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He deserves a chance
Last Updated:
2025-07-18 17:14:04
Latest chapter
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Bad karma
Benita’s POVBenita was used to silence.But this kind—the kind that sat heavy over every breath—was harder to get used to.Her new house in Oakland still smelled like fresh paint and unfamiliar air. No portraits on the walls. No old rugs to muffle her footsteps. Just quiet, careful decisions: neutral tones, clean countertops, glass doors. A home for someone starting over. A home for someone who wasn’t sure what to bring with her.Kent was in the kitchen, putting away the medication he’d just picked up from Belle’s pharmacist. He didn’t ask questions. Just handed her the box when he came in, glanced briefly at the embossed label, and moved on.“You could’ve had them deliver it,” she said.“I could’ve,” he replied, without looking at her. “But then I wouldn’t get to check on you. And I don’t trust hotel managers to tell me the truth when I call and ask if you’re still breathing.”Benita managed a half-smile, curling her fingers around the ceramic mug she’d been pretending to drink from
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Don’t let her win, learn to pick your allies!
Kent’s POVThe first thing Kent noticed when he stepped into the room was how quiet it had become. Not just the kind of quiet that follows a conversation, but the kind that sinks deep into your gut, a warning.Cillian wasn’t speaking. He stood by the window of the guest suite at Sylvester’s house, arms crossed, the early evening light catching against his face like it had something to prove. He hadn’t looked at Kent since he walked in.“You read it then,” Kent said, gently closing the door behind him.Cillian didn’t answer. But the copy of the exposé sat open on the desk, still glowing on the screen. Isla’s words burned like acid across the header.“From Trauma to Tyrant: What the Public Doesn’t Know About Cillian St. James.”Kent sighed. He walked over, slow, careful like he was approaching a wounded animal. Maybe he was. “You know it’s a hit job. She’s spiraling.”Cillian’s jaw ticked. “No one spirals with a folder of sealed court documents and that many damn timestamps. She planned
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Kent wants to save him
Benita had barely slept. By the time her car pulled into the Bellington Group’s underground garage, she wasn’t sure whether the ringing in her ears was from exhaustion or the sheer volume of Isla Hale’s name flooding every headline, tweet, and video feed.She stepped out. No red lips. No heels. Just flats and a navy shirt buttoned to the throat, sleeves pushed back like armor. This wasn’t a day to perform femininity. It was a day to keep Cillian from becoming a punchline again.The elevator doors closed, sealing her in with her reflection. She saw it then—just for a second. The girl who once studied law for fun and solved PR crises before they went viral. She missed her. She needed her.When she arrived on the 15th floor, the entire crisis team was already assembled. Three of Bellington’s senior consultants. One digital forensic analyst. Kent pacing near the window, phone to his ear, talking fast and sharp.He glanced over the moment she entered.“Good, you’re here,” he said. “I was j
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother I want this to stop
It was raining again.Not the soft, cinematic kind that made everything feel washed and new. No. This was the kind that slapped windshields and backed up drains and turned the air into something that bit. Benita stood by the window of her hotel suite, mug of tea cooling in her hand, watching the streets of Oakland move like nothing had changed.But everything had.The exposé had dropped at 7:42 AM.By 8:00, her name was trending. Not because she’d done anything wrong—at least not publicly—but because she had vouched for him.Because she’d written that statement.Because she’d stood in front of the camera and said, I know who he is.And now Isla Hale was saying, No, you don’t.Benita hadn’t opened the full article yet. She couldn’t. Not yet. But Kent had sent a screenshot of the headline, along with just three words: Don’t spiral, please.She took a breath. The hotel room was too quiet. No radio, no phone calls, no tapping from Kent—he was probably downstairs with Syl again, trying to
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother It just keeps getting worse
Benita scrolled past the headlines without reading them.She already knew what they said.She’d known the second the Bellington board secretary forwarded her a media scan at 5:42 a.m. with the subject line: “Might require your attention.”Cillian’s name was trending again. But not for his housing reform. Not even for the statement she’d issued on his behalf.This time, it was Isla.Again.The footage was shorter than the last one. Slicker. Edited with the kind of calculated pauses and tasteful piano underlay that PR crisis teams normally charged thousands to produce.Except this wasn’t a team effort.This was personal.Benita watched it once. Then again. Then a third time, slower. She didn’t flinch when Isla’s voice, smooth and sharpened like glass, said the words:“There are people—women—who have been buried under Cillian St. James’s second chances. They don’t have publicists or real estate empires to defend them. They don’t have trust fund heiresses writing their redemption stories.
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother I’ll make sure of it
Isla Hale’s POVThey were calling him a fraud now.Funny. Just two months ago, Cillian St. James had been a sudden hero—a reformed convict, a poster boy for redemption, the kind of broken man people love to pretend they understand. A bachelor the media couldn’t stop fawning over. Proof that prison made philosophers and pain made art.But pain never made Cillian a better man.He just learned how to speak the language of people who hadn’t suffered.Isla smiled to herself.People thought money ruled the world. But truly? It was the media.And she used to be very, very good at it.She sat with her back straight, legs crossed, in the greenroom of a late-night show that had quietly canceled her appearance this morning. No public statement, of course—just a junior PR assistant who whispered something about “tone sensitivity” and escorted her back to the car service like she had lice. Five years ago, they’d trip over themselves to have her on air. Today? They acted like she might snap.She pu
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