Chapter 152


    After finishing her thought, she nced over at Max, who seemed entirely unfazed by all the petty


    scheming, as if such trivial plots were beneath him.


    Today, he was without his usual tie, his shirt undone at the top two buttons, revealing a rare glimpse of


    casualness,


    The doorbell rang again, and Brielle went to answer it, discovering Patrick on the doorstep. Patrick was


    holding arge bag, which appeared to be packed with groceries, including some exotic fruits that had


    to be flown in from overseas.


    “Ms. Brielle,” Patrick said respectfully, gesturing for the chef to carry the bags into the kitchen,


    “Ms. Brielle, many of these items have been prepped at the hotel’s kitchen. I’ve brought the head chef


    over to prepare lunch for you and Mr. Dorsey,”


    Brielle looked toward the chel, now bustling in the kitchen with his toque nche standing tall. This,


    she mused, must be the lifestyle of the wealthy.


    She chuckled to herself, thanking him and reaching for the fruit to wash it. Patrick, however, stepped


    back, looking somewhat panic–stricken. “Please, allow me, Ms. Brielle. You should sit.”


    Patrick, who had been by Max’s side for years, had never seen him dash out in the middle of the night


    for a woman. Before, only his workmanded such urgency from him. However, that rule had now


    been shattered, whether he was aware of it or not. Indeed, Brielle was something special.


    Brielle stood at the dining table, feeling as if the apartment had never shone so brightly.


    Meanwhile, Aubree had already started smiling, arms folded, eyebrow raised in Max’s direction. Max


    maintained his usual cool demeanor. Unable to resist, Aubree edged closer, sliding a stack of


    unreviewed documents toward him, “Mr. Dorsey, did you enjoy your sleepoverst night?” Max lifted his


    gaze briefly, “So?”


    “So, about tomorrow night’s dinner party, are you going to apany Bri?”


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    Neither Max nor Brielle had expected Aubree to make such a request. Brielle hurried forward to


    intervene, but saw Max already looking her way. “Do you want me to go?”


    From a rational standpoint, his presence wouldn’t change much. After all, there was nothing between


    them. But if Brielle wanted it, he couldn’t find a reason to refuse.


    Before Brielle could speak, Aubree jumped in, “The Haywoods won’t let Bri off easy, and neither will the


    Spencer. There is Sophia from the Ronds, and Emily, who’s been in trouble with thew. I bet the


    Hatfields will alsoe after her.”


    Considering this, Brielle’s situation seemed precarious.


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    But just as Aubree finished, Patrick emerged with the fruit, chiming in, “The Hatfields won’t trouble Ms.


    Brielle. Emily was flown out of the countryst night, unlikely to return. The president has spoken with


    the Hatfields. They won’t bother Ms. Brielle.”


    Realizing he had said too much, Patrick hurriedly ced the fruit tter on the coffee table. “Ms.


    Brielle, Miss Aubree, please enjoy the fruit.”


    The fruit, washed by Patrick, had been artfully carved by the chef, making it instantly more. appealing.


    However, both women were now more curious about Patrick’s revtion.


    Brielle turned to Max, inquiring. “Mr. Dorsey spoke with the Hatfields?”


    Max’s lips tightened, a sh of annoyance crossing his face. He’d always preferred action over words.


    Being so tantly exposed made him feel ufortable.


    “Hmm.”


    Brielle hadn’t expected that a mere word from Max could eliminate a potential enemy. Her heart


    suddenly felt warm.


    Max’s aloofness could be hurtful, but his asional tenderness was touching. He was different from


    the others, and she knew she shouldn’t expect anything more.


    It was then that Aubree shook her skirt, “Bri, Mr. Dorsey is far more reliable than Andrew. And even if


    things don’t work out in the future, I’m sure Mr. Dorsey won’t be stingy, right?”


    Thest question was aimed at Max.


    Max frowned reflexively, “Don’tpare me to Andrew.”


    A shadow passed through Aubree’s eyes before she smirked sarcastically. “So Mr. Dorsey


    acknowledges that Andrew is scum? Well, that scum was quite generousst night, giving Bri thirty


    million.”


    As soon as she finished, Max produced a card, cing it on the table and solemnly sliding it toward


    Brielle.


    Aubree blinked in confusion.


    Brielle was doubly puzzled.


    Wasn’t he notparing himself to Andrew?