Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

she couldn't help but break down, the medical staff nearby offering their best attempts at consolation.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

Max retreated to the sanctuary of his own room, his brow furrowing at the sound of Alivia's sobs filtering in from outside. She was on the phone with the doctor, grappling with the stark prognosis that Martha might never wake from her vegetative state. As the reality sank in, Alivia had chosen to stay the night at the hospice, and she had specifically requested a room far from Max's. Her cries were loud enough for Max to hear, and even as he listened, he said nothing. After all, Alivia and his mother Martha had always been close. As Alivia cried, she ensured that her voice could be heard just right in the room where Max was located. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she stood outside the intensive care unit without entering. The doctors mistook her presence for overwhelming grief and tried to comfort her. But behind the veil of sorrow, her eyes burned with curiosity, wondering what Martha's next move would be.

Martha was a gambler, betting her life with a fervor that outmatched anyone else's. Even as a child, Alivia knew there was something off about her. Martha's harsh, domineering ways of training Max were as if he wasn't her son at all. Back then, Max's reluctance to speak or interact with others was likely a subconscious defense against the torment he endured, causing him to shut everyone out.

Martha even enlisted the help of psychiatrists and therapists in an attempt to 'cure' him, though what was treated in those sessions remained a mystery to all. Yet, whatever happened, Max emerged as a prodigy with astonishing talents and leadership qualities, seizing the reins of power from Michael by the tender age of ten.

Alivia felt her smile growing harder to hide. She sat down, burying her face in her hands to appear utterly heartbroken, as the doctors around her sighed sympathetically, convinced of her deep bond with Martha. Little did they know, just last night, Alivia had administered a lethal dose to Martha, all in the name of love.

Hiding her face, Alivia's grin turned manic. She was anticipating Martha's countermove. After all, Martha had not spent years in Beaconsfield without forging some connections. No one knew what she would do next.

Alivia was almost buzzing with anticipation, and at the same time, the thought of Brielle filled her with loathing.

Meanwhile, at the Premier Palace, Brielle had not stepped out, awaiting feedback from Patrick. The night had passed without a word from him, indicating Martha's fate was still undecided. Brielle felt as if a guillotine hung above her neck, ready to drop with Martha's verdict. She touched her cheek, still feeling the sting of Michael's slap from the previous day. Fortunately, Max had arrived in time to shield her, and he had noticed the mark.

Wesley noticed the fingerprint bruising on Brielle's face and hurried to cook an egg, peeling it and handing it to her with concern. "Ms. Brielle, who did this to you? If anything's wrong, please tell the boss. Don't keep it to yourself."

Brielle managed a bitter smile,

feeling it was best not to trouble Max with such trivial matters, especially when he had enough on his plate. She winced as the smile stretched her bruised skin and began to roll the egg over her cheek to soothe the pain. Wesley watched her, his own expression a mix of concern and resignation.

As noon approached without any news from the hospice, Brielle received a message from Mark.

[Bri, I'm heading back to

Beaconsfield soon. Don't worry, Mr. Dorsey's people are picking me up. They want to conduct a thorough investigation into your lineage. I've heard about the troubles the Fox family has caused you. I hope you're not their child. I'm coming to look into the destroyed documents, and maybe if I can remember something, it might help a lot.]

Brielle's heart sank. Max had started digging into her past, which meant he was taking Martha's claim seriously. To extricate her from this mess, she needed to prove she wasn't a Fox, or else nothing else mattered. The Dorseys would latch onto that fact and drag her through the mud.

She feared the Dorsey family's scorn

the least. Her relationship with Max had never been blessed by many. The other society figures in Beaconsfield watched her like a spectacle, counting down the days until Max would cast her aside. And if that day came, the resentful socialites who had long envied her would unleash their influence and cruelty upon her as if snuffing out an ant.