Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

As the live stream unfolded, the viewers were struck dumb.

What had they just heard? Black swan events, automated stores, optionality?

Was Brielle actually negotiating a deal with the CEO? And it wasn’t some shady, under-the-table deal either.

The screen fell eerily silent for a few seconds before someone cautiously offered their thoughts.

“She’s top of her class, so she should be doing alright after graduation, right? That’s probably why she’s at this kind of fancy dinner.”

“Is it just me, or did she get even prettier? That dress looks amazing on her.”

“I’m jealous. How can someone be so confident chatting with Mr. Hartley? And the CEO seems to really value her opinions.”

“Some folks in their twenties are discussing partnerships with industry tycoons, while others hide behind screens, spreading baseless rumors.”

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The boy streaming the event saw Brielle about to turn around, quickly stashed his phone behind his back, and pretended to be just passing by.

When Brielle and Flynn were discussing the logical relationships between things, she finally caught sight of Max.

Max was gracefully engaging with the people around him while making his way over. He always seemed to carry himself with such elegance, no matter the setting. Though a businessman, he had the serenity of a mountain spring – calm, grand, and gentle.

At only twenty-six, Max was a standout figure, both domestically and in North America.

Brielle sipped her drink, feigning composure while keeping an eye on him.

“Ms. Brielle, those who fall for Max are surely followers of Convulsionism, don’t you think?” Flynn asked.

Convulsionists were fervent believers from the early 18th century who held that certain objective, unchanging, and eternal truths existed in the world. It was about nostalgia, fantasy, intoxicating dreams, sweet melancholy mixed with bitter sorrow, loneliness, the agony of exile, the sensation of being cut off.

Flynn’s description of women who fell for Max suggested he saw him as a figure perched high above the clouds.

“Mr. Harper, I can’t give you a straight answer about him. Perhaps, in my eyes, he embodies both unity and diversity.”

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No sooner had she spoken than Max arrived at Flynn’s side. The conversation between the two men turned to matters of campus life. Brielle stood quietly, occasionally looking up to smile.

When Flynn mentioned the automated store, Max realized Brielle had completed her task.

Flynn made no secret of his admiration and even shared a cordial toast with Max, “You have a perfect companion for the evening.”

Max smiled, and it was clear the two men had a close relationship, even discussing a girl Flynn had a crush on back in the day.

Behind Brielle, the boy who was still broadcasting finally mustered the courage to approach her. “Brielle?” he called out softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

The chat had erupted again, with several viewers blatantly slinging mud at Brielle. The online crowd clamored chaotically, many urging him to probe Brielle for the truth.

Brielle turned around to face a young, unfamiliar face.

Simon reached out gently, “We went to the same school. Nice to meet you.”

Brielle shook his hand politely.

Simon didn’t know how to broach the topic, regretting his impulsive greeting. Finally, he closed his eyes and blurted out, “You might want to check out the Beaconsfield College forum when you get a chance. Someone’s been spreading nasty rumors about you there.” Brielle paused, taken aback. She had never paid much attention to external opinions, and as for forums or social media, she had even less time to browse. These places were often where news spread the fastest.

“Thanks, I’ll have a look,” she said.

Simon nodded, catching the attention of Max and Flynn, who now looked his way, making him feel a sudden rush of nervousness. These two were familiar faces from the financial

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