Master of his heart

Chapter 75

Brielle slipped out of her office, the sleek tailored blazer draped over her arm. Her car had inconveniently hit warranty just days ago and was towed to the dealership for the fourth time. Without her usual ride, she was relegated to hailing cabs for her commute.

She hailed a cab, and as she bent to get in, she was concerned about the blazer getting dirty. Therefore, she took it off, neatly folded it, and placed it on her lap before entering. As the cab approached her apartment complex, a place chosen more for its price than its neighborhood, she handed the driver his fare and stepped out onto the curb.

The area was a cultural mishmash, a stark contrast to the polished corporate world she navigated daily. Public housing units crowded around her building, and the streets were a melting pot of characters.

A group of young men loitered by the entrance, each with a cigarette in hand, enveloping themselves in clouds of smoke. The security booth had long been abandoned, and any guard who might have been on duty would turn a blind eye to the scene unfolding before them.

Brielle frowned, her gaze fixed on the ground as she quickened her pace. But the ringleader of the group flicked his cigarette butt away and sauntered over with hands buried in his pockets. His cronies followed, their laughter echoing through the night air. Clearly, they’d been waiting here for a while.

“Stop right there,” the leader commanded, reaching out to block her path, his other hand clamping around her throat.

The strong scent of tobacco invaded Brielle’s nostrils. Instinctively, she stomped on his foot and jerked back.

the man yelped. His patience gone, he grabbed Brielle’s head and slammed it against

self–defense training, the disparity in strength between her and the six men was too great. Her blazer was yanked from her grip, and rough hands shoved her to the

in, smirks plastered on their

taunted.

got the wrong

little fight from you,”

and yanked her head back by her hair, scrutinizing her features. “No mistake here, Brielle, right? Someone paid us to teach you a

of his breath was nauseating. Should she scream for help? No, it was late and

did they pay you? I’ll double it,” she offered,

cigarette, blew smoke in her face, and sneered, “We have principles, Ms. Brielle. Blame your own bad luck for

in her ankle. Her phone, pre–dialed to emergency services, was concealed in her sleeve. The

“You know, there are many Brielle’s out there. Maybe you’ve got the wrong

man scoffed, flicking his spent cigarette to the ground. “Enough crap. I’ve seen your

shouldn’t have messed with the wrong girl’s man. The orders were clear–to ruin

out a switchblade, the glint of malice flashing in his eyes. “Ms. Brielle, the