Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

"It's getting late. Want me to come with you, or wait until Mr. Dorsey gets back and go together?"

Ramey glanced up, catching a brief look from Brielle before she quickly averted her gaze and headed for the door.

"No need, I'll be right back."

There wasn't much Ramey could say. After all, Brielle was the lady of the house.

As Brielle stepped outside, her phone buzzed again, still those persistent calls from the other side.

"There's a car waiting for you at the gate."

Brielle's palms were clammy with sweat as she thought about how to reach out to Max, or even Andrew. Sure, Andrew was a jerk, but he still cared about what happened to Aubree.

She pressed her lips together, wondering if the other side still had tabs on her.

So she moved the phone away, exiting the call screen.

But immediately, the voice sharply reminded her.

"Ms. Brielle, I've told you, don't try any tricks. Every move you make is under my watchful eye."

There was a calm defiance in Brielle's eyes, knowing there was no other way now.

Even if getting into the car meant facing death, she had to go if Aubree was in trouble.

She couldn't help but touch her belly, feeling a flicker of worry and anxiety.

But she had no choice. Contacting Max now might result in Aubree losing a finger. How did they manage to monitor her every move?

"Once I get there, will you really let Aubree go?"

The voice on the other end grew serious, "Of course, Ms. Brielle, we value our word."

With that, Brielle stopped talking and lowered her head as she got into the car.

The driver was a stranger. The moment Brielle got in, he confiscated her phone and handed her a new one.

"Ms. Brielle, please use this one."

After saying that, he tossed Brielle's phone into another car. Brielle could tell that the other vehicle was also manned by their crew. If Max tried to track her phone signal later, this would lead him astray. She remained silent, not resisting, just watching her phone being discarded.

The new phone handed to her was already on a call, with the same man from before.

Clearly, she wasn't supposed to hang up, or they would use Aubree as leverage again.

Brielle suppressed her emotions and tried to piece together the situation.

Who could be behind this?

The Dorsey clan?

But the Dorsey family was almost out of resources, none with such capabilities.

Michael had the means, but wasn't he hospitalized? Besides, with William gone, Antonio, who was in charge now, wasn't the choice

Michael would have wanted. If

Michael had the power to kidel

Aubree, he'd likely be in a life-or-death struggle with Antonio first.

Yet Michael had been silent, a sign his influence had been sidelined.

It wasn't him who kidnapped Aubree.

As for Antonig, in Brielle's mind, he was someone blinded by power. The last time Tiffanie was kidnapped, it seemed like his doing. But this time, with Aubree's abduction, it looked like someone else's hand was in it.

The more she thought, the more agitated she became, her pregnancy making her especially unsettled.

Yet the car drove serenely, the phone was quiet, and so was the driver in the front seat.

Brielle couldn't help but feel the pull of sleep.

Her nails dug into her palms, a sharp pain bringing her back to her senses. She looked outside. The car had left the Beaconsfield city limits. It was

Park, and so she had no idea

where she was being taken.

Then the phone crackled with a new voice, hoarse and unfamiliar.

"Awake?"

Brielle's pupils constricted, her mind snapping to attention. She recognized the voice - it was King.

She sat up straight, clutching the phone in her hand.

"King?"

There was a light chuckle on the other end, no denial.

Brielle narrowed her eyes, unclear about his motives. He had been around from the beginning, always unhurried, like a patient hunter.

"What do you really want?"

King's voice was airy, yet persistent, "I want to take you away, Brielle."

Brielle almost laughed, quickly regaining her composure.

"We go way back, so if it's me you want, can you let Aubree go?"

The man behind the mask lounged back in his chair, surrounded by hushed attendants. They tiptoed around, carefully presenting him with fruit, kneeling to rub his legs.

His posture was languid and shadowy, embodying the night itself.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

Cloaked in secrets, he was like a blooming poppy - captivating, yet fraught with danger.