Chapter 83
He was supposed to be away on business tonight, not here. Deep down, she prayed he wouldn’t show
up. She feared that the protective walls she had painstakingly built would crumble to ruins in his
presence.
People mustn’t harbor expectations, for expectations breed vulnerability.
The warmth under her feet hadn’t faded, and as she wanted to curl up, she felt herself forcibly
unraveled. She struggled to open her eyes, only to be met with a taut jawline, his breath cool as the
frost, threatening to freeze one to the core. Yet, in his presence, she found a strange sense of peace.
Outside the police station, Sophia had already been brought in. She had rehearsed countless excuses
in her mind, plotting how she would tear into Brielle upon seeing her. How could that bitch refused
settle things privately? How could she drag her, a member of the Rond family, into this mess?
She was determined to teach Brielle a lesson this time.
Getting out of the car, she saw a tall figure cradling someone into a vehicle at a distance. She was too
far away to see who the man was.
“Where’s Brielle? I need to speak with her personally,” Sophia said impatiently as she strode into the
lobby, casting a disdainful look at the man also in cuffs, ipetent in every endeavor, a liability at
best.
On the way back to Premier Pce, Patrick, seated in the front, hardly dared to breathe.
An hour ago, the car had nearly left Beaconsfield when it turned back. Max had personally gone to the
police
station.
It was the first time Max had missed such an important meeting to deal with a woman’s affairs.
Curiosity was killing Patrick, who kept stealing nces through the rearview mirror, but Max’s
expression was icy, his hold on Brielle protective and possessive.
The private doctor was already waiting in the foyer. It was the second time in a short span that Brielle
had been injured. After tending to her foot injury, the doctor handed a tube of ointment to Max. It was a
bruise–healing ointment, necessary for the stark red mark around Brielle’s neck, as if someone had
strangled her with considerable force.
The atmosphere in the foyer was tense, everyone on edge. The doctor, noticing Max’s reluctance,
carefully ced the ointment on the coffee table. “Apply it morning and night, and the bruising should
fade in three days.” He didn’t linger, almost bolting from the oppressive presence of Max.
Max nced at the ointment on the table and finally relented. He washed and disinfected his hands
thoroughly in the bathroom. Upon returning, he tucked the ointment inside his suit and carried Brielle
upstairs.
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Brielle was restless in her sleep, her forehead beaded with sweat. Max gently ced her on the bed
and squeezed some ointment onto his fingertip.
As he spread the cool cream, her skin goosebumped, and she instinctively reached to wipe it away,
only to have her wrist caught.
“Don’t move.”
He pressed her hand to the bed while his other hand skillfully continued to apply the ointment. Once
finished, he grabbed a wet wipe to clean his fingers and looked up to see Brielle’s eyes open, gazing at
him with a mix of confusion and childlike innocence. “Uncle Max, weren’t you supposed to be on a
business trip?”
Max tossed the wipe into the trash and closed his eyes lightly, still visibly upset, and thus didn’t
respond.
Brielle tugged gently at his sleeve, perhaps aware that he was angry but not understanding why. She
was the one in pain, with a sore neck, sore feet, and aching heart. Her eyes warmed, as if tears were
struggling to break free.
Max watched her, his gaze softening slightly, “Why are you crying?”
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Chapter 83
Brielle shook her head, trying to exin but unable to utter a word.
Looking at her reddened nose and dampshes, Max saw for the first time her vulnerability. The Brielle
he knew was cunning, resolute, and seductive. She had never cried like this before.
In his twenty–six years of life, Max had seen his fair share of women’s tears, but Brielle’s tears were
different. They effortlessly seized his heart.