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Many Whys?
Last Updated:
2025-06-24 15:31:00
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Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Learn your limits
The drive home was silent until they rounded the bend near the estate.That’s when Cillian spotted it—the overturned car.Or what was left of it.The vehicle had been pulled from the road, now resting awkwardly on the gravel shoulder. Its windows were smashed in, windshield cracked like a spiderweb, and its undercarriage still bore the mud from the embankment.Cillian slowed down as they approached.“Shouldn’t we check it out?” he asked, voice low.“You have enough on your plate and you want to take on more?” Kent muttered, tightening his grip on the wheel. “Let the police handle what they’re paid for.”But Cillian’s eyes lingered on the wreck as they passed. Something about it didn’t sit right—too neat, too conveniently out of the way.Still, he said nothing.By the time they pulled into the driveway, the night was deep and Sylvester was pacing out front, eyes darting like he’d been waiting for hours. His worry wasn’t the kind he wore often.Cillian stepped out of the car.“What now?
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother ACT 2
Chapter 58Benita gripped her steering wheel a little too tight, her knuckles pale against the leather.The road ahead was lit only by the occasional streetlamp and the distant red haze of Oakland’s skyline, but all she could see was the look on Cillian’s face—closed, cold, unreachable.“Let’s cancel the kiss, Benita.”He’d said it like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.How could people be so flaky? One minute he was confessing his feelings, the other he said he was sorry it happened.God, she wanted to scream.Instead, she floored the gas a little harder, letting the music thrum against the windows. The gallery exhibition was everything Shanon had said it would be. Bourgeois. Luxurious ambiance. Good wine. But she didn’t drink. She sat still looking at her phone every two minutes. “What did he say?” Shanon had asked, “Did he confess to taking the warehouse?”Benita swallowed hard. She knew Shanon would not believe it. Anyone in their right minds would not believe that Cillian
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Bleach and Regret
Evening had fallen over the house like a hush no one wanted to acknowledge.Benita stood at the full-length mirror in the guest room, adjusting a single gold earring with slow, methodical fingers. Her dress—simple, elegant, a shade too confident—felt suddenly heavier on her skin. She wasn’t sure if it was the silence outside her door, or the silence still ringing in her chest.What did she expect? That he’d stop her? That he’d apologize?He already said the kiss meant nothing. He already took it back.She grabbed her purse, drew in a breath she didn’t feel, and stepped out into the hallway just as footsteps echoed from the other end.Cillian.They stopped at the same time.He was in a crisp black button-down and a dark jacket, hair pushed back carelessly like he’d run a hand through it a thousand times. His eyes flicked up—then away—then back again, unable to hold still.Benita swallowed hard. So did he.They had just broken up—if you could call it that. So why did it still feel like
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Many Whys?
Cillian stared at Syl for a long moment, trying to understand what he had just said. Of everything he expected him to say, this wasn’t it. It was the least thing anyone expected him to say.Then, quietly— he pushed his chair backward and stood, “Follow me.”He turned and walked down the hallway, not checking to see if Syl followed. But of course he did. The silence between them was no longer tense—it was suffocating.The door clicked shut behind them with a quiet finality.Cillian didn’t turn around right away. He stood with one hand still on the doorknob, his spine rigid. Then he let go, walked to the center of the room, and faced Sylvester head-on.“Why, St. James,” he said, voice flat and cold. “Start talking.”Sylvester stood by the far wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. He didn’t loose his casual and indifferent look.“I don’t follow.”“You don’t follow?” Cillian gave a low laugh, stepping forward. “You’ve been visiting Ben in prison. You secured his warehouse under my name.”“Is t
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother I’m on your side
It was Saturday.The third day since Maloi left, the second day since Benita vanished. The house had sunk into a kind of strange silence, interrupted only by the ticking clock and the sharp clink of bottles Cillian hadn’t cleaned up.He blinked awake in bed, light barely filtering through the curtains. The weight in his chest hadn’t lifted. He stared at his phone on the nightstand, her name still pinned to the top. No new messages.He didn’t have it in him to call last night. And he sure as hell didn’t have it in him this morning. With a sigh, he tossed the phone aside, rolled over, and pulled the blanket higher.The door slammed open.Cillian groaned into the pillow as Kent’s voice rang out like an airhorn. “Up. Shoes. Downstairs. Now.”“Piss off,” Cillian muttered.Kent strode across the room and yanked the mustard-yellow curtains open, letting the crisp Oakland morning air flood the room. The light hit Cillian’s face like a slap.“You’ve got ten minutes before I drag you by the ank
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Sylvester St.James
The box creaked open.Kent peeled back the black tissue paper, brows furrowing as he pulled out a thick cream folder—expensive, heavy, the kind used for legal documents.“What the hell is this?” he muttered, flipping it open.Cillian snatched it from his hands.Inside were photographs. Dozens of them. Some grainy, some surveillance-sharp.At first, all he registered were the scenes—Sylvester outside a courthouse in Midtown, shaking hands with an unfamiliar woman at the federal building, entering a gated estate in Redwood. Then another—blurry, but unmistakable. Sylvester inside a prison visitation room. Sitting across from someone whose face had been deliberately obscured.But Cillian didn’t need clarity.Ben.His heart stuttered.He turned the page.A dossier followed. Crisp font. Dry facts. But each line hit like a gut punch.Subject: Sylvester St. James (also known as S. St. James, Syl St. James)• Former Senior Counsel at Hamilton & Blake LLP, ranked in top 5 national law firms. Re
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