Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

The drink had been spiked, and Max was feeling particularly on edge tonight. His usual vigilance was dulled amidst the chaos stirred up by the distant relatives who had gathered. The last thing he would have expected was for someone to tamper with his beverage at his mother's wake.

But Daisy felt not an ounce of guilt. As Martha's closest confidante, she was determined to fulfill her late friend's dying wish.

Martha had been explicit about her desires. Max was to marry Alivia, and only then would Alivia become the happiest woman on earth.

A smug smile danced at the corners of Daisy's lips as she watched the proceedings.

Alivia had been under her wing for many years, raised with all the privileges the Barnes family could offer. She had blossomed into the cream of Beaconsfield society, Daisy's pride and joy. What Alivia wanted, the Barnes family provided, sparing no expense. Daisy had been generous with the best education and resources.

Now that Martha was gone, it was Daisy's responsibility to see her daughter's dreams realized.

"Max, you've been through a lot these past few days, and you look exhausted," Daisy said. "Why don't you go get some rest?"

Max despised crowds and was wary of the relatives with their ulterior motives. They had seized the opportunity of Martha's passing to start introducing newcomers to Michael.

To curry favor with Michael could mean a world of difference. It meant possibly rising from the ranks of the distant relatives and breaking into the Beaconsfield elite-a chance at unimaginable wealth.

Max nodded at Daisy and rose to leave. He had intended to return to the Premier Palace, but the butler intercepted him midway, informing him that a room had been prepared for him.

Feeling off-color and weary, Max was also aware that returning to the Premier Palace meant facing the absence of Brielle.

The mere thought of her tightened his chest, and his eyes began to burn inexplicably.

Led by the butler, Max retired to his room, but it wasn't just his eyes that felt the heat. His entire body was soon ablaze.

His brow furrowed as his consciousness began to blur, and through the haze, a figure appeared in the doorway-a woman.

Max raised a hand to his forehead, but suddenly, a pair of cool hands were on his temples.

"Does this help a bit, Max?" a voice whispered.

The drugs in Max's drink-one to muddle his mind, the other a hallucinogen-were no low-grade concoctions, especially not when Daisy was the one who'd procured them. The face before him morphed into Brielle's, and it was coming closer.

His frown deepened. The scent wasn't Brielle's. She never wore perfume, always carrying a natural fragrance either from her shampoo or her body wash, never contrived. He tried to push the person away, but her hand slipped down, fumbling with his suit buttons.

"Get off!" his voice was a sharp command, his eyes flashing with cold fury as he stood up to leave.

A pair of arms wrapped around his waist.

"Max, please, I need you," pleaded the voice, which Alivia had disguised to sound desperate. She had even dressed in Brielle's style, down to the makeup.

Under the influence of the drugs, she believed Max couldn't resist.

Max reached for the door, only to find it locked tight.

The dizziness in his head intensified,

and as he tried to shake off the woman clinging to him, she shamelessly began to moan louder, intent on attracting attention whatever scandal they were supposedly enacting.

This was definitely not Brielle!

Brielle would never stoop so low.

"Let go!" he demanded, his blood boiling, yet Alivia twined around him like a serpent, her moans becoming more lascivious.

She was nothing like the sophisticated lady she was groomed to be.

A fierce look crossed Max's eyes, but the drugs sapped his strength.

Triumph shone in Alivia's eyes, sure that the drugs were beyond even the best doctors' ability to counteract. They would soon have Max begging for relief.

She couldn't wait and used her sultry voice to lure him, wishing he would pounce on her without delay.

A sharp pain shot through Max's

head, aggravated by the woman's moans In a fit of anger, he knocked

over a vase, grabbed a shard of broken porcelain, and dragged it across his palm.

The pain brought a moment of

clarity, and as he saw the woman before him clearly for the first time,

Max felt an urge to strike

ve

her something utterly against his upbringing. Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

Despicable, vile, shameless.