Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

"Mr. Haywood, still feeling under the weather?" Brielle's head throbbed intermittently, likely a lingering effect the doctor had warned her about.

"It's nothing, just a slight delay on my part. My bad," Donny immediately felt a wave of guilt. Ever since Mr. Haywood joined Stellar Stage Entertainment, he had been a standout, and now that he was recuperating, Donny regretted rushing him. Brielle stood up, ready to head out, but her phone rang. It was Aubree, talking about buying a house.Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Their current project was wrapping up quicker than expected. Aubree and Ricardo were naturals, and their scenes had flowed smoothly from the start.

As John put it, once the camera started rolling, they became their characters flawlessly.

Aubree's old place was sold, and staying there indefinitely wasn't an option.

Brielle assured Donny, "I'll meet with the celebrity first thing tomorrow morning."

"Good, Mr. Haywood. I trust you. But remember, he's got a temper. If things get heated, make sure to look after yourself." Brielle mulled over his words carefully and nodded.

Aubree had her eye on a property in Pearl Estate, but no homes there were on the market.

"You could always move in with me. My place is big enough," Brielle thought privately.

But Aubree's next comment was unarguable. "I'm not keen on listening to bedroom antics, thanks."

Brielle's face flushed crimson, unable to stammer out a response, while Aubree laughed on the other end.

Two hours later, they settled on a villa in an upscale neighborhood, costing twice as much as Pearl Estate. It was a favorite among Beaconsfield's elite. Considering Aubree's rising star in showbiz and the inevitable paparazzi, a secure place was a smart pick. Without hesitation, Aubree bought the villa, worth nearly a hundred million, and set out to move her things from Andrew's place.

Brielle wanted to help, but a last-minute call from Mason about an urgent meeting held her back. She hurried off to Stellar Stage Entertainment instead.

Aubree spent some time settling into her new villa, ordering furniture, and hiring cleaners. By evening, she drove her shiny new Lamborghini to Andrew's.

Andrew hadn't been around for days, which suited her just fine.

Aubree had a key to the place. Upon opening the door, she was met with darkness; the curtains were drawn tight, blocking out any light.

Her brow furrowed as she flicked on

the lights. The place was spotless, clearly the work of a cleaning service. When she lived with Andrew, she did all the cleaning. Andrew, the high-and-mighty type, wouldn't even know how to pour detergent into the washing machine.

She didn't dwell on it, quickly moving to the bedroom. The curtains were shut tight there too. When she opened the wardrobe, everything was neatly arranged. Aubree could clean and cook, but folding clothes was another story. Most of her wardrobe hung on racks, with the

rest piled below.

The wardrobe was large, mostly occupied by her, while the men in her life rotated through a handful of suits that usually hung unwrinkled.

But something was off. Every item that had been in a pile was now folded with precision.

Raising an eyebrow, she credited the diligent new cleaner.

She opened her suitcase and started packing her clothes. There were too many, filling one suitcase to the brim, yet the wardrobe seemed just as full. After calling a moving company, a team arrived within half an hour with more boxes.

Once her clothes were cleared out, the wardrobe was left bare.

Just as she shut the wardrobe doors and the movers were busy in the living room, a cold male voice echoed.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" The tone was chilling, as if it belonged to someone ready to pounce.