Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Aubree pulled out a cigarette, her fingers deftly flicking a lighter to life as she brought the flame to the tip. A perfect smoke ring drifted from her lips, her eyes brimming with mocking curiosity to see just how far Andrew would go for Tessa,

Andrew had always looked down on petty catfights, yet now, standing amidst a gaggle of women, he seemed utterly at ease.

Across the crowd, Aubree caught Brielle’s gaze. With an unspoken agreement, neither made a move to greet the other. Aubree nonchalantly gestured towards the inside of the venue, signaling she would head in first.

Brielle nodded in understanding, preferring not to have Aubree witness Andrew’s defense of Tessa. With a casual stride, Aubree walked away, leaving the brewing storm behind her.

Andrew watched her leave without a word or a hint of guilt. After all, a fling could never hold a candle to true love. His lips pressed together as he thought of Brielle and the looming presence of Max behind her. The apology he had promised was still pending.

He took a deep breath, rarely speaking with such patience to an arm candy. “Name your price for compensation, as long as it’s not too outrageous, I’ll meet it.”

His words were clear to all those present, sparking surprise among the crowd who knew Andrew’s temper to be quite the foe.

Sophia was puzzled at first but quickly realized Andrew was backing her up. It was clear that Tessa was his priority. Her spine straightened with pride, a smugness dancing in her eyes.

She couldn’t believe Brielle would actually ask for compensation. The woman wasn’t truly disfigured, and clinging to the issue would only provoke Andrew. In Beaconsfield, crossing Andrew was a one–way ticket to ruin.

Even Tiffanie thought Brielle was about to face a losing battle, but then, crisp and clear, Brielle spoke up, “Thirty million, transferred to my account immediately, and we’ll forget the apology.”

Her eyes twinkled with defiance, “Mr. Clements, what do you say?”

A tightness gripped Andrew’s chest–not over the money, but the indignity of being blatantly extorted. He’d battled through storms and strife over the years, never suffering such audacity.

As soon as Brielle finished her demand, an eerie silence fell. Phones were sneakily recording, spreading the scene through the social circles of Beaconsfield.

Everyone anticipated a gruesome end for Brielle. Even Sophia let out a scornful laugh. Yet, against all odds, Andrew pulled out a checkbook with a surprisingly steady hand, signed a check, and approached Brielle, placing it in her outstretched palm. Leaning in close, his voice was a chilling whisper, “Remember this. You’re getting this because of Max. The day he dumps you, I’ll be the first to come after you.”

To onlookers, it was just a private exchange, nothing more.

16:36 NôvelDrama.Org: text © owner.

After delivering his message, Andrew headed inside. Brielle folded the check and slipped it into her purse.

Tiffanie, agog, finally broke into applause. “Wow! Thirty million for an apology! You’ve got guts, Brielle, and I could swear Andrew wanted to strangle you. Feel my palm, I’m sweating.”

In this world, you might provoke the devil, but never Andrew. This was an unwritten rule, yet Brielle had openly broken it.

The crowd’s gaze shifted, wondering what advantage they could possibly seek from someone who didn’t fear Andrew himself.

The air was thick with silence. Even Sophia’s lips tightened, her face a canvas of ugly emotions. She should’ve simply apologized and avoided handing Brielle a windfall.

Sophia felt played, her heart pounding with anger and humiliation. “Brielle, have you completely lost it? Just like Lillian said, you’re low.”

Receiving the thirty million, Brielle was in a good mood. Once she sold the mansion, she would have fifty million in hand, enough for the location of the orphanage. She ignored Sophia’s rage, turning to Tiffanie with a proposition, “It’s your birthday. How about I treat you to another show?”

Tiffanie, ever the thrill–seeker, was all ears. “What kind of show?”

Brielle climbed into Tiffanie’s cherry–red sports car, leaving the other women behind.

Tiffanie, playing the perfect chauffeur, was eager for the drama. “Come on, spill the beans. What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to catch someone in the act. Snap some photos, share them in your social groups. Sound fun?”

Brielle spoke with a light–hearted tone, arms casually folded, ready for the next act to unfold.