Chapter 198
Hearing that response, Michael’s worries dissipated, and his gaze drifted to the coffee table. “I’ve no idea who took this picture, but looking closely, the person in it doesn’t even look like
you.”
The scene was too blurry, and there wasn’t a single clear shot of a face, so it could be anyone. But that anonymous text had planted the seed in his mind that it was Max and Brielle, so the more he looked, the more he saw the resemblance.
Now, with Max’s answer, Michael was fully at ease, he chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.
“Better not to know. Just go ahead and marry Alivia. You’re young. You’ll understand in time.”
Max stared at the crystal–clear liquid in Michael’s cup, his lips lightly pursed, “Next time there’s a photo like this, you don’t need to worry. I don’t want to end up like Victoria.”
Everyone in the Dorsey clan knew how tough Michael had been on Everett. So controlling that he even dictated how often they should have sex each month, and if Victoria ever missed her ‘quota‘, she’d come running to Michael, tears in her eyes, to complain.
“Ha, just make sure you don’t end up embarrassing yourself like Victoria did. I can understand her getting caught up in love. She’s a woman after all, but Dorsey men can’t allow that to sway them. Look at your older brothers, and that young buck Spencer. Dorsey men are not known to
be fools in love.”
Even Michael himself had had his fair share of women, but in his eyes, very few were worth having children with. It was only when he met Max’s mother that he truly settled down.
Max absentmindedly twirled his rosary, a gesture that made Michael wave it off, “Let’s put an end to tonight’s drama. Whoever set this up, we’re not pursuing it further.”
Max raised an eyebrow and chuckled lightly. “Looks like Dad’s got the picture.”
After all, the old man had been through wars and storms, how could he not see through these
tactics?
Once he left, Max sat alone on the sofa, a frown creasing his forehead, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his cup.
The butler, Wesley, peeked out from the kitchen and approached him, “Sir, if you’re feeling down, shall I invite Ms. Brielle over?”
“No need.”
Max’s tone was flat, his mind obviously on the photograph.
Wesley didn’t want to intrude too much, sensing there might be a misunderstanding between the two. He had heard the conversation between Max and Michael. Although Max hadn’t admitted it, he had made his stance clear: even if that woman in the photo turned out to be
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Chapter 198
Brielle, he would stand by her, refusing to allow her to walk Everett’s tragic path.
In a way, it was a preemptive strike.
From the night Max brought Brielle home, Wesley sensed she could be the future mistress of the house, and so he always treated her with respect.
He cleared his throat, “I heard Ms. Brielle just got out of the hospital. I’ll have the kitchen prepare some soup to send over.”
Max didn’t verbally object.
Amused, Wesley instructed the kitchen to start the soup in the wee hours.
Max returned to his study, where Patrick presented his findings. “Mr. Dorsey, it turns out William’s men were also responsible for the incident at Ms. Brielle’s apartment.”
William’s move was well calculated, first confining Sophia to break her will, then staging a burglary at Brielle’s place to make her afraid to stay home. If anything happened between her and Max, she’d naturally seek refuge with her lover.
And if Michael saw the photo and called Max to the mansion, it would be a death sentence for Brielle–a no–win situation for the little fish in a big pond.
Max took the blurry photo, examined it briefly, and as he slid it into a drawer, he remarked, “His son just got back from abroad. He wants a spot at Dorsey International, right? Block his entry. Secure that executive position for Brielle.”
“Right. Ms. Brielle’s staying at a hotel tonight. Should I pick her up?”
Max felt irked, why did everyone keep bringing up Brielle? Compared to the photos of Brielle with Spencer, this one was tame, and Brielle had even admitted to having feelings for Spencer before. He felt an inexplicable annoyance.
“No need.”
Perhaps this relationship would be over sooner rather than later.
