Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Chapter 83

He was supposed to be away on business tonight, not here. Deep down, she prayed he wouldn’t show up. She feared that the protective walls she had painstakingly built would crumble to ruins in his presence.

People mustn’t harbor expectations, for expectations breed vulnerability.

The warmth under her feet hadn’t faded, and as she wanted to curl up, she felt herself forcibly unraveled. She struggled to open her eyes, only to be met with a taut jawline, his breath cool as the frost, threatening to freeze one to the core. Yet, in his presence, she found a strange sense of peace.

Outside the police station, Sophia had already been brought in. She had rehearsed countless excuses in her mind, plotting how she would tear into Brielle upon seeing her. How could that bitch refused settle things privately? How could she drag her, a member of the Rowland family, into this mess?

She was determined to teach Brielle a lesson this time.

Getting out of the car, she saw a tall figure cradling someone into a vehicle at a distance. She was too far away to see who the man was.

“Where’s Brielle? I need to speak with her personally,” Sophia said impatiently as she strode into the lobby, casting a disdainful look at the man also in cuffs, incompetent in every endeavor, a liability at best.

way back to Premier Palace, Patrick, seated in the front, hardly dared to

ago, the car had nearly left Beaconsfield when it turned

station.

the first time Max had missed such an important meeting to deal with a woman’s

Patrick, who kept stealing glances through the rearview mirror, but Max’s expression was icy, his hold

the doctor handed a tube of ointment to Max. It was a

the coffee table. “Apply it morning and night, and the bruising should fade in

at the ointment on the table and finally relented. He washed and disinfected his hands thoroughly in the bathroom. Upon

Max gently placed her

skin goosebumped, and she instinctively reached to wipe it away, only to

“Don’t move.”

the bed while his other hand skillfully continued to apply the ointment. Once finished, he grabbed a wet wipe to clean his fingers and looked up to see Brielle’s eyes open, gazing at him with a mix of confusion and childlike innocence. “Uncle Max,

the wipe into the trash and closed his eyes lightly,

angry but not understanding why. She was the one in pain, with a sore neck,

his gaze softening slightly, “Why are you