Chapter 645
Andrew’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he eyed the stark red ink on the pristine tissue. He squinted, almost wishing Max would knock him out cold so he wouldn’t have to face such a dilemma.
And something about Marissa’s demeanor seemed off. If she was so repulsed, why hadn’t she put a stop to this wedding? Wasn’t she always so concerned about the Clements family’s reputation?
Andrew just couldn’t figure it out. Moreover, he couldn’t find any excuse to turn down Tessa. Wasn’t this marriage what he had been aiming for all along?
He dropped his gaze, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in his heart. “Yeah.”
Ecstasy flitted across Tessa’s eyes as she pressed her pale lips together. “I’ll cooperate with the doctor and get well soon, Andrew. How about we go pick out a wedding dress in a few days?”
Andrew’s irritation grew, but then he thought, if he were to get married, Aubree might come back, right?
With a firm answer from Andrew, Tessa left the hospital room on cloud nine. As she passed by Brielle’s room, she paused, tempted to go in and gloat. However, before she could step in, the sight of the man standing by the window sucked the bravado right out of her.
She thought about retreating, but it was too late. Brielle had seen her, and so had Max, his brow furrowed.
Tessa’s face paled even further. “Andrew and I are getting married next week. We’ll send you an invitation.”
Her words weren’t meant for Brielle–they were aimed at Max.
“Max, you’ll come, won’t you?”
Max’s expression darkened. He was about to speak when Brielle cut in. “How do you know the wedding will even happen? Do you know why Andrew got hurt? He was pushing me for Aubree’s whereabouts, He’s hunting her down like a rabid dog. I doubt he truly wants to marry you.”
Tessa’s carefully crafted façade shattered, her face twisting as she stared at Brielle.
Brielle remained serene, her eyes untroubled. Tessa knew that if she stayed, she’d be the one losing her cool. She was going to marry Andrew anyway. Brielle’s words must’ve been out of desperation. That bitch could see just how blissful she and Andrew would be. Tessa scoffed and turned on her heel.
Once she was gone, Brielle pressed her lips together and fell silent. Max closed the door, shutting out any further unpleasantness.
Brielle’s phone rang–It was John.
“Ms. Haywood, we thought we’d be here for two months for the shoot, but there are only a few usable locations. I’ve thought it over, and I’d rather shoot at my old stomping ground. You’ve been there. It’s the perfect mix of cityscape and back alleys, a stark contrast. As for the small–town scenes, we’ve got a few segments that work, so I’m here asking for permission to head back tomorrow.”
Brielle’s heart skipped. This development caught her off guard, her irritation flaring, but she couldn’t really force John to stay.
Rubbing her temples, she sighed. “Have the phones been distributed yet?”
They all had signed NDAS, and their phones were confiscated.
“Not yet. We’ll hand them out after the shoot.”
Brielle was about to breathe a sigh of relief when John’s tone shifted. “However, Miss Aubree took her phone. I didn’t stop her. You said she’s a friend, and she assured me
she’d fulfill her duties.”
Brielle’s heart sank. No smile could be coaxed forth now, and she simply agreed to their
return.
Max’s phone buzzed too–it was Michael.
The mess he and Andrew had created needed a solution. Otherwise, the entire social
circle would think the families were at odds.
“Max, come back for a bit.”
At the Dorsey family estate, not only Dorsey folks were present, but Clements elders too. Both parties had been negotiating politely for over ten minutes.
Michael had made concessions, and they decided to announce a big joint venture after the Clements family released news of the wedding. This would quell any rumors of a rift. between the families.
The Dorsey and Clements families had too much shared history to resort to public mud–slinging.
In less than twenty minutes, the talks concluded. The butler courteously escorted the Clements guests out, only to return to find Michael smashing a glass in anger.
“Damn fool!”
In all the years, Michael had used those words for others in the Dorsey clan but never for Max. Now, his chest heaved with fury, a testament to his rage.
The butler hurried over with a sedative, only to have it slapped away.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
