Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

In the cozy, dimly lit booth, Brielle rubbed her temples, trying to clear her head. Dustin Lynch, after finishing his chat with the manager, closed the door behind him.

"Little Brie, if you're still into Max, why'd you break it off with him?" he asked, leaning casually against the polished mahogany bar.

Brielle sank into the plush sofa and recounted the whole saga involving the Fox family. Dustin's eyes narrowed as he listened, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

"So, you're saying you're neither a Haywood nor a Fox, and someone's been messing with your DNA tests?" he asked.

"Yeah. In my memories, a girl with the last name Monty died in a fire because of me. I owe her my life, so I can't let James get into trouble," Brielle explained.

Dustin reached out, gently tousling her hair and secretly winding a strand around his finger. "Little Brie, being cautious is smart, but to keep James safe, maybe you should think about sending them out of the country."

Brielle lowered her lashes. "It's not just about James. It could be Aubree or anyone from Stellar Stage Entertainment."

The more people she cared about, the more vulnerabilities she had. Was she supposed to break up every time she felt threatened? At the root of it all, she felt too weak.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

Dustin's phone buzzed with a message, prompting a slight smirk. "I get it. Michael hates you so much that he'd use any leverage over you to hurt Max if he sees you two getting close."

"Yes, I always feel like he has an ace up his sleeve that could hurt Max."

That was the real crux of the matter. The Dorsey family had been standing tall in Beaconsfield for years, and Michael had watched the Barnes family empire fall without uttering a word. No one knew what he was plotting, and with Max's true identity being a mystery, Brielle's head was spinning with where to even begin the search. The police hadn't made any headway in identifying the man who was burned to death either.

"Mr. Lynch, do you think someone's entire file could be swapped out? Completely erasing one person's data and replacing it with their own, DNA and all?"

"That sort of identity trade does happen, both in North America and back home. Underground casinos deal in it, but the bosses rarely do such favors. It's called 'buying an identity.' Once you've bought it, the casino handles the dark ops, and you can go anywhere with this new identity," Dustin explained.

"But wouldn't friends and family suspect something?" Brielle asked.

"That's why the identity you buy has to be someone with no kin. No one to call them out."

Brielle's eyes narrowed as she contemplated the gravity of the situation. "If you suspect someone close to you has switched identities, think about whether they're all alone in the world. Even if they're not who they used to be, no one will doubt it. And the man you found wasn't a minor; he was an adult, so his identity must not have been

swapped in childhood."

Each of Dustin's points made sense. He stood up slowly, offering her a reassuring smile. "I've got some urgent stuff to deal with, but you take your time thinking it over. If you need my help, just give me a call, okay?"

Brielle nodded, her mind racing with

suspects but unwilling to accept the truth, her fingertips trembling and lips quivering with the weight of realization. Parentless, friendless, identity changed in adulthood. All signs pointed to one person

With a heavy heart, Brielle stood to leave. But as she turned the corridor, a hand suddenly grasped her wrist and a pair of lips claimed hers. The familiar scent of Romanée-Conti filled her senses, a luxury she had

seen only in Premier Palace.

She tried to speak, to push away, but her hands were pinned behind her, her back against the cold wall, legs trembling. "Stop, Max," her voice broke, her mind foggy with pain.

The kiss deepened until there was no room for protest. A dim light flickered on, and he pinned her beneath him, biting gently at her fingertips.

"What were you and Dustin talking about?" Max asked, his breath warm against her ear.

Brielle was still reeling from the encounter, her voice choked. "Noth—"

Before she could finish, the room's screen lit up with the surveillance footage, highlighting her defiant proclamation-Max, he's mine!

"Brielle, you're always so contradictory," Max whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

Silenced, Brielle gazed at the monitor through misty eyes. Whoever said there were no cameras in the booths on Tequila Thursday had clearly lied.