Master of his heart ( Brielle And Max ) novel Chapter 527

Chapter 527 

Andrew’s eyelid twitched in irritation as he rubbed his cheek. “It wasn’t him.” 

“So, Tessa, then?” 

“No way, she’d never lay a hand on me.” 

“Who else would you let slide, then? I’m almost worried you buried someone before coming here.” 

Andrew’s fire went out in a puff. That slap had come from Aubree. It was because he had the gall to ask Aubree to cook for Tessa. 

When he found out Aubree had gone to Premier Palace, he’d wanted to follow, but with the tension between him and Max, he’d just met Aubree on the street corner to pass on Tessa’s message. 

Without a word, Aubree slapped him again, then stormed back into Premier Palace, calling him trash. 

Andrew had been in these circles too long, never learning to think about others. His comfort was his only concern. So he thought his request of Aubree was reasonable, but her reaction was unexpected. 

There was a slap, but no words were exchanged. 

Damn, had he been too indulgent with Aubree? When it came to him, she hit him with no hesitation–as if she put her whole strength into it. 

Usually, Andrew would turn to Max, who was a good listener despite his stoic demeanor. But after last night’s harsh words and a punch, Andrew’s thick skin wasn’t enough to face Max again. 

Andrew’s gaze fell, lips pressed tight. 

Jaired, casually crossing his legs, twirled an orange in his hand. “Look, Andrew, I’m not one to talk, but what you said to Max last night, that was low. You know how rough Max had it growing up.” 

A kid who never smiled or cried would face cold shoulders even at the top of the food chain. Martha even brought in a shrink at one point. Not just any shrink, but the kind you’d find at a psychiatric ward. 

When you were out of step with the world, people thought you were a monster. And with the Dorsey family’s high status, the last thing they wanted was a freak in the family. 

So, doctors frequented the Dorsey household, trying to diagnose Max with something, anything, to explain his lack of emotional display. 

When Michael decided to make ten–year–old Max the heir to the Dorsey fortune, everyone was 

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floored. How many assassination attempts would the kid face? How much backstabbing would he endure in private? 

Everyone thought Michael didn’t care for his youngest son, that he was setting Max up to fail, using him as a shield against the majority of blows, and waiting to put his favored son in place once Max was out of the picture. Even Max’s friends thought that way, instructed by their families to believe it. 

Max excelled in everything but social skills. Quick to learn anything but how to get along with others. 

Andrew had labeled himself a lackey, a hanger–on, because his “brotherhood” with Max was something he’d instigated, challenging Max to duels, competitions, and one–sided declarations of war. So, calling Max unfeeling and a machine, was probably a deep cut for him.