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The new name!
Last Updated:
2025-07-09 19:33:04
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Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother If you won’t screw her…
CillianHe woke up before his alarm, the taste of her kiss still ghosting his mouth.It had been hours. Enough time to let it fade, enough distance to convince himself it didn’t matter. But it hadn’t. It hadn’t faded, and it did matter.Benita had looked at him like she hadn’t expected him—but hoped, maybe. Her voice had said his name like she used to, soft and unguarded. And then she kissed him.A mistake. He told himself that. A lapse. They couldn’t go back, not to what they were.But God, he wanted to see her again.He sat up, dragging a hand through his hair. His suit jacket was still tossed over the chair. He hadn’t even changed when he got home. Just collapsed into bed like someone hit him with a memory and a longing all at once.Roo.Cillian exhaled through his nose, just picturing that ridiculous puffball curling up beside her, nose twitching, paws in the air. Already sleeping next to her like he belonged.Lucky dog.He dressed quickly, kept his tie loose. There was too much h
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother For the quiet days that being grief
The cabin had not grown on her yet. It wasn’t home. It didn’t wrap her up in the warm and cozy way she’d hoped.Some days, the quiet brought grief. Like today. Right now. Tonight…She opened the door and paused at the doorway with her hand still on the knob. For a second her life in another dimension flashed. The one where Gaby is still alive. And the sound of his feet, small and delighted, is racing towards her. Gaby used to do that. Six years old, all teeth and light. He’d wrap his arms around her and look up like she was the best thing in the world.She shut the door behind her with a soft sigh. Her heels came off. Her earrings too. She moved with routine precision, unzipping herself from the world.She didn’t cry. It wasn’t that kind of grief. Just a memory sharp enough to sting as it passed.She went through the usual motions: earrings on the tray, kettle filled, pajama set laid out. She set her phone on the counter, as she reached the kitchen.Cillian hadn’t called. Not s
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother The new name!
The night air was cool, quieter now.Cillian hadn’t driven far. Just enough to be out of sight of Benita’s house. He parked on a side street under a flickering lamppost, engine ticking softly in the silence. Hands still curled around the wheel, he could feel her arms around him—like she’d imprinted on his bones.He’d meant to stay five minutes. Hand her the statement, confirm she was okay, and go.But then she’d said she was proud of him.And that—somehow—meant more than the police dropping the charges, more than Belle’s silence, more than Kent saying, You’ve got people now.The name change had felt like erasing history. A quiet rebellion against the decades shaped by Dawson power. But when Benita said it… For letting go of Dawson… it sounded like becoming someone. Not shedding something.His phone buzzed in the cup holder. A text from Kent.KENT:You made her night. Come by tomorrow. Syl’s making pancakes. She’s smiling for real.Cillian didn’t reply. He stared at the message, thumb
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Welcome to independence
Benita adjusted the last of the candles on the mantle, then stepped back and took in the living room.She’d never thrown a party in her life.Not one where she had to sweep her own floors, hang up her own string lights, call the plumber because the guest toilet made a sound like it was haunted, and order wine that wouldn’t offend every possible palate.But the room was warm. Quiet jazz hummed from a vintage speaker Kent had gifted her.The scent of cinnamon and pine rose from a candle the woman at the store had convinced her to buy. Benita made a mental note to go back and thank her.Outside, the garden flowers swayed softly in the breeze. Benita exhaled.It didn’t feel like a party.It felt like a beginning.One she’d earned.Her assistant, Lola, had come early to help decorate, and now that everything was set, it didn’t look so bad. Benita set out four glasses—then paused.Was Cillian coming?“They’re here,” Lola called from the kitchen. “Told you it wouldn’t be just us.”“I wasn’t
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother In her words: seduction
Cillian stood by the window, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loose, eyes locked on nothing.He’d been in the same spot for half an hour.The lamp cast a long shadow across the carpet of his living room, the kind of quiet that made everything louder—his thoughts, the soft hum of the AC, the weight of his last phone call.He didn’t even know why he called.No, he did.And he hated that he had.The door creaked open behind him. Kent walked in, the chill of the evening clinging to his jacket.“She’s alright,” he said, setting his keys on the table. “Settled. Calmer.”Cillian didn’t turn yet. “She told you that?”Kent shrugged. “She didn’t have to.”Now he turned. Kent looked tired but relieved. There was something quieter in his movements tonight, something softened.“Where is she?” Cillian asked, folding his arms.“New house. Oakland side. Pretty spot. You’d hate it.”Cillian gave a humorless smirk. “Good.”“She needed somewhere to breathe.”Silence settled between them again. Not tens
Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother Everything but wine
The clip had only been five minutes, but Benita had replayed it eight times.Cillian stood in front of the cameras with that unreadable calm, his words echoing in her quiet office like a bruise pressed over and over again.“Cillian St.James,” she muttered, “it suits him.”She paused the video, her finger hovering above the trackpad, the screen frozen on his face. That face. Hardened by grief, sharpened by purpose. He didn’t look like the man who once held her like she was the only thing tethering him to this world. He looked like someone who had let go.She sat back, exhaling through her nose.Retiring the Dawson name. Rewriting his legacy. Choosing his family, finally.But where did that leave her?Since leaving the Bellington Estate, she’d been in a state of floating—neither here nor there. Technically, she still had access to the apartment Belle bought for her, but it felt too polished, too performative. Even now, this office didn’t feel like hers. She ran her fingers across the gl
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