Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

The threat in his words sent a shiver down Brielle’s spine. She was facing a man who had long held power, whose presence was so commanding it could make her tremble.

Instinctively, she leaned closer to Max, and when they were finally alone in the booth, she swallowed hard, her voice laced with anxiety, “Uncle Max, you’ll talk him out of it, right?”

The marks on her neck were still visible under the dim lights, hinting at a possibility of sensuality.

Brielle wouldn’t mind if something happened between them in this private booth. After all, the privacy here was impeccable, and she doubted any waiter would come in to interrupt. Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

She reached out, her hand seeking warmth, but all she found was the cold glass of her drink.

“Go back,” he said, his gaze indifferent as he draped his suit jacket over her shoulders again, “Stay out of Andrew and Aubree’s business.”

The implication was clear-if she meddled and something happened, he might not intervene. Knowing Andrew, he was capable of anything.

Brielle pushed down a twinge of frustration and looked up at him, “Andrew is engaged to Tessa, and he and Aubree are technically siblings. What kind of relationship is that? If Andrew’s influence on Aubree is inevitable, then Aubree’s feelings for him are either hate or love. Clearly, it’s the latter. I don’t want my friend to get hurt.”

She had imagined many responses from Max, but none as cold as his next words.

“Phenylacetic acid, dopamine-when people interact, they release a cocktail of hormones that create the illusion of love.”

a

His emotionless analysis came off as if he were a deity, observing the world’s entanglements as nothing more than fleeting distractions. Brielle was overcome with a chill. She knew Aubree all too well. Usually full of passion and allure, Aubree would only soften and pull in her sharp edges when she was around Andrew. If she wasn’t in love with him, she wouldn’t show such humility.

What Brielle hadn’t anticipated was Max’s own rationality-his complete disbelief in love’s existence.

“If love is just an illusion, then why do people get married?”

She was desperate to find examples to counter his point, but Max remained unfazed. “It’s oxytocin and vasopressin at work. Even our connection is simply a result of testosterone,” he explained.

Speechless, Brielle felt a cold draft sweep through her. In a sudden move, she grabbed his tie and pushed him down onto the couch. She didn’t know why she did it, but when she.

kissed him, she felt a little solace in her heart.

Biting down on his collarbone, she licked the beads of blood that surfaced, “Uncle Max, did you study economics and psychology?”

Max tilted his neck slightly, his hand cradling the back of her head, facilitating her nipping. “Economics and law. Psychology was a minor.

He had touched upon three disciplines that advocated absolute rationality.

“And now, what do you think is influencing us?” She deliberately tilted her head back, both hands hooked around his neck, with sultry eyes.

Max’s fingers traced her lips gently. Her face was beautiful, with eyes shaped like petals, which were cold when not smiling, but disarmingly charming with a grin.

“Dopamine.” The initial passion all came from dopamine, but dopamine didn’t last long. From its perspective, possession was dull, and relationships built on dopamine were an exciting yet short-lived roller-coaster ride.

Watching the asceticism on his face waver slightly at her advance, something stirred in Brielle.

“Uncle Max, you don’t have a fiancée, do you?”