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Mind of glass
Last Updated:
2025-06-17 20:34:20
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Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother High time
Shanon couldn’t sleep.Long after the others had gone upstairs, he found himself back in his study, the one place where he still felt like the master of his world. Yet tonight, even here, unease crept into the shadows. His desk lamp cast a yellow glow over papers scattered like fallen leaves. He stared at the phone, thumb hovering over the dial.All it would take was one call. “Gary,” he would say, “I need you in here. Now.” And the man would come, eager, obedient, ready to explain himself. Ready to prove his loyalty.But Shanon didn’t make the call. His hand dropped to the armrest. He couldn’t shake Cillian’s words from dinner, couldn’t erase the sound of that name landing like a stone in water: Gary McAlister.The betrayal stuck in his chest like a thorn.He rose and paced. The walls of the study closed in, heavy with portraits of men who had never been betrayed, men who still looked down at him as though daring him to measure up. His jaw clenched. Maybe Cillian was wrong. Maybe Gar
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother McAlister
Silence followed Benita’s words like a held breath.Cillian’s fork hovered in midair, his gaze sliding to her. “When did she tell you this?”“This afternoon,” Benita said. “She’s scared. I’ve never seen her like that.”Shanon looked between them, smirking faintly. “The Bellingtons finally have a crack in their perfect picture. What a shock.”Kent’s knife scraped against his plate. “Watch your mouth.”Shanon raised both hands in mock surrender, but the glint in his eyes didn’t soften.Cillian spoke over them. “Benita, did she give you anything to stir her suspicion? Anything tangible? Calls, photos, receipts—anything?”“Not yet,” she admitted. “Which is why I thought… I could find them myself.”Every head at the table turned toward her.“That’s low,” Shanon finally spoke, “Even for you.”“My mother wants to know.” Benita replied, “And honestly, I need to know too. I need to know if love truly doesn’t exist anymore.”Cillian’s gaze hardened, not because of anything but because he realiz
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother You’ve proven yourself
The city was already alive by the time Cillian and Syl hit the streets. Rush-hour traffic crawled along the wide avenues, horns peppering the morning air. Vendors shouted over one another, hawking paper cups of steaming coffee, fresh rolls, and the occasional dubious breakfast sandwich. The sidewalks pulsed with commuters—heels clicking, messenger bags swinging, eyes glued to screens.Cillian’s black sedan slid through the congestion like a shark in dark water. He sat silent in the back, eyes fixed on the looming glass-and-steel tower ahead. The Oakland City Herald headquarters reflected the morning sun with a blinding glare, its doors flanked by security guards in dark suits.Syl pulled up to the curb and stepped out first. “I’ll handle reception,” he said, adjusting his tie.The lobby was all polished marble and the faint scent of ink and paper. Behind the desk, a young receptionist glanced up, already wary at the sight of them. Syl approached with the easy politeness of a man who c
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Memory is funny
Cillian came down the main staircase like a man already in motion, his stride measured but urgent. He’d traded his usual casual composure for a dark suit — nothing ostentatious, but sharp enough to send a clear message: this was business, not breakfast.Syl was waiting in the entryway, one hand in his pocket, the other idly scrolling through something on his phone. The moment he looked up, Cillian’s tone left no room for questions.“Get the car,” he said. “We’re going to the newspaper company.”Syl tucked the phone away and headed for the door without a word.Just as Cillian was reaching for his coat, another set of footsteps clicked softly against the marble. He turned and stilled.Benita.She emerged from the corridor looking like she’d stepped straight off the cover of a financial magazine — sleek navy dress, hair in a flawless chignon, heels that made no sound until she wanted them to. There was something in her bearing — a quiet, contained authority that reminded him she wasn’t j
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Being alone is worse than being scared
The silence after Shanon’s words was almost physical — the kind that presses against your ribs and slows your breathing.Cillian didn’t answer right away. He stood rooted near the center of the living room, every inch of his posture collected but unreadable. The morning light, streaming in through the tall glass panels, caught along the planes of his face. It made him look carved from something older, steadier.Benita knew this look. It wasn’t hesitation. It was the quiet space before Cillian decided something that would change the course of the room.Kent shifted first, dragging the edge of his boot against the hardwood with a soft scrape. “So, what—” his tone was already halfway to a scoff—“we’re your rescue team now?”Maloi’s head turned sharply toward him. “Kent.” A warning, but also a plea.Kent didn’t look at her. “No, seriously. You show up here, throw accusations around, call me vermin, and now you want our help?”Shanon’s face didn’t twitch, didn’t flinch. His gaze stayed loc
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother My enemy is now my ally
The first thing they heard was the low, steady purr of an engine. Not rushed. Not hesitant. It was the sound of someone who arrived on their own terms.Then came the crunch of gravel underfoot — unhurried steps, each one placed with deliberate weight. The kind of footsteps that made you aware of your own heartbeat.Kent was the first to react. He didn’t stand or straighten; he leaned back against the kitchen counter, folding his arms like this was the opening scene of a play he’d been expecting. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes betrayed him — too sharp, too watchful.Benita, on the other hand, didn’t move at all, except for the tightening of her jaw. She kept both hands wrapped around her mug as if the heat might anchor her. The coffee had gone lukewarm, but she held on to it anyway.At the dining table, Maloi’s posture shifted — she rose just enough to square her shoulders, chin lifting. The instinct was unconscious but unmistakable: defense. It didn’t ma
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