Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Martha had never been a fan of Brielle, but she'd never before stooped to hurling insults in broad daylight with such filthy abandon.

In that instant, Brielle's mind went blank. She hadn't expected someone of Martha's stature to sling mud like a fishwife, with every barb seeming designed to provoke.

Lost in thought over this, Brielle didn't notice until it was too late that James had already kicked out the chair Martha was sitting on.

With the staircase being so high, even if Brielle had thrown her body beneath Martha, it would've been too late. She couldn't match the speed of the fall.

All this wasn't apparent in the video. Slow was slow, and the video couldn't be scrubbed clean.

Max stopped the video with a cold detachment, feeling a restlessness spread through his chest.Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Patrick stood by his side, had also seen the video, and recognized the problem: Ms. Brielle had really landed herself in hot water.

First, she was entangled with the Kingston family, and now, she was linked with Ms. Martha's injury.

For years, Max had gone out of his way to find doctors for Martha, sending her to a foreign sanatorium after his Wall Street stint.

Martha mattered to Max. She had given him life.

"Sir, Ms. Brielle has returned to the Premier Palace and asked to be kept informed of Ms. Martha's condition."

"Mm."

Max's tone was noncommittal, and his gaze was lost in the sanatorium's garden through the window.

"I heard Michael blew up pretty badly and shattered quite a few mugs in his study."

Michael even uttered that Max should never return to the Dorsey family homestead, indicating his rage. It was the fiercest Michael had ever been, especially regarding Max. Max rubbed his temples, the skin under his eyes tinged with fatigue. "Alright."

He continued to stare outside, his thoughts unreadable. Minutes later, a chill flashed in his eyes.

"Look into Sunflower Children's Home, and while you're at it, bring Mark back."

Mark was the primary contact of the orphanage, so he'd surely have the clearest picture of Brielle's past.

"Ms. Brielle sent Mark away, but we've located him. I'll have someone fetch him tonight."

Many records from the orphanage were lost, but perhaps Mark retained some memory. Only with his return could the mysteries be resolved.

Once Max finished instructing, Patrick left, giving Max space to rest-more events were sure to unfold.

At six in the morning, Martha sent a message. She wanted to speak with Max. Max hastily prepared and headed for the ICU.

Now, Martha lay motionless, only her eyes able to move. Doctors had tried to move her fingers the previous night but to no response.

Max expected some final words, but Martha just stared at him with a mix of weakness and resentment.

For the first time, Max felt as if a needle had pricked his heart. He reached out, taking Martha's hand. "Mother."

Martha offered no response, instead closing her eyes.

Max opened his mouth to speak, looking to the doctor.

The doctor sighed, continually monitoring the data. "Max, your mother's condition is grave. We've examined her, and there's no sensation in her limbs. Even if she survives this critical period, she'll be in a vegetative state. Your should prepare."

Martha just closed her eyes, saying nothing. She hadn't summoned him for last words but to burden Max with a psychological weight. Having been injected with a drug the night before, Martha's mind was clear, temporarily free of pain, coldly analyzing everything.

The moment she knew her son was

with Brielle, Martha was ready to face death. The Dorsey family heir, her painstakingly nurtured legacy, wouldn't be ruined by such a

woman.

So she kept her trump card, aware of all the machinations in play. She had a month to slowly crush these two people.

The doctor caught Martha's eye,

realizing her goal was achieved, and

suggested, "Ms. Martha needs ber

rest. You should go now. Come back later to visit."

Max nodded, leaving the ICU, feeling an overwhelming exhaustion. It wasn't physical fatigue but a weariness rising from deep within his soul.