Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

They agreed to meet around mealtime, so they chose a fancy restaurant for the rendezvous. Rosemary hopped out of the cab and instantly spotted the guy waiting for her outside the restaurant.

Martin smoothly took the toolbox from her hands, "How's the new place treating you? Settling in okay?"

"Yep, all good."

As Martin led her in, he seemed to hesitate before saying, "Oh, by the way, my grandpa's kind of a party animal, so don't take it personally later on, okay?"

Rosemary was puzzled, but once they reached the private room, she got what Martin meant. She thought it would just be Nelson, but to her surprise, the room was packed to the rafters.

Martin cleared his throat, "All these folks are my grandpa's buddies. They had a golf game this afternoon and they're kinda into the whole antique appraisal thing, so they tagged along. If it bugs you."

It seemed like he only just found out about the crowd himself. Rosemary shook her head, "No worries, but just so you know, appraising artifacts isn't exactly my forte, so there might be some margin for error."

Despite saying that, she knew she was likely on the money. She didn't graduate in the field, but her grandpa and mom were pros in the biz and had passed down everything they knew to her.

When Nelson saw her, he waved her over, "Rosemary, come sit by me."

The families went way back, yet as time passed, they got estranged; the Chambers family, well, they weren't exactly in the same league anymore.

Rosemary approached, "Nelson."

The old man nodded with a smile, "You've grown up to be quite the stunner. Martin tells me you're working at Heritage Revive Studio now? A hotshot artifact restorer?"

Rosemary didn't want to blow her cover as Rose just yet, so she just gave a modest smile, "He's just singing my praises. I'm just an assistant, nothing more."

"Nonsense, being at Heritage Revive Studio is a big deal in itself, especially at your age. Keep it up, and who knows, you might be taking over the Oswald legacy someday."

Someone else chimed in, teasing, "Nelson, is Martin getting hitched soon?"

A young and pretty girl, personally picked up by Martin himself, supposedly for an antique appraisal - but no one really believed she had the chops for that. With the Gellar family connections, if they wanted an appraisal, they'd go for a bigwig.

So naturally, everyone figured Martin was just looking for an excuse to introduce his girlfriend to his grandpa.

At that comment, the usually genial old man's face turned stormy, "Don't go spreading rumors. Rosemary's already hitched."

The Gellar family knew about Rosemary's marriage to Maxwell; although there was no wedding, the families were close enough to bump into each other now and then.

Seeing Nelson's serious look, everyone clammed up, realizing it wasn't a joke.

The old man had snagged an ancient porcelain cup, something Rosemary had seen before in a museum. This one wasn't in as good condition, but it was remarkably well-preserved.

She opened her toolbox, took out her gear, and started examining the cup closely. The process was lengthy, and even as dinner was served, she was still engrossed in the cup's base.

Martin spoke up, "Rosemary, why don't we eat first? The appraisal can wait."

She set down her tools and carefully boxed the cup, "Sure."

The others didn't really have high hopes for her verdict; they were just putting on a polite front for Nelson's sake. At the moment, they already turned to their own conversations. As their attention was caught by something else, Martin leaned in and whispered, "Got a verdict yet?"

"Yeah, how much did Nelson fork out for this cup?"

Martin gestured an eye-popping figure.

Seeing her silence, Martin got the picture, "A fake?"

"Not exactly, more like a patch job. Judging by the material, it seems to be pieced together in the later period, so it's still an antique, just not the real McCoy. Definitely not worth what was paid."

Nelson didn't make a scene upon learning the truth, contrary to what Rosemary had expected. Observing his calm demeanor, she couldn't help but think: Well, money sure did what it wanted!

The onlookers who were there for the show had their expressions flicker. After the meal, Rosemary didn't let Martin give her a lift; instead, she hailed a cab home.

Turning to his grandfather, Martin offered, "Grandpa Nelson, shall I take you home?"

With no one else at the restaurant entrance, the old man who had been calm moments ago suddenly turned fierce, staring daggers at Martin, "Who asked you to bring in an appraiser? You

ungrateful brat, can't stand to see me happy for few days, had to rain on my parade. Get lost, I'd probably kick the bucket from anger before reaching home if you drove me!" Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

After that, he even clutched his chest, gasping for air. Martin was left speechless.

Half an hour later, Rosemary got home and the first thing she wanted was to strip down and shower. But just as she was undoing her blouse, she heard a noise from the room.

A burglar? She tiptoed towards the sound, grabbing something for self-defense from the living room along the way.

The bedroom door creaked open before she could reach it. Maxwell stood there, eyeing the object clutched in her hand coldly, "What? You want a repeat of last night's action?"

Rosemary was totally flabbergasted but quickly regained her composure, hissing furiously, "Maxwell, you..."

He had just showered, his hair still damp with droplets tracing down his chiseled face, his upper body bare, and a not-so-large towel wrapped around his waist, barely covering halfway down his thighs.

And that towel was hers! She'd always been a bit rough, using it to wipe her face after showers, and now Maxwell had it slung around his waist. Just thinking about it...

Rosemary was on the verge of a meltdown!

"Maxwell, who said you could touch my stuff? Take that off right now!"

Maxwell gave her a look, hand casually resting on the towel, and asked back with a half-smile, "You really want me to take it off?"

Judging by his roguish demeanor, he was definitely going commando under that towel!

Before he could make a move, she quickly intervened, "No need, just get dressed and get the hell out of my place - and take that towel with you!"

The amusement in Maxwell's eyes faded into a dark shadow as he coldly regarded her, "Your place?"

"I know your head isn't exactly crammed with saintly thoughts, but don't you dare sully me with those filthy ideas of yours."

Rolling her eyes, Rosemary walked back to the sofa in the living room and sat down, "Hurry up, you've got five minutes."

She turned on the TV and started peeling an orange, taking her time to enjoy it. Five minutes later, Maxwell emerged from the room, now in casual home wear, his hair half-dried and hanging messily.

A sense of foreboding crept up in Rosemary, and she instinctively scooted back with caution, "What's this all about?"

The clothes fitted him too well; they had to be his own. She certainly didn't stock any men's clothing here. Was he planning on moving in?