Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love novel Chapter 118

Maxwell cracked open his eyes, thin lips parting to release a swirl of pale smoke that mingled with his breath. The living room was dark, unlit save for the streetlamp light seeping in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The already dim room was further obscured by the curling smoke, blurring his vision.

His Adam's apple bobbed as a grunt escaped him as a reply. After hanging up the phone, Christ promptly sent over the original draft of the news article.

He stared at his phone in the dark. The screen was a bit of an eyesore, but Maxwell couldn't be bothered to turn on the lights. He made do, squinting through the text even though his smart home would have sprung to life with just a few taps on the smart control app, swapping out of WhatsApp.

Sure enough, the snap of Rosemary raising her hand to strike Victoria had been caught on camera. But it only showed her arm in motion - no aftermath. The article's lines dripped with sympathy for Victoria, insinuating that Rosemary was nothing but a domineering brat. It even dredged up the old news about the hotel rendezvous, suggesting that Mrs. Templeton had climbed her way into her position by sleeping her way up.

The language was tactful, but Maxwell knew this draft was just a feeler. If he didn't make a peep, tomorrow's piece would be sharper, more cutting.

Christ called at the perfect moment, "Mr. Templeton, ready to publish?"

Maxwell's fingers tapped idly on the armrest of the couch. The harsh glow from his phone cast his chiseled features and short hair into stark relief, shadows pooling in his eyes - a deep, dark abyss, "What do you think, that she forced her way into the Mrs. Templeton title by sleeping her way up?"

Christ was silent; he didn’t dare respond for he was unsure of Maxwell's stance.

He'd harbored such thoughts too, having worked alongside Mrs. Templeton for over two years. Maxwell's attitude towards her hadn't gone unnoticed; anyone with half an eye could see he wasn't her biggest fan.

But considering Maxwell's occasional cryptic behavior lately, things might not be as straightforward as they seemed.

Maxwell didn't fault him for his silence. His voice, raspy yet tinged with an ambiguous chuckle, sounded again, "The one who orchestrated the shotgun wedding was actually me."

Christ was floored. He couldn't tell if Mr. Templeton was dishing out the real tea or just cueing in the narrative he wanted to see in the news.

Either way, he got the message loud and clear.

"I'll have them revise it straightaway."

"And the journalist who wrote this," Maxwell paused for effect, "I don't want to see him in this industry again."

Christ complied, "Understood."

He didn't feel sorry for the journalist. If the guy hadn't been trying to suck up, anyone with brains would've steered clear of stirring the pot on such a topic. Regardless of Mr. Templeton's feelings, she was Mrs. Templeton. And no matter how favored Ms. Temple might be, even with her ex status, she was now the other woman.

The next day, Rosemary's jaw dropped as soon as she unlocked her phone to find lovey-dovey news about her and Maxwell. The photo showed them hand in hand, smiling for an interview. She closed the app, opened her browser, and there it was, "The Templeton Group CEO reveals secret wife, admits he was the one who forced marriage." She switched apps, and the same story popped up everywhere.

Yolanda's call came just as Rosemary was reeling, her voice a mix of shock and gossipy glee, "Rosemary, what's the deal? You're not divorcing Maxwell? I wake up, check my phone, and bam, your official announcement is everywhere. Talk about a plot twist!"

Rosemary lay flat, staring at the ceiling with the look of someone who'd lost all hope, "Would you believe me if I said I didn't even know?"

Silence from Yolanda for half a minute, "Has he finally realized what he's got and is now chasing after you?"

"Probably not. More like Hogan knocked some sense into him last night."