joke, even her own mom wouldn't recognize her, let alone Rosemary.

"What do you want?"

Rosemary had been puzzling over how Stacey had sneaked in. Unlike Maxwell, whose face was a regular on TV and super recognizable, Stacey's current get-up screamed “wanted criminal” to anyone who glimpsed her. Now, spotting the janitor's uniform she was rocking, Rosemary got the picture.

She'd really underestimated her.

"Sis, I need your hubby to bail me out. Some jerks have stitched together a hot mess of some videos and thrown it online," Stacey tried to bulldoze her way past Rosemary's defenses, but after a few failed attempts, she gave up.

Rosemary took her sweet time before responding, "And why on earth should I help you? With our history, Stacey, not kicking each other when we're down is already saintly enough. You think I'm gonna pull you out of the muck? Remember how you screwed me over, watching me suffer, having a blast, weren't you?"

Whether Stacey was playing dumb or missing the point, she pondered for a few seconds before gritting her teeth, "Did you leak those videos?"

Rosemary raised an eyebrow, silent.

"Come on, spill it. Was it you? It's gotta be you. Who else would hate me that much?"

"Pfft." Rosemary scoffed, "You sure think highly of how people feel about you."

Not to mention, all those people she bullied in the vids would probably love to see her get what she deserved.

"You bitch," Stacey lunged at her with claws bared, but Rosemary was quicker, slamming the door shut.

Stacey hit the security door face-first, her nails screeching against the metal. She'd clawed so hard her nails split.

Rosemary warned, "Make one more peep, and I'll have the whole building out here gawking at the latest internet sensation."

Stacey, like a cornered thief, clutched her mask and hat to her face, scoping the scene. Seeing no one, she swallowed her pride, "Rosemary, you vicious wretch!"

The atmosphere at the Templeton Group was tense as a tightrope these days, everyone stone- faced, tiptoeing around, voices hushed, because Mr. Templeton was in a foul mood.

Those who'd reported to his office lately came out looking like they'd been through the wringer, soaked in cold sweat.

He wouldn't yell; just gave them a frosty look that screamed “Are you an idiot? Can't even handle this simple task?” His mere presence was enough to leave them breathless.

Christ, clutching a freshly framed painting, took a deep breath before knocking on the door, with Victoria by his side.

She was here to get Maxwell to sign a sponsorship contract. He'd verbally agreed last time, but the paperwork wasn't inked yet.

It was pure coincidence she arrived just as Christ was about to deliver the framed artwork. Victoria eyed the painting in his hands, her expression chilly when no one was looking.

Christ said, "Ms. Temple, could you hang back for a sec while I let him know you're here?"

Victoria nodded, "Sure, thanks, Christ."

Christ entered, and there was Maxwell, buried in paperwork, his brow furrowed, lips downturned, clearly displeased.

He gingerly set the painting on the desk, "Mr. Templeton, the framing's done. Want me to hang it up for you?"

He was genuinely surprised Mr. Templeton valued this painting, which could pass for a talisman on one’s door, enough to have it expertly reframed.

"No need."

Maxwell stashed the painting in a drawer, "Who's outside?"

"Ms. Temple, she's got the sponsorship contract for your signature."

Normally, the staff could handle such minor matters, but given Victoria's special status, he didn't dare overstep.

Maxwell paused for a moment, "Let her in."

Victoria strutted in, and slapped the contract on his desk with all business, "Mr. Templeton, see anything that needs changing?"

Tracy had coached her well: didn't cling to a guy like a bad rash, maintained some distance, yet didn't vanish for too long. Showed vulnerability at the right time, but not in a way that seemed scheming. Especially with a guy like Maxwell, who was swimming in female attention - didn't come off as too eager.

Victoria was plotting her next move to seem vulnerable but not cheap, to elicit sympathy without seeming desperate, when Maxwell cut in, "Rosemary's saying we're both playing her in some plot. What's that about?"

Victoria, a lifelong dancer, instinctively straightened her spine at his words, "Shouldn't you be asking Rosemary that? After all, it's her story. She ought to know the ins and outs."

She was unsure whether Rosemary had spilled the beans to Maxwell or how much she'd shared, so deflecting was her best bet.

Maxwell's eyes, sharp and devoid of their usual warmth, pinned Victoria in place.

Since she walked in, the advice from Tracy had been buzzing in her head, but at this moment, it was all tossed aside, "So you're questioning me for her? You think I'd do something to hurt someone?"

"I'm not accusing you, just asking. If you'd rather not say." He frowned slightly, his words trailing off, "Even though it's been three years and might be hard to dig up, there's bound to be some leads."

Victoria's eyes, which had lit up at his momentary silence, flickered out as he finished his sentence, "If I say it wasn't me, would you believe it? No, you wouldn't. You'd still investigate. You're only asking to cut off my escape routes."

She quirked a self-deprecating smile, "You know me, I've always had my nose in the air, thinking I'm all that. So, if the results turn out different from my story, I wouldn't bother overturning what's been

said today."

The office fell dead silent. She waited for Maxwell to speak, but the man simply flipped through the document she had brought, glanced over the terms to make sure everything was kosher, and then, without further ado, signed his name at the bottom.

Seeing his meticulous manner, Victoria couldn't help but throw a jab, "What, scared I'll pull a fast one on you?"

Maxwell replied, "For what comes next, just liaise with the Investment Department Manager. I'll have Christ give you a business card later." Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

Was that his way of saying, “Don't come back to me”? How fed up did one have to be to cut off even this tiny bit of contact?

Victoria's voice was faint, almost a whisper, "Maxwell, did you ever have feelings for me? In the past, or now?"