A Woman Worth Billions Dated the Wrong Brother novel Chapter 472

Amber POV

I needed to buy more time.

Jason and the children were still making their way toward the boat, and until they were safely outside Sum Country's jurisdiction, I couldn't afford to let the soldiers realize that the castle was empty.

I stared at Christian's last message.

He asked me to help expose the president.

An idea began forming.

It was risky. Possibly reckless.

But if the president was already planning to accuse me of terrorism, there was no reason to wait quietly for him to make the first move.

Besides, I had something he didn't.

A very convincing reason to appear terrified.

"Emory?"

He looked up from the monitor.

"What now?"

"I need a room."

He frowned.

"You have a room."

"No. I need a small, empty room. Preferably one that looks like a cheap motel. Plain walls, ordinary furniture, nothing that suggests I'm inside a military facility."

He stared at me.

"Why?"

"I'm going to make a public appearance."

"Amber, that's probably the worst thing you could do right now."

"Not necessarily."

"The president is actively trying to frame you for terrorism."

"Exactly. Which is why I need to look like a woman who has absolutely no idea why an entire military force is surrounding her children."

Emory folded his arms.

"And you don't think that sounds suspicious?"

"Emory, I genuinely have no idea why the president is doing this. The confusion won't be difficult to portray."

"You're planning something."

"Of course I am."

He sighed.

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

He studied me for a moment before shaking his head.

"There's an unused room down the hallway. It was originally intended for temporary civilian accommodation. Small bed, desk, plain walls. Nothing remarkable."

"Perfect."

"Amber."

I stopped.

"What?"

"Whatever you're planning, don't reveal where you are."

I smiled.

"That's the entire point."

The room was exactly what I needed.

A narrow bed stood against one wall, with a small bedside table and a lamp that looked as though it had survived several decades of questionable interior design.

There were no military insignias, no security monitors, and nothing that might reveal the building's purpose.

It could have been a motel room.

Or a temporary apartment.

Or the sort of place someone might hide when the president of a country decided to accuse them of terrorism.

Perfect.

I placed my phone against a stack of books on the desk and adjusted the camera.