Chapter 34
The car pulled up to the Premier Pce, and the private doctor was already waiting there.
In her slumber, Brielle could feel someone tending to her thigh, bandaging it up, while a feverish heat
made her want to turn over, only to have her wrist gently grasped.
“Hot,” she mumbled, her brow furrowing as she sought out a cool spot.
Max propped her up and pressed a cold pack against her cheeks. Brielle sighed in relief, snuggling into
thefort of his embrace.
The doctor breathed a sigh of relief, finishing the bandage on her leg and administering a shot. “She’ll
be fine after some rest, sir. No need to worry. However, this youngdy’s constitution is delicate. She
should take care in her daily routine.”
Max set the cold pack aside, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at the sweat on Brielle’s forehead.
When Patrick returned after seeing off the doctor, he was greeted by this tender scene. He couldn’t
quite gauge Max’s feelings-whether he was concerned or indifferent.
If indifferent, why had Max rushed to Ryan’s side upon hearing of Brielle’s mishapte at night?
If concerned, then why did he it when Ms. Brielle had directly asked?
Having worked closely with Max for years, Patrick knew all too well Max’s views on emotional
entanglements.
They were burdens, shackles. Release worldly attachments, and things would have clear
structure.
That philosophy had allowed Max to be decisive in business, sweeping through challenges with ease.
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But Brielle was different. Her forceful entrance and asional fiery passion were like a wildfire,
threatening to consume the cool, collected glow of his nights.
It was like watching The Priest contend with a worldly siren-victory was anyone’s guess.
Patrick couldn’t help but feel a mischievous desire to see how this drama would unfold, his lips curling
into a smile, “Sir, about the overseas conference-”
His words were cut short as Brielle stirred in Max’s arms, her throat too hoarse to speak. Max gestured
for Patrick to be quiet, then brought a ss of water from the coffee table to her lips.
Brielle took a few sips, surveyed her surroundings, and recognized the Premier Pce. She softened,
nestling back into Max’s chest. “Uncle Max, are my fingers broken?” Her whole body ached, and she
couldn’t pinpoint the worst part.
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“I almost…” Her voice trembled, unable to form aplete sentence.
Fear was setting in-the fear of being vited by Ryan’s bodyguards, the fear that Ryan would take her
life.
She looked down at her hands, which were bandaged up like little buns, wrapped tightly in gauze.
Tears began to flow as panic filled her heart. Were her fingers useless now?
Max was somewhat at a loss, a rare look of bewilderment on his typically stoic face. He had thought
she would not be afraid, for she had been calm despite her disheveled state when she had gotten into
the car.
Suddenly, two arms wrapped around his neck, and before he could react, he was pushed back onto the
couch. Her kisses were clumsy, like those of a puppy, causing him to furrow his brow.
Patrick, from a distance, discreetly exited, signaling the household staff to do the same.
“Brielle.” Max raised his hand to push her away, guessing the medication hadn’t worn off
yet.
Brielle’s cheeks were flushed, unable to undo his buttons with her wrapped hands, so she resorted to
biting them with her teeth in desperation.
Max caught her hair, tilting her head back. Brielle’s lips were red, and she spat out the damaged button,
inadvertently licking her lips, gazing up at him with innocent eyes.
Max’s breathing grew heavy, his voice low, “You really are asking for…”
Asking for what, he couldn’t bring himself to say.
Brielleughed, her eyes gleaming beautifully, “Uncle Max, fuck me.”
She was desperate to know, to confirm that she was still alive. Desperate to erase the scene from
Ryan’s study, she urged him to use her body.
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