Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love novel Chapter 182

At that moment, Larry's breathing suddenly became labored, "Rosemary, who told you to get a DNA test? Would you rather trust some machine than your own dad?"

Holding a kraft paper bag up towards the ceiling light, Rosemary tried to peek through the wrapper to see the contents inside: "So are you saying I got a stepdad because of a stepmom, or was there always a stepdad in the picture?"

Larry took a deep breath: "Rosemary, I know your aunt hasn't been all that attentive over the years, and you and Stacey aren't exactly besties, so it's fair for you to hold a grudge against me, but you can't let that make you doubt whether you're my flesh and blood..."

"I feel the same, which is why I went for the test. Just so happens you called, so let me just read the results to you while I'm at it."

"Rosemary..." Larry blurted out, his voice booming and pitch shifting at the end.

With a rustle...

To make sure he heard her loud and clear, Rosemary tore open the already unsealed kraft bag, skipped over the incomprehensible analysis part, and dropped her gaze straight onto the results.

"The DNA comparison results show that Larry and Rosemary are... percent..."

How many percent similar, Rosemary didn't say. She just hung up the phone and slowly buried her face in her hands.

Their DNA didn't match up.

They weren't father and daughter.

Even though she had braced for this, having the truth laid bare in front of her was still something she couldn't stomach.

After leaving the testing center, Rosemary hadn't driven far before she got stuck in traffic, bumper to bumper across all four lanes. She couldn't see the end of it, just a sea of red.

...

Irritated, she flicked through her phone a couple of times, remembered she hadn't transferred money to Maxwell today, so she opened her banking app and sent him $500,000.

Note: Payback $500,000, still owe $11,850,000.

When she tried to make a second transfer, the cars in front started moving, but by the time she stopped and tried again, it wouldn't go through.

The other party had disabled the bank card transfer function.

Staring at the notification and then back at the roadblock ahead, Rosemary felt a stampede of fury rushing through her.

She took a deep breath and dialed Maxwell's number: "Your bank card isn't accepting transfers."

After a long silence, the man hummed a monosyllabic "Hmm" noncommittally.

"Just reactivate it, and I'll send you another $500k," she said, not knowing whether Maxwell had turned it off himself or the bank had done it.

"No time."

"You could have your secretary handle it," she thought bitterly, how it usually goes is when you borrow money, you're the underdog, and when you pay it back, you're the big shot. But when it's her turn, she has to beg to lend and beg to repay.

"Rosemary, do you have any idea how precious my time is? For your measly $500,000, I should waste time on activating a service?"

Christ just quietly watched his boss put on airs, wondering who had been distracted all morning, constantly checking their phone.

But he had just managed to get back on track and decided to keep his mouth shut on Mrs. Templeton's matters from now on to avoid collateral damage.

Barely containing the rising anger, Rosemary said, "The money can't get through, send me another card number."

"If the card's a no-go, then just bring it over, isn't that simple enough to figure out?"

"...Take it or leave it." With that, Rosemary hung up the phone and angrily tossed it onto the passenger seat.

Martin slotted his phone with the GPS open into the holder on the air vent, "This French restaurant is good, and it's close by."

Faloria restaurant was all about ambiance, the air filled with an air of sophistication. The moment Rosemary stepped in, she was greeted by the soothing sound of a violin.

"Main hall or private room?" Martin asked for her preference.

"The main hall."

The waiter led them to a window booth. The view was filled with high-end shopping centers, luxury boutiques, and models posing for street photography. It was quite a scene.

Rosemary buried her head in the menu, ordering food, her peripheral vision catching new patrons arriving at the next table. But she didn't pay much mind. After all, customers coming and going in a restaurant was nothing out of the ordinary.

She looked up at the waiter, "I'll have the cream of mushroom soup..."

She stopped mid-sentence. Rosemary laid eyes on the impeccably dressed Maxwell and the elegantly attired Queena at the next table, feeling like life was just a series of awkward run-ins.

Opposite them was sitting a middle-aged man.

The guy had his back to her, so Rosemary couldn't see his expression, but she could hear the disdain in his voice: "Mr. Templeton, maybe we should switch to a private room? This hall is crowded and noisy, it's killing my vibe."

Maxwell replied nonchalantly, "No need, I'm cool with it here."

The man chuckled, "Here I thought you young folks were all about peace and quiet, vibing with music and getting artsy, not into the whole hustle and bustle. Usually, when I ask her to join me for a bite, she picks the quietest spot. But with Mr. Templeton around, she's been a lot more chill. Finally, I get to soak up some of the real world for a change."

Maxwell didn't say a word, his face a mask of indifference.

Queena shot him a playful glare, though it was all just mock anger of a pampered young daughter, "Dad, what are you rambling on about?"

The middle-aged man scolded her, "You have the nerve to ask? If it wasn't for Mr. Templeton playing the hero, what would your mom and I have done? It's not like parents should be burying their kids."