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.

the sacrifice of another child had saved Brielle, trading their life

since she was so young, what could the secret

the building still stood untouched. She slipped in through a window and flicked on the lights. The past began to unfold before her

fire. It was still

save costs. He initially just pasted old newspapers

to the home, the old papers were stripped away

new location, but Brielle

every cabinet until her gaze caught on a piece of

she reached

door. Surprise flickered in her eyes as she tore the rest of the

have to go far to find a light

of this room was a modest bed, and in this cramped space of less than a hundred square feet

a sight in

woman,

handwriting belonged to the two, their

authorities, then returned to scrutinize the wall scribbles. Time

line written in bold, clear strokes

"He stole my identity."

"I can't go on."

"I'm dying."