Master of his heart (Max and Brielle) novel Chapter 810

Alivia was trembling, absolutely hating it when people said she couldn't measure up to Brielle. Sure, when it came to groveling, Brielle had her beat. But then, Brielle seemed born to it. Alivia, on the other hand, was a lady of the Barnes family, and if that wasn't enough, she also had the Dorsey name to her credit.

A spark lit up in her eyes, and she broke into a smile.

That's it, she could come clean to Michael about who she really was. With Martha gone, there was no way Michael would let Martha's daughter suffer. A newfound confidence surged through her, but she wasn't about to let go of her bargaining chip—Jaired.

"Let me think about it," she said.

Jaired's interest visibly waned, his eyes darkening. He had no patience for someone who wanted everything without giving anything in return. The light in his eyes dimmed as he stood up and headed for the door.

Filled with regret, Alivia tried to hold him back.

But Jaired cut her off with a cold remark, "Next time you want to work with me, make sure you're doing it in front of me with someone else, wearing this exact outfit."

His eyes were sharp and clear, cutting through her embarrassment with a chuckle, "Very sexy, I like it."

His words said one thing, but his eyes showed no hint of passion or desire.

Alivia's face went pale as she realized she had just blown her last chance.

Once outside the building, Jaired lit a cigarette and leisurely blew out a smoke ring into the night air. Everything felt so dull. When would Beaconsfield ever get exciting? He dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his heel, and walked away without a second thought.

Brielle glanced at her phone; it was three in the morning. The meeting with Mason had finally wrapped up. She yawned, her eyes watering from exhaustion. Stellar Stage Entertainment was quiet, except for a few young artists still training in the dance studio downstairs.

Brielle grabbed some herbal tea from the lounge upstairs and brought it down to them. The young artists scrambled to their feet when they saw her, bowing respectfully.

"Mr. Haywood."

She set down three bottles of tea. "Donny mentioned you've been training late. How's he doing?"

Donny, their diligent manager, was usually the last to leave.

"He just stepped out to grab you some late-night snacks."

As they spoke, Donny walked in, arms loaded with takeout boxes.

Brielle, not one for late-night eating, said, "I'm done for the day. Share it among yourselves. Don't overdo it, and take care of yourselves."

Not wanting to make them feel uneasy, she gave Donny a few instructions and left. As she descended the stairs, rubbing her tired eyes, she heard a familiar voice.