Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love novel Chapter 143

She turned to look at Maxwell, who sat there with an air of entitlement. For a moment, she had no clue what he was up to. “The doctor said the bleeding has stopped. You’d recover faster at home.”

This place is nothing like those posh private hospitals decked out like five-star hotel rooms. The Templeton family have private doctors and servants. It would certainly be more conducive to recovery than the noisy, bustling public hospital.

Maxwell looked at her, a casual smirk playing at the corners of his eyes, “Who knows if the bleeding might start again? My place is in such a remote area, and at night there’s not a soul around. What if I pass out from blood loss? I’d be a goner, right?”

Rosemary glared at him, gritting her teeth, “What the heck do you want?”

“What if I faint because of excessive blood loss…”

Before Maxwell could finish, Rosemary turned to the doctor, “Doctor, let’s get him admitted, please.”

Thankfully, it was not a famous top-tier hospital, so the hospitalization process went smoothly.

The ward was on the fifth floor, a one-meter single bed with blue sheets that had gone a bit white from too many washes, and some stubborn stains couldn’t be removed.

Rosemary thought Maxwell would turn his nose up at it. After all, a silver spooner like him, who’s had nothing but the best since day one, might be a bit of a clean freak. You could tell by the spotless standards at Meadowlark Retreat.

But Maxwell just took a glance and then took off his shoes, laying down on the bed composedly.

After grabbing some toiletries from the supermarket downstairs, Rosemary hit the shower, gave her blood-stained clothes a quick fix, and then told Maxwell, “I’ve left a towel in there for you. You can go in and wash.”

Maxwell, who had been feigning sleep, cracked open an eye at her words, “It hurts, I don’t want to move.”

His nose looked pretty swollen at that point, and the dried blood on his face made him look a sorry sight.

It was only noon, but Rosemary hadn’t slept much the night before and was struggling to keep her eyes open. Seeing that he wouldn’t go, she decided to leave him be. After all, it was not her who was dirty.

Maxwell watched her from under half-lidded eyes, lying on the bed. He waited until he was sure she was settled in for the long haul before he called out, “Rosemary…”

His voice went somewhat louder.

It had only been a few minutes since Rosemary hit the sack, and she was already on the edge of deep sleep when she heard him. She managed a perfunctory hum.

Maxwell frowned, his nose to his forehead, and even his temples started throbbing. He ordered stiffly, “Fetch some water and help me wash up.”

At that, Rosemary woke up a bit and looked at him, “You’ve just hurt your nose, not broken a limb.”

“My hands hurt too.”

Rosemary laughed. It was out of anger.

Knowing what she was about to say, Maxwell retorted with a sneer, “If it wasn’t for someone acting like a pig in a poke, making a mess of things, would I be in this mess? Or maybe you just don’t want me to get well too quickly, so you have an excuse to nurse me a bit longer.”

His last sentence was meant to provoke her, but Rosemary took the bait. She couldn’t help it; she just wanted to get rid of this man.

Compared to this, giving in was nothing much.

Maxwell watched as Rosemary, clearly fighting off sleep, dragged herself out of bed and trudged to the bathroom to fetch water.

He felt a profound sense of weariness and helplessness. He wasn’t dumb; he could see that Rosemary really wanted a divorce; she was not using the quarrel as a stalling tactic.

She handed him the wrung-out towel. Maxwell glanced at it but didn’t take it.

Well, fine. He was the lord now.