Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

It wasn't just Michael's ace up his sleeve; it was also why he didn't bat an eye at handing Dorsey International's reins to an outsider.NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

This outsider, Max, was something else. Under his leadership, Dorsey International had been thriving. Michael had no second thoughts about his choice. Besides, Max had survived years of literal firefights. No one else in the Dorsey clan could've handled things as well as he did. For Michael, the Dorsey family was everything. As long as he could elevate the Dorsey family, ensuring they stayed at the top in Beaconsfield before he kicked the bucket, nothing else mattered. Posthumous fame? Who cared? Michael wanted to enjoy the best resources and the finest treatment while he was alive. If the Dorsey family had a contest for the most selfish member, Michael would win hands down.

He always thought he had Max wrapped around his finger, using the remnants of family ties to keep him in check. Plus, his third son's paralysis was because of Max, so Max's servitude was well-deserved. But Max defying him over a woman? That was a line crossed, not once, but repeatedly.

"Max, I bet Brodie hasn't found a substitute for that drug yet, huh? Your migraines must be getting worse. Running back to Brielle now? That's just plain stupid."

Max's eyes lowered as he listened to the cold voice on the other end of the line. "No need to make things hard on Brodie."

Before he could finish, Michael pulled out a gun and aimed it at Brodie's leg. "The Dorsey family has never been short on sons, just obedient ones."

Brodie, sitting in his wheelchair with his white lab coat, looked calm as ever. When Max threw away all their plans to see Brielle, Brodie had seen this coming. After years of outsmarting the old man and secretly studying that drug, they had a plan. Max was supposed to hold off on taking it. Sure, the withdrawal would make him disappear for a while, but that was better than being controlled by it.

Brodie had everything ready. If Max could tough out and disappear, Brodie would get his hands on that drug, make a replica, and free Max from the old man's grip. But then a text message came, and whatever it said made Max take the drug,

vanish, and cut off all contact.

Brodie shook his head with a bitter smile. He knew his father too well. To break ten-year-old Max, Michael had even ruined his legs. The man was a lunatic.

Brodie understood the Dorsey family

better than anyone. That winter when Max turned ten was brutally cold, with snowstorms everywhere. Max had been thrown into an icy pond, and it was Brodie who had saved him. His legs were already injured, and the freezing water

sealed their fate.

Michael had pinned the blame on ten-year-old Max. "You're why Brodie lost his legs and needs a wheelchair, Max. So, you owe it to the Dorsey family to make us rise again."

The brainwashing was sickening. How could a ten-year-old bear such a burden? Brodie, now confined to a wheelchair and heartbroken, saw his young brother Max, barely ten, vow to take on the family's responsibilities.

"Don't worry, Brodie. I'll take good care of the Dorsey family."

Brodie wasn't a naive child. Max was already a quiet, withdrawn kid who rarely spoke. That day was probably the most he had ever talked. Even if Max had starved in the attic, he seldom came out, and Martha, like a madwoman, had doctors in daily.

Brodie never told young Max that it

was Michael's men who had thrown him into the pond because Michael had already discovered his secret - Max was not a true Dorsey. An impure bastard was not something Michael could tolerate in the Dorsey family as it would tarnish their lineage. But the incident with Brodie meant Max bore a guilt, and Michael played along. After all, he had hoped for Max's death. Why not make him the heir instead? More people would target him then, and his survival would be a testament to his abilities. If he didn't make it, Michael lost nothing. Max had a talent that was beyond ordinary people.