Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Brielle was dragging her into the bustling crowd of the bar. “Aubree, if you start a fight, she’ll just end up crying on Spencer’s shoulder.

“Damn! As if I’m afraid of him!”

Brielle knew Aubree wasn’t scared. Hell, she herself wanted to slap Lillian. But this was a nightclub, a regular haunt for the city’s elite. If Aubree and Spencer had a showdown, tomorrow’s headlines would be all about them. The Dorsey family and the Clements family would be dragged through the mud.

“Isn’t your brother going to be on your case if you make a scene?”

At that, Aubree clammed up, her cheeks burning red with frustration.

The dance floor was packed and the DJ had just dropped a beat-heavy track that whipped the crowd into a frenzy. The two of them got separated in the commotion.

Left with no other choice, Brielle found a quiet corner in the hallway to call Aubree.

Aubree, jostled by the crowd, looked up to see a tall, familiar figure at the entrance and felt a shiver of fear. “Bri, where are you? I’m fine, but jeez, I must’ve walked under a ladder or something today. I just saw my brother. It’s all that witch’s fault. I want to tear her to shreds right now.”

Coming back to town and walking straight into trouble was infuriating.

Just as Brielle was about to calm her down, a deep, foreboding male voice the phone, “Who’s clothes are you planning to tear to shreds?” Then the line with a cacophony of noise.

Aubree had been abroad because she ran away from home.

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Her brother, Andrew, was ruthless. Among Beaconsfield’s most prestigious famil Clements family ranked second, and Andrew was the heir.

The call cut off, and as Brielle tried to redial to check on Aubree, she backed into a w chest. The hand that now casually wrapped around her waist sported a rosary. She looked up to see a familiar face.

“Uncle Max?” What was he doing here?

The man had an aura of cool detachment about him, even in his casual suit. In the dim, almost intimate lighting of the club, he still exuded a regal presence, but his fingertips. brushing over the marks on her neck betrayed his rougher side-calluses perhaps from years of handling guns, or maybe from wielding knives.

Brielle shivered under his touch, noticing another man standing behind him. Andrew squinted at her, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Max’s little canary”

Brielle didn’t know him as Andrew She was good friends with Aubree but had never visited the Clements family

However, she recognized that face. Just two days ago, at this very club, she had boldly spiked Max’s drink with distilled vodka-a high-proof alcohol that could floor even the most seasoned drinker. As she was helping a tipsy Max out, Andrew caught them.

Andrew had a commanding presence, like a dangerously seductive vampire out of a gothic tale.

“Let go of him now, or I guarantee you’ll be missing those hands of yours soon.” The threat in his eyes was palpable.

Brielle met his gaze with false bravado. “I’m a little canary he kept.”

Andrew paused, his menacing aura dissipating as he smirked, surprisingly stepping aside. She managed to whisk Max away to her apartment. Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Brielle didn’t expect to run into Andrew so soon again, and hearing his words made her cheeks burn involuntarily. She sneaked a glance at Max. His gaze still lingered on the marks on her neck.

After a moment, he removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, buttoning it up to cover the mottled marks. Not even the brightest stars could outshine the tender look in his eyes.

A warmth spread through Brielle’s chest, and fearing the vulnerability of the moment, she scrambled for a distraction.

“Uncle Max, is he a friend of yours?”

Andrew chuckled at her words, “So, you are a little bird playing around.”