Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

Brielle’s heart swelled with emotion, a familiar warmth blooming in her chest. Only Max could stir her so deeply with just a few words.

She had always detested how intimate relationships could turn language into a weapon. It was the understanding of each other that could be twisted into a hurtful barb, but that wasn’t any sort of skill. It was merely taking advantage of the other’s open heart, their vulnerabilities laid bare in trust, which shouldn’t be used as a target for attack.

Throughout the time she’d known Max, he had never used words to wound her. He had enveloped her in a cocoon of safety, truly fulfilling his initial promise. Every word he uttered was with intent and was not tossed carelessly into the wind.

Max studied her with earnest, trying to decipher the emotions swirling in her eyes. The thought of rejecting a gift worth billions would have seemed absurd to anyone else, but Brielle had done just that.

The sensation that washed over him was hard to place–it was the first day of confirming their romantic relationship, and his present was being returned.

His mood soured, a brooding silence falling over him as he gathered the documents, placing them aside as if they were nothing more than scrap paper.

“Max, what would you like for a New Year’s gift? How about a scarf? Hand–knitted by yours truly,” Brielle ventured, hoping to lift his spirits with a skill from her past. Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

In the orphanage, she’d knitted scarves and mittens for the other kids to save money, honing her craft with dedication.

A smile tugged at Max’s lips, barely contained joy threatening to break through his usually composed demeanor. It seemed like he was charmed by the idea.

That was all Brielle needed to hear to breathe a sigh of relief. “Let’s hit the mall now. You can pick out the yarn, and I’ll aim to have it done by New Year’s Day.”

“Alright.”

With that, Patrick, who was sitting in the front seat, set the navigation for the nearest craft store.

This was probably Max’s first excursion to such a place in years. His life was meticulously planned by assistants–every meal, every outfit, decided the day before. So when they entered the vast space of the shopping mall, he paused, momentarily overwhelmed.

Brielle beelined for the yarn aisle, taking his hand. “What color do you fancy?”

Max considered his choice with the gravity of a major business deal. After a lengthy deliberation, he settled on a dignified grey. He looped the selected yarn with his finger and handed it to Brielle.

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She wasn’t worried about picking the wrong color. Max had the kind of face that could make even the tackiest neon look regal. After bagging the yarn, Brielle’s gaze drifted to a display of slippers nearby, and she couldn’t help but point them out. “Look, couple’s sets.”

Indulging in a rare moment of whimsy, Max took the bag from her. “Should we get them?”

Without hesitation, Brielle grabbed a matching black and white pair and tossed them into the

cart.

She rarely went shopping, and doing it together with Max was an even rarer treat. She simply grabbed anything that seemed practical, especially if it came in a his–and–hers version.

They shopped for items from head to toe until the carts were brimming. Realizing she might have gotten carried away, Brielle felt a tad embarrassed. But as if by magic, Patrick emerged, silently directing the staff to transfer their haul to the car.

Once in the car, Brielle was too exhausted to lift a finger.

When they returned to Premier Palace, Wesley was already waiting by the door, as if he knew. they’d arrive together. “Sir, Ms. Brielle.”

Wesley directed the staff to unload the car and unpack the items.

Suddenly, Brielle recalled the couple’s theme of their purKenzos and felt a twinge of embarrassment with so many eyes on her. “I’ll help,” she offered, moving to tackle the unpacking herself, but Wesley stopped her.

“Ms. Brielle, please, have a seat.”

She settled on the couch, though not for long. Among the pile, she spotted several boxes of condoms, and her cheeks flushed with heat.

Two staff members were still unwrapping items, Wesley was supervising, and even Patrick was bustling about, arranging their other purKenzos.

Brielle shot up from her seat, covering the boxes with her hands. She hadn’t bought those; it must have been Max’s doing.

She turned to find Max, who was nonchalantly perusing a document, unaffected by the unfolding scene. Who would have guessed that with his austere and distant demeanor, Max had slyly slipped a few boxes of condoms into their shopping just half an hour earlier?