Chapter 148

Andrew had just been swindled out of thirty million, and harboring resentment towards Brielle was a oven. He’d never been so thoroughly duped by a woman before. Thus, when Max didn’t reob. Andrew anxiously started sending messages again.

[You’re not seriously considering marrying her, are you? With a woman like Brielle, if she actually falls for you, good luck trying to shake her off.]

Not getting married.]

Max replied to that query pretty swiftly. He had no feelings for Brielle, had never contemplated marriage, and therefore, a future with her was absolutely out of the question.

After responding, Max stopped paying attention to the conversation and instead focused on the pile of documents in front of him.

It was bedtime, yet he felt not the slightest hint of sleepiness. After all the recent upheaval, he wondered how Brielle was feeling. Was she at her apartment?

With these thoughts in mind, he slowly stood, picking up his suit jacket. Just as he reached the downstairs, he ran into Wesley, who was warming up some milk. “Sir, you’re up late.”

Max was usually punctual in his routine, except when working overtime. Seeing him with his suit Wesley assumed Max was heading to the office for more work.

“Sir, shall I wake Patrick to drive you over?”

“No need.”

Max had already reached the foyer, his demeanor as businesslike as ever.

Watching his retreating figure, Wesley thus about how Dorsey International’s success was tightly linked to Max’s diligence. It was late, yet here he was, off to handle more company matters.

Wesley decided it was time to brew some hearty soup to help Max sustain his energy. Max headed to the garage and chose a more subdued Mulsanne to drive to Brielle’s apartment. As the car came to a stop, he clenched the steering wheel, a frown creasing his brow.

What was he doing? Why was he out in the dead of night, looking for a woman?

He and Brielle were clear on the nature of their relationship – they clicked, so they played their roles in this charade. There was no need for seriousness. And certainly no need to lose sleep over her.

While he reasoned there was no need, Max’s exit from the car was swift.

Brielle’s apartment building was decently located but quite aged, its elevator plastered with colorful eye–catching ads. The first time he woke up in this building, those ads gave him a moment of discomfort. It wasn’t that he looked down on the place; rather, he thought it odd for the daughter of the Haywood family to be living here.

Exiting the elevator, Max stopped at the familiar door and rang the bell.

With all the chaos, Brielle, however carefree she might be, was likely awake. After ringing the bell three times with no answer, he remembered WhatsApp and sent her a message.

[Where are you?]

Currently, Brielle sat in a chilly hospital corridor, the air damp and cold.

Mark was still in surgery, and finally, the lights in the operating room went out, and the doctor came out pushing a gurney.

“Ms. Brielle.” The doctor removed his mask, his eyes red with fatigue, “Does the patient have other children? We didn’t miss the golden hour for treatment, but his constitution is weak. He’ll be wheelchair–dependent from now on.”

Some elderly might become paralyzed, even turn into a vegetable from such an episode. Mark had been lucky this time.

Brielle felt as though her heart had been punctured. “Isn’t there anything else we can try? Money is not an issue.”

“I’m sorry, we’ve done all we can. If you hadn’t brought him in immediately, the patient might have ended up paralyzed.”

Brielle blinked back the stinging in her eyes and slowly nodded.

Mark was moved to a room, and Brielle stood at the door, her hand on the frame, uncertain whether to go in.

Her phone rang then, and she saw it was a message from Max. At this moment, she really didn’t have the energy to deal with it. Instead, she raised her hand to rub her forehead, exchanged a few words with the doctor, reduced some swelling on her cheeks, and planned to return to the apartment.

Max waited at her door, wondering if perhaps she was asleep and hadn’t seen the messages. He tentatively rang the bell again, and suddenly a neighbor opened their door, irate. “What the hell are you doing in the middle of the night-”

Catching sight of Max’s stature and demeanor, the tirade cut short, leaving just a stunned. “You–you…”

The door slammed shut.

Seconds later, it cracked open and a head peeked out, “Young man, that girl might be engaged. I’ve seen her fiancé. If you’re in such a hurry to get hitched, my niece is…”

“No thank you.”

Never in Max’s life had someone dared to play matchmaker for him like this.

The neighbor, unfazed by the rejection, must have assumed it was a matter of taste. “Well, my niece is overseas, quite the catch. Ivy League graduate, owns five properties, still single 17:02 because she’s picky. If you don’t mind, perhaps-”

Before Max’s patience wore thin, Brielle finally showed up.