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.”

crossed Spencer’s eyes, and his lips curled into a cold

yours to shape or shatter as you please. Max won’t interfere

Alivia, for getting your

chuckled lightly. As long as Jaired hurried things along, getting Brielle into trouble behind bars, everything would be perfect.

of kindness; she wanted to

a spirit was the real

cot, feeling the chill seeping through her bones. She wanted

Chacher 267

come once to dress her wounds, admonishing her to

swung open. Her blurred vision couldn’t make out the faces of

confinement was a common punishment for unruly Inmates. Inside, time lost all meaning,

absolute she couldn’t even see her own fingertips. She didn’t cry out or scream; it

position on the floor, puzzled. “It’s been three hours. She hasn’t begged for mercy

to anger the Riddle and Dorsey families. Both gave us the same order: take special care

quite the looker.”

afford to be gentle; it