Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love novel Chapter 149

Victoria couldn't stand her carefree attitude and snapped coldly, "Maxwell and I are just friends. Don't assume everyone is as twisted as you. And you and Martin, that's a real scandal, isn't it? What role do you have in taking care of him now, huh?"

She had already gathered the whole story when she passed by the nurses' station.

Casting a glance at the bag Rosemary was holding, she added, "That store isn't exactly around the corner from the hospital, is it? You've really gone out of your way. Did you bring anything for Maxwell too?"

Just as Rosemary was about to retort, she saw Maxwell coming out of the ward. His wounds had been treated, and he was wrapped in white bandages.

His words from earlier echoed in her mind, and suddenly she lost the will to argue. "Instead of buzzing around me like a fly, you’d better figure out how to keep him on a tight leash and snag the Mrs. Templeton title after I divorce him."

Maxwell came over, his gaze landing on Victoria. He said to her, "Let's go, I'll give you a ride back."

“Sure.”

Victoria looked at Rosemary with a hint of smug superiority in her eyes.

She could see it clearly; Maxwell hadn't spared a single glance at Rosemary.

It seemed like Rosemary had finally given up for good. And rightly so; no normal guy would forgive being cuckolded, let alone someone like Maxwell.

Archer had sorted out the paperwork and was waiting in the car. Maxwell slid into the passenger seat: "Let's drop Victoria off first."

"And you? Heading back to Meadowlark Retreat? How about crashing at my place tonight? Alone in that big house, if you catch a chill in the middle of the night, there won't even be anyone to find your cold body."

"No thanks."

They were both grown men; Archer wasn't in the mood for coddling. If Maxwell didn't want to, that was that.

After dropping off Victoria, Maxwell asked, "Fancy a drink?"

"Are you out of your damn mind? Drinking in your condition, are you in a hurry to meet your maker or something?" Archer gave him a look and said flatly, "Dying's no use; Rosemary won't be playing the grieving widow."

Maxwell grimaced, his brows knitting together as he glanced down at Archer's lower abdomen: "No wonder Yvonne dumped you."

Men know men best; no matter how subtle, they can taste the bitterness. Archer scoffed, "You want a drink? Fine, let's go. You're the one dying, not me. And it’s not my wife who's looking to remarry."

"Yeah, Mr. Big Shot, why don't you win Yvonne back?"

Words can be the sharpest weapons. With each sentence, Maxwell was practically stabbing Archer in the heart.

Archer sneered back, "You've pissed off everyone around you, enjoy your lonely life," and, not content, he added, "Serves you right to get beat up; you won’t even have visitors on Tomb Sweeping Day."

The two men weren't fussy; they just found a bar on the road.

Maxwell was in a foul mood, knocking back drinks like there was no tomorrow. Even the best of drinkers can't handle that kind of punishment, and soon he was showing signs of intoxication.

The bar was too noisy; even speaking had to be shouted into the ear to be heard. Archer didn't have the patience to comfort someone under such grueling conditions, so he let him drink.

Two hours later, Archer dumped a drunk Maxwell back at Meadowlark Retreat. The villa was empty, not a soul in sight. He cursed, "Should I get a bodyguard to take care of you?"