NovelEnglishBut now, someone had fished her out of those lonely times, brushed the dust from her heart and lit the lamp of this world. Max had no idea that sixteen-year-old Brielle's dream was to shine as brightly as he did at nineteen.
And she didn't plan on letting him know.
That fleeting heartbeat could remain in that summer that echoed with the cries of cranes and could never be returned to. Back at the Premier Palace, they had sex again.
Brielle was more excited than ever, taking initiative. With Max, she was devoured to the bone.
Exhausted, she couldn't curl a single fingertip, her voice hoarse as she pushed him away. "I have work tomorrow." "One last time." "Mmm." Brielle couldn't refuse him. She looked up and caught the intense meaning in his eyes, scorching hot, and she melted away.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtSo when she woke up the next day, it was already noon, and she felt as disassembled as a scarecrow after harvest, every bone sore.
She turned over, feeling as if her body was no longer hers to command.
Propping herself up to get out of bed, she couldn't help but reflect on whether she should continue to indulge Max like this.
After freshening up and heading downstairs, she felt weak even as she ate.
Max had already gone to work. He was always the earliest to leave.
After Brielle finished eating, she saw Patrick walk in, handing her a phone. "Ms. Brielle, this is your new phone. Your old one had been compromised with spyware, likely hacked." Brielle thought she had heard wrong.
Hacked? "The phone we've set up for you now has a counter-surveillance system. It's not something average hacker can crack, but for safety's sake, you might want to think about who gave you that phone." Brielle took the new phone, which looked exactly like her old one. "Thank you." A smile of relief curled on Patrick's face. "As long as you weren't intentionally dodging the CEO's calls, we're good. Should I inform him about this?" "Not yet." "Okay." After Patrick said his piece, he hurried off to Dorsey International, apparently having cback just to deliver her phone.
Brielle remembered clearly. The phone was a gift from Aubree, but Aubree would never tamper with her phone. However, there was someone she found suspicious.
Brielle drove to the location where Aubree was filming. Today was another scene with Aubree and Ricardo. Outside, she spotted a car that screamed luxury, clearly not belonging to the crew.
Brielle's brow furrowed, and as she entered the alley, she saw Andrew, standing like a guardian deity not far off. His post was strategically chosen, invisible from Aubree's spot. en Brielle sneered, "Mr. Clements, what brings you here?" At the sound of her voice, Andrew stiffened, then slowly relaxed, "None of your business." "Here to see Aubree? Tough luck, she doesn't seem to want to see you at all." Andrew felt a knife twist in his heart, his face paled, and he turned to glare at Brielle. Unphased, Brielle stepped past him towards the interior.
Andrew swallowed hard, leaning against the wall, his lashes cast down in silence.
When Brielle entered, she greeted Aubree.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmAubree's eyes sparkled, wiping her hair, she asked, "Isn't Stellar Stage Entertainment swamped these days? How do you have the tto chere?" While she talked, she followed Brielle to the room she was staying in.
Aubree had already moved into this place, renting the houses in the area.
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Although they were modest and cramped they were clean and m well-disinfected. She felt comfortable living there, with a sense of being cut off from the outside world. As they reached her door, Aubree's face turned cold at the sight of Andrew waiting.
Andrew opened his mouth to call out but saw her step aside, open then door, poll Brielle in, and then shut i behind them. Andrew's slightly open mouth closed slowly, and he pressed his lips
together in disappointment. He raised a hand to touch the doorknob, hesitating, not wanting to provoke her further. The warmth that lingered on the doorknob was hers.
His fingertips curled, and his eyes reddened in an instant.
No words were needed. Her retreating figure was a sharper pain than any spoken word.
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