Master of his heart (Max and Brielle) novel Chapter 883

Brielle furrowed her brow as she read the message, the same worry lines that had creased Tiffanie's forehead just days before.

She had always seen Mason and Tiffanie as genuine souls, untouched by the complexities of the world around them. She never intended to meddle in their relationship; after all, the shadows of past grievances cast by their elders still loomed over them.

Finding no one at the Dorsey estate, she decided to let it go. Even Patrick was clueless. It seemed waiting for Dustin's return was the only way to uncover the truth.

Before setting out, Brielle had also heard the buzz online about the Dorsey lineage. Despite the uproar over Max's heritage, Michael had become a recluse, turning away visitors and secluding the hospital floor where he stayed, allowing only medical staff to tread.

Brielle couldn't grasp Michael's thoughts. With his ruthless reputation, wouldn't he convene a family meeting to disinherit Max from Dorsey International the moment he learned Max wasn't his blood? Yet, Michael was avoiding everyone, as if waiting for some news.

Lowering her lashes, Brielle remembered the phone call Max had taken that night, seemingly about the elusive third Dorsey sibling—a ghost in the family lore, whose fate had been the subject of whispers and speculation for far too long.

Meeting up with Patrick on the outskirts, Brielle couldn't help but ask, “Patrick, what do you know about Max's uncle Brodie?”

“Ms. Brielle,” Patrick replied carefully, “truth be told, I'm not sure. He vanished when the boss turned ten, right around the time he was named successor.”

It was hard not to wonder if the third Dorsey had become a casualty in the battle for inheritance.

Patrick had been with Max for years but had only been brought into the Dorsey fold after the succession was decided.

“Patrick, are you aware that Max isn't a blood Dorsey?”

Patrick's eyelashes fluttered down as he responded with formal precision, “I'm not privy to that information.”

For a moment, Brielle was at a loss for words.

As the car roared to life, they headed toward their destination.

The drive would take about six or seven hours. Given the persistent spring drizzle, the helicopter was grounded, so they would drive until the fog lifted, at which point the chopper would catch up.