Master of his heart (Max and Brielle) novel Chapter 817

But she didn't dwell on it, quickly grabbing some antiseptic wipes.

Kenzo took them, meticulously cleaning his fingers one by one. The long, elegant tips soon returned to their usual pallor as Brielle poured the bloodied water from the basin down the sink. By the time she returned to the living room, everything was back in order.

Kenzo was naturally pale, and now his complexion was even whiter. Shirtless, with only a bandage around his midsection and a pair of pants on, he looked vulnerable yet somehow still imposing. Brielle had never seen him like this; it was a bit awkward, so she kept her gaze averted. But while helping cut up his clothes earlier, she couldn't help but notice a bit more.

Kenzo’s physique wasn't the skinny, fragile type she had imagined. Instead, it was surprisingly solid, his abs and the V-line above his hips well-defined and tense, exuding a sense of strength. Brielle frowned, feeling a strange contrast in the man before her.

“Ahem.” Kenzo coughed twice, a hint of unnatural red dusting his cheeks. Brielle knew he had a fever, so she rummaged through the medicine cabinet for some fever reducer.

“Kenzo, you should take one of these. You really should see a doctor about that wound. Without professional treatment, it might get infected,” she suggested.

Kenzo accepted the pill she handed him, his gaze landing on her face. She paused, sensing he had something to say, so she sat up straight, attentive. But Kenzo just swallowed the pill with water and leaned back, looking rather uncomfortable.

“Who was after you tonight?” She couldn't help but ask.

Kenzo chuckled, a smile curling his lips. “After being in showbiz for so long, stepping on so many toes, it’s normal for someone to want me dead.”

Brielle couldn't deny that. No matter the industry, it's always dirty, the entertainment world especially so. Now stripped of his Barnes family heir halo, Kenzo was just a top-notch screenwriter. To the real moguls, he was hardly a threat. She guessed some might even want to chain him up and force him to write scripts for life until his inspiration ran dry.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly.

Being the smart man he was, Kenzo probably understood why she said that.

“I never imagined Max would go so far for you.”

Regarding this, Brielle herself was puzzled and hadn't pressed Max for answers. Were Max and Kenzo friends? Did Max hesitate before acting? And Kenzo, now looking devoid of any resentment, only added to Brielle's confusion. She was about to repeat her apology when Kenzo just chuckled.

“It doesn’t bother me. No need for apologies.”

Brielle couldn’t read him, even as he sat there with a face full of gentleness, appearing untroubled. So she hesitated, her eyes falling on his wound.

At that moment, her phone rang - it was Max. It was four in the morning; by all accounts, Max shouldn't be calling her. But he did. Brielle instinctively glanced at Kenzo and stood up to answer.