A Woman Worth Billions Dated the Wrong Brother novel Chapter 4

Jason didn’t sit back after I agreed.

He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, expression serious in a way that told me this part mattered more than the rest.

“There’s something you should understand,” he said. “This marriage isn’t just about my company.”

I nodded. “Go on.”

“To be taken seriously as the next head of the Sun family, I have to be married,” he said plainly. “The board doesn’t say it out loud, but tradition still rules. Stability. Legacy. Appearances.”

Of course it did.

“The Sun family doesn’t crown bachelors,” I said.

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Exactly.”

He hesitated—just a fraction—then continued. “Which brings me to something else. Children.”

I stilled, watching him closely.

“I have two,” Jason said. “Adopted.”

That surprised me.

“My youngest cousin died in a car accident three years ago,” he explained quietly. “She left behind two children. Four and five years old.”

Something in his voice shifted—not grief, exactly, but responsibility.

“I became their legal guardian,” he said. “They live with me. Full time.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“I won’t pretend this marriage won’t affect them,” Jason continued. “So I need to know where you stand. I won’t bring anyone into their lives who resents their existence.”

I met his gaze without hesitation.

“I’m comfortable with children,” I said. “I don’t mind them. And I wouldn’t agree to this if I thought they’d be treated like liabilities.”

Something eased in his shoulders.

“Good,” he said simply, then showed me a picture of two children, a boy and a girl, both with Brown dark hair and beautiful green eyes, they looked so much like Jason it was hard to imagine they were not his.

"They have been unruly lately, please, be patient with them,”

The door opened softly, and a man stepped in—mid-forties, precise, carrying a leather portfolio like it was an extension of his arm.

“Miss Asher,” he said politely. “Mr. Sun..”

“This is Masón, My aide,” Jason added. “And the only person I trust to draft documents that don’t explode later.”

Mason set the folder down and slid it toward me. “The finalized contract.”

I opened it carefully, scanning line by line.

Two-year term.

Separate finances.

Public unity.

Mutual non-disparagement.

Then I stopped.

Residency clause.

“You expect us to live together,” I said, looking up.

“Yes,” Jason replied calmly. “The entire duration.”

“And appearances?”

“Maintained,” he said. “Public events. Family functions. Occasional interviews.”

I exhaled slowly.

“Image consistency,” Mason added. “Non-negotiable.”

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

I glanced at the screen.

Unknown numbers.

Board members.

Investors.

News traveled fast.

“Well,” he said calmly, “this is interesting.”

Jason stood. “Father.”

Samuel didn’t respond right away. His gaze lifted to me—measured, assessing, sharp.

“Miss Asher,” he said. “Care to tell me what you and my son are signing so intently?”

I didn’t look at Jason.

Jason didn’t look at me.

We spoke at the same time.

“A future investment.”

Samuel’s eyebrow rose.

The silence stretched—heavy, deliberate.

Then a slow smile formed on his face, the kind that meant he understood far more than was being said.

“I see,” he said. “And should I be concerned?”

“No,” Jason replied evenly.

“Not at all,” I added.

Samuel chuckled under his breath, clearly amused.

“A joint investment,” he said thoughtfully. “Those tend to be the most profitable… when chosen carefully.”

His eyes flicked briefly to the folder again, then back to us.

“Well,” he said, turning toward the door, “I won’t interrupt. Carry on.”

As he left, my phone vibrated again on the table—still muted, still ignored.

Outside that room, investors were scrambling, board members were panicking, and Oscar’s world was beginning to tilt.

Inside it, Jason and I sat across from each other—calm, aligned, and officially dangerous.

And for the first time since everything fell apart, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:

This wasn’t damage control.

This was a calculated move toward dominance.