Master of his heart (Max and Brielle)
Chapter 1040

Max was an enigma, a puzzle wrapped in mystery. He knew the sting of a blade, the kind of pain that could make a grown man cry, but the everyday emotions that danced in others' hearts were foreign to him. That's where King came in a persona born from the depths of Max's psyche during those endless therapy sessions that only seemed to deepen his mysteries. King had always been there, rooted in Max's being, waiting for his moment. Max was perfection personified, a sculpture too pristine to touch. King, however, was his antithesis. He cared deeply about the world and the people around him, noticing the subtle shifts in mood, the silent cries for help. It didn't take him long to realize that the most inconspicuous servant in their villa-dressed in drab clothes and moving with quiet steps-was their mother.

When King revealed his existence to their mother, she wasn't surprised. In fact, there was a trace of joy. Max had always been too impassive, too easy a target for those with malicious intentions. But King was different; he was a wolf raised in darkness, ready to bite back at the slightest provocation.

At ten, Max's life was a tightrope walk over a pit of vipers. Every cup of tea could be his last, every shadow could hide a dagger. The Dorsey family, with its ambitions and schemes, eagerly watched for the young heir to falter. But they didn't count on King, who maneuvered from the shadows, ensuring Max remained untainted by the blood that sought to drown him.

Their mother's departure was as bleak as the snowy day she left, her eyes void of light. King receded into the background as Max, with his innate talents, solidified his position within the Dorsey family. Martha, overwhelmed by pressure, eventually broke down into madness. Max, in a rare display of compassion, arranged for her care abroad.

Life seemed to smooth out after that. King knew Max inside and out, though he never claimed to know everything. The real turning point came during the year and two months that Brielle was abroad as an exchange student.

By then, Max had become a legend on Wall Street, while King reclaimed his throne in Saudi Arabia, becoming one of the world's wealthiest men. They were two sides of the same coin-one an angel, the other a devil.

The night that changed everything

was cold, with snowflakes as large and chilling as the day their mother left. King found himself in North America, ensnared by a royal family who drugged him at dinner, hoping to force him into marriage. But love and romance were currencies he refused to trade.

After escaping, he encountered a gang on the streets. Unlike back home, these thugs were armed and dangerous. King dealt with them, efficiently, only to be interrupted by Brielle, fresh from class and clutching a stack of books, among them a copy of the "Three Character

Classic."

Was man inherently good or shaped by his surroundings? King pondered these questions, momentarily distracted by the irony that he and Max were perfect examples of this ancient debate.

He cleaned his gun on his shirt,

expecting Brielle to be horrified by the scene. Instead, she approached, concerned for his well-being. Under the sprawling branches of a century-old tree-a local landmark-King found himself drawn to Brielle, not just for her beauty but for the kindness in her

eyes.

King was a realist; attachments were liabilities. He considered cutting down the tree, a bizarre solution to a problem of the heart, blaming his sudden affection on the majestic oak rather than admitting his feelings for Brielle. Such was the convoluted logic of a man who had lived in shadows for too long, where even the most innocent connections seemed like threats.