Married To My Billionaire Stepbrother novel Chapter 162

Chapter 162: What We Did Last Night

Natalie arrived at the office building, just as expected, with a cluster of reporters waiting for her. She stepped out of the car, casually tapping away on her phone, a light smirk playing on her lips. Ryan stood by her side, ready to shield her from the swarm of journalists.

"Ms. Natalie?" one of the reporters called out, but she remained focused on her phone.

To everyone’s surprise, the reporters held back their questions, waiting for her to acknowledge them. It seemed they had learned their lesson from previous encounters.

After half a minute, Natalie finished whatever she was doing on her phone and finally looked up at the crowd. "Why so quiet? Are you all done asking your questions all at once? If so, now’s your chance—one at a time."

"Ms. Natalie, there’s a video of you trying to assault your sister earlier today," a reporter said.

"Trying to assault? Are you sure that’s the words you want to use?" Natalie arched a brow, her tone sharp and without a hint of guilt.

"In the footage, it looks very much like it," the reporter insisted.

"You should say I assaulted her, not tried to assault her. When I do something, I don’t fail," Natalie responded with pride. "I went there to knock some sense into her rotten brain, which I did and I hope it worked."

"You’re admitting to assaulting her—on national TV," the reporter pressed.

"I think I just did." Natalie’s smirk deepened. "Anyone with a problem can file a police complaint."

The reporters exchanged glances, taken aback by her unapologetic confidence.

"What made you assault your sister?" another reporter ventured.

"Go ask her. My job was only to teach her a lesson for what she did wrong. If you’re still curious, check room number 2017 at the Grand Elysium Hotel—you’ll get your answers there."

"What’s in the room?" one reporter asked.

"Go find out," Natalie replied with a sly smirk.

She knew Lily was in that room, and given her condition earlier, Natalie was certain she hadn’t left yet. She allowed reporters to ask more while wondering after hearing about the room number, what Briena would do.

"Today, both the Fords and the Browns are suffering major financial losses, and it seems tied to last night’s engagement. Clearly, you’re the one most affected as we know your previous relationship with Mr Ivan."

"Even though you’re married to someone else, why can’t you leave Mr. Ivan Brown alone and let him be happy with the woman he chose?"

Natalie offered them a bored look. "Even if I told you I don’t care what Ivan Brown does or which woman he’s with, you wouldn’t believe me. So don’t ask me this again—I don’t have time to waste. And seems like your innovative questions are over, so please excuse me," Natalie said firmly, striding past the reporters.

"We can’t help but wonder—which wealthy men are backing you to inflict such a massive blow on two of the city’s biggest business empires?" A reporter shouted behind her.

Natalie turned to look at him, her gaze mocking, "Not many wealthy men—it’s just one. The one who is far more formidable than all the wealthy men in this city."

"Who is he?" another reporter asked quickly.

Natalie didn’t answer, but the next question came fast, with a mocking undertone. "Won’t your husband mind?"

A playful smirk crossed Natalie’s lips, amused by the stupidity of the question. She continued walking, ignoring the reporter, which only fueled his frustration.

"We heard your husband is a gigolo!" he shouted after her retreating figure.

Natalie stopped in her tracks. Turning slowly, she locked eyes with the reporter, her gaze cold enough to make him flinch. "You better think carefully before you speak when you don’t know who you’re talking about," she warned icily.

Silence fell over the group. After a tense moment, another reporter ventured, "So, does that mean your husband is wealthy, and he’s the one supporting you?"

Natalie gave no answer. Without a word, she turned and walked away, leaving the reporters in stunned silence.

"You are yet to answer us if you are going to participate in the national perfume competition," a reporter shouted, but Natalie didn’t answer.

Meanwhile, inside Briena’s office, she and her mother were in full panic mode.

"Mom, Natalie just sent me the evidence of everything we planned against her!" Briena said, her voice trembling. "If she gives this to the reporters, we’re finished." She glanced at her phone again. "She even wrote, ’Dare to file a police complaint against me for the assault, and this goes straight to the police.’"

"Damn it! We can’t make a complaint now—that bitch! She failed our plan," Clara hissed through gritted teeth.

"What if she hands this evidence to the police and files a complaint against us instead?" Briena asked, her anxiety rising.

"She won’t—at least not for your grandpa’s sake. If she intended to do that, we’d already be sitting in jail," Clara replied, trying to reassure her daughter.

They both stared at the TV screen, watching Natalie on live broadcast. She wore that same mocking smirk, openly daring the reporters to file a complaint against her. The more they listened to Natalie, the deeper their panic grew.

"Mom, she just told the reporters to check that hotel room. What if Lily is still there? If they find her, we’re doomed," Briena said, her voice tight with fear.

"Call Lily right now! Tell her to leave immediately," Clara ordered. At the same time, she pulled out her own phone and made a separate call. "Get rid of Lily if she’s still at the hotel. Make sure there’s no trace of her," she instructed coldly.

Briena clutched her phone, her hands shaking. "Mom, Natalie is becoming scarier by the day. We need to figure out who this man supporting her is."

Frowning, she headed toward the elevator, her thoughts swirling. He didn’t blame John for what happened to me, did he?

Somehow Natalie didn’t have a good feeling about it. ’I need to ask him once he is home.’

Justin returned, still riding the high from Natalie’s bold words to the reporters. The only man she counted on, the one supporting her—it was him, and hearing her say it filled him with pride.

’She deserves a reward for this. What shall I reward her with? Should be something she won’t forget.’ A playful smirk painted on his lips.

’Shall I give her nice hug? Or maybe a...’