Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Riding shotgun in Spencer’s car, Brielle’s mind was still replaying Max’s words. This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Be careful not to get burned, huh?-

Her marriage to Spencer was an arrangement made by their families. The Dorsey family held an unrivaled position in Beaconsfield, while the Haywoods barely made the top ten. Next to the Dorseys, they were essentially small fry.

Her little stunt had allowed her to let off some steam, but it also meant she’d crossed one of the most untouchable figures in the circle of the elite.

The rain was pouring down, reducing visibility, and within two miles, traffic had slowed to

a crawl.

Spencer, already in a foul mood, frowned upon seeing her bundled up in a turtleneck, her chin almost disappearing into her collar.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

It was early fall, hardly the season for turtlenecks. Despite Brielle’s striking looks, it was a

bit odd.

Thinking of the love bite Max had left on her neck, the corners of her lips curled up. “Yeah,” it’s chilly with the rain.”

“Such a delicate flower,” Spencer muttered, his irritation growing.

Brielle’s pale fingers brushed her collar. “Haven’t been to the office these past two weeks?” Spencer despised her tone, as if nothing mattered to her. “It’s none of your business where I go.” He honked the horn twice in quick succession, feeling like sharing the confined space with Brielle was pure torture.

The phone rang. It was Spencer’s. From the corner of her eye, Brielle noticed the caller

ID-Lillian.

Unlike the impatience he showed her, Spencer’s face softened immediately upon answering. “Lillian, you’re up? Don’t go out in this awful weather. You have a fever? How bad is it?”

His voice went from joy to concern, then to panic. Brielle twirled a strand of hair in front of her, not asking further.

Spencer cursed under his breath, hung up the phone, and then angrily punched the steering wheel.

Brielle found his frustration amusing. If he’d gone up to her apartment just now, he would have discovered her scandalous affair with another man. However, Spencer never

showed interest in her affairs, nor had he ever visited her apartment.

Imagining his future reaction, Brielle’s lips formed a smirk.

Suddenly, Spencer yanked the car key out and, without bothering with an umbrella, stepped into the deluge.

“Not heading to your home?” Brielle rolled down the window and called out to his retreating figure.

“She’s sick; I need to check on her. After all, Lillian is your friend.”

Brielle closed the window, her eyes brimming with sarcasm. “Then you’d better take good care of my ‘friend.”

Spencer paused for a moment before disappearing into the rain.

Brielle sighed. Once unfaithful, always useless. She watched the rainstorm outside and turned to find that Spencer had taken the keys with him. Her brow furrowed in

annoyance.

The traffic ahead began to move, but her car was stuck, quickly attracting a chorus of honks and curses.

Brielle wanted to search for an umbrella, and got out the car. However, she stumbled upon several used condoms wedged in the seat’s crevice. Her face turned pale, and nausea hit her.

Opening the glove compartment, she found a limited edition lipstick, a gift she’d once given to Lillian. Only thirty in the world, a rare find.

She chuckled, closing the compartment. She chose to ignore the blatant provocation.

She stepped out of the car, soaked through by the rain, only to watch helplessly as a traffic cop directed her car to be towed awa

away.

Standing amidst the bustling downpour with nowhere to hide, she wiped the rain from her face and was about to make her way to the sidewalk when a black Bentley pulled up

beside her.

The Bentley’s license plate bore a conspicuous series of 1, and a small flag next to it. That flag signified that the car could freely enter any place, even military no-go zones.

She raised an eyebrow and slipped into the car “Uncle Max, what a coincidence.”

Max barely glanced at her before looking away, his fingers idly playing with the black rosary on his wrist. “Did my nephew dump you?”

So much for The Priest, she thought. Brielle found Max to be more of a devil than a cleric, always keen to jab where it hurt.

“Uncle Max, I took good care of you in bed last night, didn’t I? Why do you act like you

don’t know me now?”

She laughed charmingly, and there was a captivating charm in her eyes as they lightly. swept across him. Her words bore no trace of the humiliation or frustration of being abandoned.

Patrick, in the front seat, quietly put up the privacy screen, unwilling to listen to any more from the backseat.

“Not bad at taking care of me?” Max repeated her words, then lazily swept his gaze ove her. “You were like a dead fish, all noise, no action. What’s so good about that?”

Brielle clenched her jaw, forcing a smile. “Sorry that you had to fuck a ‘dead fish’ so hard. I almost thought you’ve never seen a woman before.”

Retaliating with sarcasm, her smiling lips pressed together, appearing somewhat pitiful.

She leaned to get out of the car but was roughly pulled back by a strong grip. Max’s fingers settled on her wrist, pinning her down as he told the driver, “Head to Premier Palace.”

Premier Palace, Max’s residence. It seemed he had decided to skip the banquet, eve though he was the guest of honor,

Brielle froze, her disheveled state not fit for the event anyway. She leaned into his embrace instead.

Max looked down at her, his eyes dark and inscrutable like winter snow.

“You are not gonna walk out now?*

“Uncle Max,” she retorted with a smirk, “how can a dead fish walk?”