Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

When Brielle and Aubree parted ways, dusk had already painted the sky in shades of fading gold.

Aubree had taken Brielle out to distract her mind, resulting in a haul of outfits and a trove of gleaming trinkets and baubles.

Aubree had always indulged her, so when Brielle returned to Pearl Estate, laden with bags from Hermès and Bulgari, she was too exhausted to utter a single word.

Still, the shadow Max cast lingered in her mind, an enigmatic silhouette spinning in her thoughts.

She splashed her face with water in the restroom, the events of the past few days throbbing in her head like needle pricks.

The identity of the person who had forged her past remained a mystery to her, a puzzle unsolved.

Without uncovering their identity, she felt an ominous plot was waiting for her just around the corner.

Aubree's presence during the day had kept her anxiety at bay, but with the arrival of night, sleep eluded her despite her weariness.

Rising from her bed, Brielle grabbed her car keys and drove straight to the old site of Sunflower Children's Home.

She had meant to visit after settling Mark's affairs, feeling certain secrets still lay hidden there.

In her dreams, the fire had seemed too random, as if it had been deliberately set with the intention of claiming her life.

sacrifice of another child had saved Brielle, trading their life

had been after Brielle since she was so

stood untouched. She slipped in through a window and flicked on the lights. The past began to

was still a records room, now masked

was Mark's idea to save costs. He initially just

the old papers were stripped away and replaced by

records had been moved to the new location, but Brielle had an inkling that something remained

every cabinet until her gaze caught on a piece of peeling

reached to smooth

back into place, she uncovered a hidden door. Surprise flickered in her eyes as she tore the rest of

narrow, allowing entry for only one person at a time. She didn't have to go far to find a light switch, and

this room was a modest bed, and in this cramped space of

by such a sight in the dead of night, Brielle was

corpses were old, a man and a woman, surrounded by walls

the two, their

scribbles. Time and moisture had blurred the words, and smoke blackened the walls, making them

a line written in bold, clear strokes remained

"He stole my identity."

"I can't go on."

"I'm dying."