A Woman Worth Billions Dated the Wrong Brother novel Chapter 60

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Lost

Walling.

“You’re coming back tomorrow,” he added, “not as someone’s fiancée.”

The truth settled deeply.

Tomorrow I would walk into that building as a CEO.

As a partner.

As a woman who built her own empire.

And Jason had positioned himself here-

Above it.

Waiting.

The city shimmered beneath us.

Below that glass-

My past.

The balcony where I once waited for a man who never truly chose me.

The rooms where I shrank myself to fit someone else’s ambition.

And now-

I stood above it.

Not abandoned.

Not discarded.

Elevated.

I turned slowly toward Jason.

“You really thought this far ahead?” I asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Even about me?”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Especially about you.”

The honesty in his voice stripped away every last layer of doubt.

This wasn’t coincidence.

This wasn’t convenience.

This wasn’t temporary.

It felt designed.

But impossibly romantic.

す

The moon shone bright through the glass walls, silver light spilling across the floor, across his shoulders, across us.

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The city stretched endlessly beyond, a silent witness to everything I had left behind.

Jason stepped closer.

Not commanding.

Not demanding.

Choosing.

His hand slid to my waist, steady and certain.

My fingers moved to his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it – not out of impulse, but intention.

“You’re not that woman anymore,” he murmured against my lips.

“No,” I whispered.

And this time, when he kissed me, there was no strategy.

No audience.

No performance.

Only heat and intention and something dangerously close to surrender.

The past felt distant.

Small.

Irrelevant.

With the moon shining bright and the view of all I had left behind-

I lost myself in him.

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YOU

You

A phone was ringing.

Incessant.

Sharp.

Unforgiving. 1

The sound pierced through the warm haze I was wrapped in.

I burrowed deeper into the sheets instinctively, searching for the heat beside me.

Strong.

Solid.

Safe.

A low chuckle vibrated against my ear.

A slow kiss brushed my throat.

“You’re just like a kitten, you know?” Jason murmured.

His voice was rough with sleep.

“Looks like it’s time to wake up.”

I did not want to wake up.

My head was pounding.

A dull, persistent ache behind my eyes.

The aftereffects of whatever had been used on us the night before.

I cracked one eye open.

The room was bright morning sunlight spilling across the bed.

Jason reached for the nightstand and placed a glass of water and two pills beside me.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching.

“Hydrate first,” he said calmly.

I groaned but pushed myself up slightly.

“How is your head?” he asked.

“Killing me,” I muttered. “Just what did they give us?”

He went very still.

Not tense.

Measured.

“You don’t remember?”

I blinked at him.

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“Oh, sorry-no: Of course I remember last night.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly

I sat up fully, meeting his eyes directly.

The sheet slipped from my chest without me-noticing.

“And I don’t regret anything,” I added calmly. “I just want to know the exact drug so I can return the favor.”

A corner of his mouth twitched.

“That’s my wife.”

I grabbed the water and swallowed the pills.

“So?” I pressed.

Jason leaned back slightly, crossing his arms.

“They’re still testing the residue found in the suite. Marcus retrieved the glassware.”

My eyes sharpened immediately.

“You collected evidence?”

“Amber,” he said dryly, “I don’t walk into traps without preparing the exit.”

Of course he didn’t.

“And?” I asked.

“Preliminary guess is a stimulant-based aphrodisiac. Meant to impair judgment. Not memory.”

“So they expected us to lose control.”

“Yes.”

I considered that.

“And instead?”

His gaze darkened slightly. et

“We maintained control.”

Heat crept up my neck – but not from the drug.

From memory.

He stood and moved toward the window, adjusting his cuffs.

“The conference is in two hours,” he said evenly. “Miriam Becker’s stunt is already circulating.”

I stiffened.

“In what version?”

“Clipped footage. Edited before my face was fully visible.”

I swung my legs off the bed instantly.

“So they’re pushing the cheating narrative.”

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“For now.”

“And the full video?”

“Will be released at the right moment.”

My headache suddenly felt secondary.

“Strategic timing?”

He looked over his shoulder at me.

“Always.”

I stood slowly, walking toward him,

“You planned the penthouse years ago.”

“Yes.”

“You collected evidence last night.”

“Yes.”

“You’re controlling the media rollout.”

“Yes.”

I stopped in front of him.

“You’re terrifying.”

He stepped closer.

“You’re impressed.”

I tried not to smile.

Failed.

“We should be furious,” I said.

“We are,” he replied calmly.

“That’s why we don’t react emotionally.”

His hand brushed my waist lightly.

“We escalate.”

I studied him for a moment – the precision, the control, the calculated calm.

Then, playfully – but meaning every word – I asked:

“Just what will it take for you to lose control?”

For the first time since waking up, something shifted in his expression.

He looked at me.

Really looked at me.

Serious.

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But with the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“You, Amber,” he said quietly

A beat.

“Apparently just you.”

The air thickened instantly.

Not chaotic.

Not reckless.

Intentional.

My pulse quickened, but I didn’t step back.