Lahat ng Kabanata ng Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother: Kabanata 91 - Kabanata 100

The morning light felt too sharp.Cillian sat on the edge of the bed, bent over his knees, shirt wrinkled, hair a little less put together than he’d like. Roo had taken up watch by the door, tail occasionally twitching but otherwise still, like he knew better than to interrupt.Benita was still asleep.Wrapped in the comforter, one arm sprawled across his pillow like she hadn’t moved all night. Her breathing was steady, calm.Cillian rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the floor. Everything about this should’ve felt impossible. And yet—it didn’t. It was the first thing in months that made any damn sense.He stood quietly, padded out of the room, and went downstairs to feed Roo and make coffee. The ritual grounded him—slow, simple, necessary. The sun filtered through the kitchen windows, catching on the polished counter and the marble floors.His phone buzzed on the counter. He didn’t even glance at it the first time. But when it rang again—twice, back-to-back—he sighed and pick

Benita’s POVBy morning, she had showered, changed, answered emails, and still couldn’t shake the sound of that voice.“I hope he’s strong enough to protect you.”She sat at her desk, blazer on, hair pinned back, but the chill hadn’t left her skin. Roo had crawled into bed with her sometime after three—small, warm, thumb in her mouth, dragging a blanket across the floor. Benita had held her tight, whispering stories and counting heartbeats. She hadn’t fallen back asleep. She didn’t need to.By dawn, she had a plan.She wasn’t scared anymore. She was furious.And fury, unlike fear, gave her clarity.She sent three texts. Then four emails. Then made a call to someone she hadn’t spoken to in years: Warren Caldew, her father’s longtime rival and the current Vice Chair of the Elders Council.“Benita Bellington,” he said with surprise. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.”“Don’t let the surname fool you,” she said calmly. “I’m calling as a citizen.”“Of course you are,” he said, cle

Benita’s POVBenita jolted awake to the shrill scream of her ringtone. Then another. And another.Her phone was vibrating violently on the nightstand, lit up with call after call — Warren, her assistant, three board members from the Foundation, and two private numbers she didn’t recognize. She blinked at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented, before she reached for the device and answered.“Benita.” Warren’s voice boomed through. “Get on a laptop. Now.”She sat up slowly, pulling the sheets around her. “Warren—what’s going on?”“I vouched for him because you asked me to. And now? I can’t walk that back.”“What—?”“Have you seen the damn video?”She paused, heart slamming in her chest. “No.”“Then don’t defend him until you do. It’s everywhere. And you better start drafting statements. The Foundation’s in free fall. I just got off the phone with two members of the Elders Council. They want answers — and they want them fast.”The call ended before she could say another word.Benita opene

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

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