Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Chapter 467

The moment the words left his lips, Michael’s cane came crashing down on Spencer’s back, sending a shiver through his body.

Michael’s scalp tingled with fury. “Stubborn as a mule! You don’t give a hoot about your own folks, but you’re all worried about a stranger. Your dad hit Max with the car last night, and I had to whisk him and Faith out of Beaconsfield in the dead of night. Spencer, your mom chose to leave you behind; don’t you go disappointing her.”

Spencer’s pupils shrank sharply, deflated like a punctured balloon. He stopped his ruckus about what he would do with Brielle, simply lowering his gaze and clutching the blanket in front of him with a death grip.

Growing up in a powerful family, he knew what being sent away meant. To outsiders, Michael had washed his hands of them, and keeping Spencer was just a nod to the last thread of kinship.

“You take the time to get well. Once you’re out of the hospital, I’ll find you a suitable marriage to keep you from mooning over a would–be murderer all day long.”

Spencer fell silent, and once the old man had left, he realized Alivia was still standing in the hospital room. Her face carried the same gentle smile as she poured him a glass of water from the dispenser. “Spencer, Michael and I just came from Max’s room. He’s forgotten all about Brielle. Congrats, she’s all yours now.”

Her words treated Brielle like some cheap trinket.

Spencer was about to reach for the glass, but his hand froze mid–air at her words. “Are you certain?”

“Mmhmm, the blood clot in his head must’ve squeezed some nerves. Ever since he woke up. he’s been out of it, not a peep about Brielle.”

joy crossed Spencer’s eyes, and

you please.

you, Ms. Alivia, for

Jaired hurried things along, getting Brielle into trouble behind bars, everything would

out of kindness; she wanted to drive Brielle mad and then have the crazed woman

was mundane, but to crush a

prison, Brielle curled up on the narrow cot, feeling the chill seeping through her bones. She wanted to sleep, but the pain from her wound kept her too alert.

Chacher 267

come once to dress her

then it swung open. Her blurred vision couldn’t make out the faces of those who dragged her

time lost all meaning, and sanity

engulfed in darkness so absolute she couldn’t even see her own fingertips. She didn’t cry out or scream; it was as if the darkness was

position on the floor, puzzled. “It’s been three hours. She hasn’t begged for mercy or even opened her eyes. What’s she up to?”

the people to cross, she had to anger the Riddle and Dorsey families. Both gave us the same order: take special care of her. A

quite the

to be gentle; it wouldn’t do