Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love novel Chapter 73

With a crisp "snap", the whole world went silent.

Rosemary looked like she was putting her back into it, but in reality, she had no energy at all. As she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday, and after running a fever for most of the night, her slap was more like a tickle than a punch – Maxwell didn't even flinch.

But the thing about slapping someone isn't about the pain; it's about the deep humiliation it brings!

When has Mr. Templeton, always the apple of everyone's eye, ever been slapped across the face?

He narrowed his eyes menacingly, hoisted Rosemary straight off the bed, and locked gazes with her, "Getting bolder, are you? Daring to lay hands on me now?"

His tone wasn't particularly fierce, but every word, every syllable, even every note, was seething with anger.

He looked so fierce that Rosemary even braced herself to be hit back. She thought that if he laid a finger on her, she'd give it right back and then march to the police station, with bruises all over her body, to report domestic abuse and file for divorce by force.

But Maxwell didn't hit back. He just stared at her, with a gaze as cold as death.

The woman, barely recovered from a serious illness, had a face as pale as paper, small and drained of energy. Yet, this fragile creature that he could crush with one hand was now looking at him with defiance, not showing any sign of backing down.

She was looking up at him, but it felt like she was looking down on him with contempt. Her eyes were bright and clear, with not an ounce of regret.

"Maxwell, you're such a shameless jerk."

Maxwell let out a cold laugh, "You slap me and then have the nerve to call me shameless? What do you want me to do, offer up the other cheek to show I've got some shame?"

Rosemary glared at him, "Someone with any decency wouldn't sneak around exposing private conversations like some petty thief."

Hearing this, Maxwell realized why she had gotten physical.

He suddenly smiled; with his thin lips curling into a smirk, he released his grip on her.

Rosemary, already weak, collapsed back onto the bed the moment his force vanished.

The man stood up, but then, with a sudden movement, kicked the trash can beside him, sending it flying.

"Rosemary, you've got half an hour to think about how you're going to make this up to me, or you're going to pay for that slap."

Maxwell dropped that bomb and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled.

Only when the room fell completely silent did Rosemary let out a long sigh. She felt like she just walked through hell; struggling to breathe under the oppressive atmosphere Maxwell left behind, she felt her body breaking out in a cold sweat.

As for Maxwell's demand that she sweet-talk him, Rosemary snorted coldly and tossed the thought aside.

Why should she appease him when he's the one in the wrong? Because he's a few fries short of a Happy Meal?

It was still early. As she felt much better, she got out of bed to get ready for the exhibition.

It was almost eleven and no one had called to rush her; only Hans had sent a text to ask if she was feeling better.

Half an hour later, as Rosemary arrived at the entrance of the exhibition, there stood Stacey.

She was dressed even more elaborately than the day before, in a warm-colored long dress that didn't suit her age at all, topped with a light coat.

It had rained the day before, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees. The wind made Rosemary feel cold, while Stacey, in her thin dress, looked like a flower blooming in the wind.

Of course, if she wasn't shivering, she'd make a decent vase.

"Rosemary."

Stacey was standing by the glass entrance doors. As soon as Rosemary approached, she came up close.