Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Brielle slipped out of her office, the sleek tailored blazer draped over her arm. Her car had inconveniently hit warranty just days ago and was towed to the dealership for the fourth time. Without her usual ride, she was relegated to hailing cabs for her commute.

She hailed a cab, and as she bent to get in, she was concerned about the blazer getting dirty. Therefore, she took it off, neatly folded it, and placed it on her lap before entering. As the cab approached her apartment complex, a place chosen more for its price than its neighborhood, she handed the driver his fare and stepped out onto the curb. Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

The area was a cultural mishmash, a stark contrast to the polished corporate world she navigated daily. Public housing units crowded around her building, and the streets were a melting pot of characters.

A group of young men loitered by the entrance, each with a cigarette in hand, enveloping themselves in clouds of smoke. The security booth had long been abandoned, and any guard who might have been on duty would turn a blind eye to the scene unfolding before them.

Brielle frowned, her gaze fixed on the ground as she quickened her pace. But the ringleader of the group flicked his cigarette butt away and sauntered over with hands buried in his pockets. His cronies followed, their laughter echoing through the night air. Clearly, they’d been waiting here for a while.

“Stop right there,” the leader commanded, reaching out to block her path, his other hand clamping around her throat.

The strong scent of tobacco invaded Brielle’s nostrils. Instinctively, she stomped on his foot and jerked back.

“Ow!” the man yelped. His patience gone, he grabbed Brielle’s head and slammed it against the railing.

Despite Brielle’s self–defense training, the disparity in strength between her and the six men was too great. Her blazer was yanked from her grip, and rough hands shoved her to the ground like discarded trash. Brielle sputtered, struggling to find her footing.

The men whistled and closed in, smirks plastered on their faces. “Didn’t ex

taunted.

Brielle edged backward. “You’ve got the wrong person,” she insisted.

a little fight from you,” one

The leader, a scar tracing down his cheek, crouched before her and yanked her head back by her hair, scrutinizing her features. “No mistake here, Brielle, right? Someone paid us to teach you a lesson.”

The stench of his breath was nauseating. Should she scream for help? No, it was late and the streets were deserted. It would only provoke them further.

“How much did they pay you? I’ll double it,” she offered, her voice steady despite the fear.

The man lit another cigarette, blew smoke in her face, and sneered, “We have principles, Ms. Brielle. Blame your own bad luck for crossing people you shouldn’t have.”

Retreating further, she felt the sharp pain in her ankle. Her phone, pre–dialed to emergency services, was concealed in her sleeve. The police station was less than two miles away; they could arrive in under ten minutes.

She forced a smile, buying time, “You know, there are many Brielle’s out there. Maybe you’ve got the wrong one?”

The man scoffed, flicking his spent cigarette to the ground. “Enough crap. I’ve seen your picture. Pretty face, but

you shouldn’t have messed with the wrong girl’s man. The orders were clear–to ruin your beauty.”

He pulled out a switchblade, the glint of malice flashing in his eyes. “Ms. Brielle, the price for that face of yours is quite high.”

Brielle backed away, her hands finding dirt. She kept her expression calm as he raised the blade.

15.07

In a split–second move, she threw the dirt in his face and kicked off her heels, sprinting away. The man cursed, spitting out dirt, and ordered the others to give chase.

Halfway to safety, her foot was sliced by shattered glass. She fell hard to the pavement, and the men slowed, twirling their knives with sinister intent.

“Keep running, why don’t you?” one jeered.

“You’re pretty clever, buying time like that,” another said. “Too bad no one’s coming to save you tonight.”

As they spoke, the distant wail of sirens filled the air. Police cruisers appeared on the horizon.

Brielle barely had time to feel relief before the leader stepped forward, tossing the switchblade into the bushes and clamping a hand over her mouth. The others scattered, grabbing the blade before

disappearing.

Brielle struggled against her captor’s grip as two officers approached.

“Just playing around with my girlfriend,” the man lied smoothly as Brielle elbowed him in the chest. He staggered back, feigning surrender as the officers stepped in to shield her.

“I’m not his girlfriend. He attacked me,” Brielle clarified.

To her astonishment, the man took a phone from his pocket, displaying a gallery of cozy photos with Brielle–embraces, kisses, all manner of intimacy.