Devoted Love:The Billionaire's Precious Wife
Chapter 378

Chapter 378: Chapter 378

"I’ll be waiting at home for you." Romeo didn’t put up a fight, going along with Rosemary’s plans.

"You can’t sneakily follow me or send anyone to guard me." Rosemary seemed to see right through him: "Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to."

Romeo didn’t expect Rosemary to be so sharp, seeing through his plans in a heartbeat.

He pulled Rosemary into his arms, looking into her eyes and asking, "Are you forbidding anyone from following you because you’re in danger? Are you worried I might get caught up in it? Are you worried about me?"

Before Rosemary could even answer, Romeo asked again, "Who’s the other party?"

"I have no idea yet, but they’ve asked for discretion." Rosemary was trying to reason with Romeo: "If they find out I went back on my word and brought a bunch of bodyguards and you, will I have any business left?"

Romeo kissed her, amazed by how articulate Rosemary was.

He turned around and fetched a black hairpin, pinning it to her hair.

"This is the latest tracker. If you stay still for too long or if your location is off, I’m coming for you."

Rosemary didn’t expect him to have such a thing. A seemingly ordinary hairpin turned out to be a tracker.

"I had it specially developed." Romeo saw her confusion and explained, "All for your safety."

"Guess I should thank you then." Rosemary stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, looking at his worried face, and chuckled, "Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. I’ll be fine."

"I sure hope so." Romeo pressed his forehead to hers, kissed her lips, and watched her leave. He felt a tinge of sadness, as if something was missing.

As agreed, Rosemary arrived at an old warehouse on the outskirts of Summerfield ten minutes early. There were about a dozen bodyguards stationed outside the warehouse. Seeing a young girl getting out of the car, they were all a bit puzzled.

"I’m here to deliver the painting." Rosemary walked up to the head bodyguard and calmly said.

The head bodyguard looked her up and down and said, "Sorry, you can go tell Mirabelle that our boss wants to see her in person."

"I am Mirabelle."

The head bodyguard took another look at this young girl. Impossible.

The master of Oriental ink painting, known as Mirabelle, was actually just an eighteen-year-old girl? Who in their right mind would believe that?

"Sorry, I’m not joking." The head bodyguard seriously said.

"Neither am I. It’s the truth."

Seeing the serious look on Rosemary’s face, not like she was joking, the head bodyguard was half convinced and went in to report to his boss.

After a while, he came out and invited her in, saying, "Please come in."

Just as Rosemary was about to enter the warehouse with the painting, the head bodyguard suddenly put out a hand to stop her. "Sorry, please take off the hairpin."

Rosemary: Was she busted so soon?

"It’s safe inside." Seeing that Rosemary wasn’t making a move, the head bodyguard explained, "Our boss won’t do anything to you."

"If he won’t do anything to me, then whether I wear this hairpin or not shouldn’t make a difference."

"Our boss doesn’t want his whereabouts known by others. We’re very sorry and hope you can understand."

Seeing no malice in his words, Rosemary took off the hairpin and handed it to him. The head bodyguard accepted it and made a respectful invitation gesture: "Please, this way."

Rosemary entered the warehouse. The place was spacious and bright. There was only a large desk in the middle of the warehouse with brushes, ink, paper, and ink stones. There was no one around, but Rosemary still spotted several cameras, some facing the desk, some facing her.

"Sir, Ms. Mirabelle has arrived," the head of the security team said, speaking into his earpiece.

Rosemary stood before the desk with an air of aloofness about her.

Upon receiving instructions from the earpiece, the head of security politely requested, "Ms. Mirabelle, could you please unroll this scroll?"

Rosemary spread the artwork across the table. On the camera feed, it was a majestic and vibrant traditional oriental ink painting.

The mountains in the painting were steep, trees lush, streams winding, and clouds wafting. The few cottages nestled within the valleys added a sense of tranquility to the scene, while the birds flying through the hazy clouds hinted at the profound depth of the painting, adding a touch of ethereal quality.

The head of security heard the continuous praise from the earpiece. Without a doubt, this was an authentic piece.

"Ms. Mirabelle, how can you prove that this is your work?"

In the past, Rosemary might have simply retorted, "Believe it or not, I don’t care," but now, eager to finish this task and head home, she picked up a brush and started recreating a part of the painting on a prepared piece of paper.

This portion, taking up a tenth of the entire piece, was completed in less than five minutes.

The security head was stunned, as was the person on the other end of the earpiece. They couldn’t believe a young woman could complete a tenth of the painting in such a short time. And the thing was, this painting was really hers!

She was indeed Mirabelle!

Seeing their silence, Rosemary asked indifferently, "Any other questions?"

She had another place to get to and didn’t want to waste her time here.

"Ms. Mirabelle, please wait a moment. Our boss would like to meet you personally."

Hearing this, Rosemary waited quietly. A middle-aged man descended the metal stairs briskly, followed by a group of bodyguards.

He was not decked out in gold or sporting any designer watches. Dressed casually, he looked like a successful man ready for a round of golf at any moment.

From his youthful face and demeanor, Rosemary could tell he was an important figure in some industry.

"Ms. Mirabelle, it’s an honor to meet you," the middle-aged man said as he extended his hand first.

Rosemary shook his hand.

His fingers were soft and broad, further evidence of his affluent lifestyle.

"I’ve always thought that Ms. Mirabelle was a man, and yet you’re so young and beautiful," he said respectfully. "Both my mother and I are big fans of your work."

"Thank you."

The middle-aged man picked up the piece on the table and said, "The landscape rendered in light ink, combined with the strong brushwork, gives the canvas a broad sense of space. It seems realistic yet surreal. The creek is gentle. Ms. Mirabelle, you paint so beautifully!"

Suddenly, he felt that ten million dollars might be too little.

Such an artwork was worth at least fifty million!

"Do you need me to make any changes?" Rosemary asked abruptly.

This caught the middle-aged man off guard. He looked a bit puzzled, then turned to the head of security.

Changes?

He wasn’t quite sure what she meant.

The head of security explained, "When we were communicating with Ms. Mirabelle’s team earlier, we were concerned that she may not want to make an appearance, so we suggested that if there were any dissatisfaction with the painting, she would need to make the corrections in person."

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