Chapter 32

Maxwell's lips pressed into a thin line, veins popping on his forehead as he almost snarled her

name, "Rosemary!"

Rosemary froze, meeting his fierce gaze with a lurch in her heart.

"Chill out, why the aggression?"

He gritted his teeth, "You're asking for it."

No one spoke for the rest of the journey, the tension in the car so thick it could be cut with a knife,

scaring Jason to the point he didn't dare to press the gas pedal too hard.

Rosemary leaned against the door, staring blankly at the night scenery whizzing by. The car finally

stopped in the garden of Meadowlark Retreat, and Rosemary, looking at the familiar off-white villa in

front of her, lethargically pushed the car door open and stepped out.

This was her and Maxwell's marital home, but also a cage that had imprisoned her for three years.

She had tried and hoped to be a loving couple with him, but now, she was so disheartened that she

just wanted a divorce.

Taxis were a no-show in this ritzy part of town, she had been drinking and couldn’t drive, and Jason

wouldn't take orders from her to drive her back.

After weighing her options, it seemed like crashing here was the only one for tonight. At least later

on, Maxwell would probably go see Victoria, and she could pretend she was just staying at a hotel.

Rosemary staggered inside, and as she bent over to change shoes, footsteps approached from

behind.

Maxwell stood there, watching the way her dress clung to her curves in that pose, sketching out a

different kind of sex appeal.

Today she wore an A-line skirt that revealed slender, eye-catching legs. Maxwell felt a surge of heat

in his chest, a fire that had been smoldering since her words in the car.

Over the years, he'd had no shortage of women throwing themselves at him, many more beautiful

and sensual than Rosemary, some even bold enough to strip naked in front of him, but he never felt

interested.

The fire now seemed to come more from anger than desire. Even if he didn't like the woman, he

couldn't stand the thought of her comparing him to someone else.

He fought to control the rage bubbling inside him, resisting the urge to drag her upstairs forcefully.

Oblivious to the danger, Rosemary finished changing her shoes and half-closed her eyes as she

headed to the living room.

She didn't go up to her room, planning to rough it on the couch for the night. She had picked out this

sofa herself, wide and comfy. She knew exactly where to find a light blanket on the shelf below and

lay down, covering herself.

Maxwell strode over, looking down at her on the couch, "Get up."

Rosemary turned over and buried her face in the cushion, too lazy to deal with him. His

expressionless face grew darker as he took off his watch and started unbuttoning his shirt, his gaze

never leaving Rosemary in the entire process, his lips spouting a maddening proposition, "Or would

you rather do it right here on the couch?"

Rosemary's temples throbbed with shock at his sudden words! She turned, glaring furiously at him.

How shameless could he be to say something like that so nonchalantly!

But her eyes dropped to his well-defined chest and tight abs. His muscles weren't exaggerated, just

a thin layer, like a sleek and powerful cheetah.

Rosemary snapped back to reality. He was actually undressing! Her voice rose, "Isn’t Victoria

dying? Shouldn’t you go see her instead of stripping here?"

Maxwell frowned, ignoring her, bending over with a low chuckle. He pinched her chin, forcing her

face toward his, "You seem to know a lot. So, have you seen it, or have you done it?" His eyes were

filled with an uncontrollable blaze, every word dripping with cutting sarcasm.

Rosemary had forgotten her words in the car, and rolled her eyes, "You're nuts."

Before she could finish, Maxwell’s kiss descended like a storm, with a raw sense of possession, the

skin he kissed throbbing painfully, clearly not just a kiss.

It was all too sudden! Rosemary's tipsy brain was slow to react, and by the time she woke up to

what was happening, it was too late. The sound of fabric tearing rang out, her dress ripped open by

Maxwell.

Her eyes widened, she twisted and struggled, her voice almost a roar, "Maxwell, don't touch me!

Get off me."

But her resistance was futile against the man whose eyelashes half-closed, hiding the turbulence in

his eyes but not the sternness in his face.

Women were naturally weaker in strength, especially when the man showed no mercy. Curled up

beneath him, she couldn't break free.

Realizing the more she struggled, the more he wanted to dominate, Rosemary bit her lip and forced

herself to calm down.

When Maxwell moved in for another kiss, she turned her head away from his lips, her voice cold, "2

million for one time, deducted from those 300 million."

Suddenly, his lips halted just inches from hers. The flames in Maxwell's heart were instantly

extinguished, replaced by disdain and contempt, "2 million? There are women with that price tag,

but they're the ones with skills and know-how. Rosemary, what makes you think you're worth that

much for a night?"

Rosemary harshly wiped her lips with the back of her hand, blood smearing whether from being

rubbed raw or bitten by Maxwell.

"Fancy yourself, with your lousy skills, not being a man and forcing yourself on a woman, medical

bills, compensation for emotional distress." She angrily continued, thrusting her bloody hand in front

of him, "Rabies vaccination fee, 2 million is already a discounted price for being married!"

With each accusation, Maxwell's face grew darker. His brooding gaze fixed on her, as though he

wished he could tear her apart.