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.This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

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.

Only the sacrifice of another child had saved Brielle, trading their life for hers.

If someone had been after Brielle since she was so young, what could the secret she carried be?

By nine o'clock, she arrived at the former orphanage. Though developers had bought the land, the building still stood untouched. She slipped in through a window and flicked on the lights. The past began to unfold before her as the light chased away the shadows.

Taking a deep breath, Brielle walked to the site of the old fire. It was still a records room, now masked with fresh wallpaper hiding the scars left by flames.

It was Mark's idea to save costs. He initially just pasted old newspapers over the damage.

After she began donating to the home, the old papers were stripped away and replaced by elegant wall coverings, leaving few aware of the fire's scars.

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

She rummaged through every cabinet until her gaze caught on a piece of peeling wallpaper, revealing an unfinished layer of newspaper beneath.

As she reached to smooth the

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

The door was narrow, allowing entry for only one person at a time. She didn't have to go far to find a light switch, and deeper in was a small chamber.

In the center of this room was a modest bed, and in this cramped space of less than a hundred square feet lay two bodies.

Far from being frightened by such a sight in the dead of night, Brielle was unfazed.

The corpses were old, a man and a woman, surrounded by walls scribbled with coherent words and curses.

The handwriting belonged to the two, their final testament.

First things first, Brielle dialed the authorities, then returned to scrutinize the wall scribbles. Time and moisture had blurred the words, and smoke blackened the walls, making them illegible.

Only a line written in bold, clear strokes remained visible.

"He stole my identity."

"I can't go on."

"I'm dying."

The blood-written words, coupled with the frantic scratch marks on the wall, finally sent a shiver down Brielle's spine.

On the day of the fire, smoke would have risen, and with no escape, the pair likely suffocated within this hidden chamber.

Brielle stepped back, her mind racing.

Who were these people?

The police arrived promptly, and a team quickly removed the bodies.

As the one who reported the incident, Brielle stayed to give her statement.

"Ms. Brielle, we'll investigate the identities," the officer said. "If you're keen on the outcome, we'll update you as soon as we have leads."

Brielle was indeed eager to learn about the deceased. The orphanage had been her home, and she had survived that fire. It seemed there had been three fatalities, not one, the chamber's blackened interior evidence of a smoky death.

"Please do," she replied, "notify me the moment you find something."