Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Chapter 34

The car pulled up to the Premier Palace, and the private doctor was already waiting there.

In her slumber, Brielle could feel someone tending to her thigh, bandaging it up, while a feverish heat made her want to turn over, only to have her wrist gently grasped.

“Hot,” she mumbled, her brow furrowing as she sought out a cool spot.

Max propped her up and pressed a cold pack against her cheeks. Brielle sighed in relief, snuggling into the comfort of his embrace.

The doctor breathed a sigh of relief, finishing the bandage on her leg and administering a shot. “She’ll be fine after some rest, sir. No need to worry. However, this young lady’s constitution is delicate. She should take care in her daily routine.”

Max set the cold pack aside, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at the sweat on Brielle’s forehead.

When Patrick returned after seeing off the doctor, he was greeted by this tender scene. He couldn’t quite gauge Max’s feelings-whether he was concerned or indifferent.

If indifferent, why had Max rushed to Ryan’s side upon hearing of Brielle’s mishap late at night?

concerned, then why did he it when Ms.

worked closely with Max for years, Patrick knew all too well Max’s views

were burdens, shackles. Release worldly attachments, and things would

structure.

decisive in business, sweeping through challenges

entrance and occasional fiery passion were like a wildfire, threatening to consume the cool, collected glow of his

like watching The Priest contend with a worldly

mischievous desire to see how this drama would

as Brielle stirred in Max’s arms, her throat too hoarse to speak. Max gestured

surveyed her surroundings, and recognized the Premier Palace. She softened, nestling back into Max’s chest. “Uncle Max, are my fingers broken?” Her whole body ached, and she

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trembled, unable to form

being violated by Ryan’s bodyguards, the fear that Ryan would take

down at her hands, which were bandaged up like little buns, wrapped tightly in

face. He had thought she would not be afraid, for she had been calm despite her disheveled state when she

back onto the couch. Her kisses were clumsy, like those of a

signaling the household staff to