A Woman Worth Billions Dated the Wrong Brother novel Chapter 51

will.

I turned to Pamela.

“Schedule a press conference.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Joint or solo?”

I held Jason’s gaze.

And smiled. 1

“Just me.”

The press conference was in forty-eight hours.

Forty-eight hours until Victoria tried to brand me a victim.

Forty-eight hours until Adrian stood beside her pretending to care about my “safety.”

Forty-eight hours until the world tried to decide who I was.

So I did what I always did when cornered.

I expanded.

Jason officially moved his headquarters into my building that morning.

Not the other way around.

Mine.

1

to rewrite my

The media would spin it however they wanted, but the symbolism was clear. If he were controlling me, he wouldn’t be relocating into my territory.

He would have made me move into his.

The children stayed with us twenty-four hours a day. Security doubled. Entry codes rotated. Armed personnel at every access point.

If they wanted to paint me as powerless, they would have to do it while watching me command an army.

3/5

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I had just finalized the acquisition of a transportation company – a joint venture between my firm and Jason’s Sol Management – when Pamela walked in, heels clicking with urgency.

“You’re ready for interviews

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

An assistant.

The one role I couldn’t afford to get wrong.

Too much exposure. Too many enemies. Too many people who would sell information for the right price.

“Send them up one at a time,” I said.

Pamela hesitated.

“They’re not upstairs.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re all downstairs.” (15)

I frowned.

“All?”

She gave me a look.

When I turned the corner toward the main lobby, I stopped.

At least one hundred and fifty applicants filled the space.

Designer suits. Luxury handbags. Perfect résumés clutched like lottery tickets.

The air smelled like ambition.

Some looked nervous. Some looked predatory. Some were far too calm.

Planted, my instincts whispered.

News had spread fast. Working for me meant proximity to power – and proximity to power meant information.

Information meant leverage.

Behind me, the elevator doors slid open.

Jason stepped out, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened, looking entirely too comfortable in my building.

His eyes swept the lobby once.

Then they landed on me.

A slow smile curved his mouth.

“Should I be jealous?” he murmured near my ear.

“Of one hundred and fifty people who want my schedule?” I replied.

“Of one hundred and fifty people who want access to you.”

My pulse betrayed me.

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Even now. Even with a war brewing. Even with cameras waiting to dissect our body language in two days.

He leaned slightly closer.

“Choose someone ruthless,” he said softly. “You’ll need it.”

Before I could answer, a woman in the waiting area stood abruptly.

Her eyes locked onto mine.

Recognition flickered.

Not admiration.

Not ambition.

Recognition.

My stomach tightened.

I knew that face.

But from where?

Pamela stepped closer, lowering her voice.

“There’s something else.”

“What?”

“Three of them were recommended by the White family.”

Of course they were.

Adrian never moved without strategy.

The shortage. The public smear. The discount announcement. Now infiltration.

I felt it then.

This wasn’t just about hiring an assistant. 1

This was about insider control.

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Her

Control the assistant. Control the calendar. Control the information. Control the battlefield.

Jason’s hand brushed mine briefly-grounding, not possessive.

“I trust your instincts,” he said.

And that was the difference.

He never told me what to do.

He simply stood beside me while I did it. 1

I stepped forward.

One hundred and fifty pairs of eyes followed.

“Good morning,” I said, voice steady. “I hope you’re all prepared to be evaluated under pressure.”

A ripple of surprise moved through the room.

“I don’t hire based on résumés,” I continued. “I hire based on crisis response.”

A few people shifted uncomfortably.

Good.

“Phones on the table,” I ordered.

I didn’t recognize her from a résumé.

I recognized her from humiliation.

Clara Vale.

She had stood beside Adrian at at least five family galas.

Always one step behind him. Always introduced the same way.

“My assistant.”

The lie had been so consistent it almost became truth.

But I remembered her eyes.

Sharp. Observant. Underestimated.

She walked into my office the same way she used to enter those events – composed, controlled, invisible by design.

Jason sat across from my desk, watching carefully.

Pamela closed the door.

“You’re not here for an assistant position,” I said calmly.

Clara’s lips curved faintly.

“No.”

“You were never his assistant.”

“No.”

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