From His Fake Wife to Billionaire Heiress Chapter 222: Family Expectations

This was Brandon's home in the small town of Cedar Creek.

Unlike his penthouse overlooking the bay back in Havenbrook, there was no cold minimalist decor or high-end artwork here—just the lived-in warmth and familiar traces of a family that had spent years together under one roof.

He hadn't been back in a while.

Pushing open the car door, he stepped into the yard where his father's potted orchids were blooming quietly under the porch light.

Through the front window, the living room glowed a soft amber, and he could make out his mother moving around in the kitchen, her back turned to the glass.

"Brandon's home!"

At the sound of the door, Brandon's mother, Nola, hurried out of the kitchen, still wearing her apron. Her face lit up, unable to hide her delight.

"You didn't even call to say you were coming! Look how thin you've gotten—go wash up, sweetheart. I made your favorites: roast lamb chops with rosemary and butter-poached salmon."

Brandon's father, Samuel, emerged from the den shortly after. Less openly affectionate than his wife, he simply adjusted his reading glasses and gave a slow nod, though concern softened his tone. "Traffic trouble on the way? Everything wrapped up at work?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Brandon slipped off his tailored suit jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the entry, changing into soft sweatpants and a worn-in tee. The shift made him look easier, softer somehow.

His mother's fussing, his father's quiet questions, the rich smell of a home-cooked meal filling the air...

It all came together into that deeply comforting picture of home he carried in his memory.

For a moment, he even wondered whether the picture Riley had painted that afternoon—all that talk about family obligations and social expectations—was just fearmongering after all.

But the cozy feeling didn't last.

Before dinner, Brandon sank into the living room couch and out of habit pulled out his phone, scrolling through the daily reports Universal Corp had sent over.

Samuel settled beside him with a fresh mug of coffee.

"Brandon..." Samuel began, sounding hesitant.

"Hm?" Brandon didn't look up from the screen, answering distractedly.

"Is the company doing any hiring these days?"

Brandon's thumb stilled mid-scroll.

He lifted his gaze to meet his father's face—that familiar look of having something to say but not quite knowing how to say it.

Brandon let out a low breath.

"Just say what's on your mind, Dad."

Seizing the opening, Samuel relaxed slightly and pressed ahead. "You remember your uncle's boy, Leonard Edwards? Just got back from his MBA overseas. Studied business management and all that, so it's the right field. I was thinking... maybe you could find a spot for him at the firm?"

Brandon's brow furrowed.

He vaguely recalled Leonard.

A kid who'd coasted through high school on charm and family money, then got shipped off mostly to buff up his résumé. And that MBA... who knew how much of it was earned?

Irritation simmered, but seeing the hopeful look on his father's face, he held back and fell into his usual script.

"Sure. Have him call HR's recruitment line and submit his résumé. If he clears the interview rounds, of course there could be a place for him."

It was his standard move—polite, professional, protecting the company's process while saving face.

But Samuel wasn't having it.

His expression tightened, and his tone took on an edge.

"What's with all the interviews, Brandon? Why make it so complicated?

"Leonard's got a real degree from overseas—highly educated! And think about who your uncle is. When you spiked that fever as a boy, who drove through the night to get you to the clinic? Have you forgotten that? Now his son needs a job, and you're going to hit him with company policy? People will think we've forgotten where we came from."

To the older man, modern corporate structure meant little.

In his world, personal loyalties outweighed procedure. Rules bent for family.

He set his mug down on the coffee table with a solid "clink".

"Just slot him in somewhere—senior analyst, department lead, whatever. What's the harm? A little extra on the payroll won't break you. The company isn't going under over one salary."

Brandon's patience finally wore thin.

"Dad," he said, his voice turning cool. "How many times do we have to go over this? The company isn't some family-run shop. Every role has requirements—and consequences. This isn't a charity where we hand out positions. Do you have any idea how much damage one unqualified manager can do to a team... to the whole organization?"

"What don't I understand?" Samuel shot back, stung by his son's sharp tone. "All I understand is loyalty! You make it big, become some fancy executive, and now you're too good for your own family? You won't even do your uncle a simple favor?"