Todos os capítulos de Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother: Capítulo 101 - Capítulo 110

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

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

BenitaThe boardroom was louder than usual.Not in volume—but in presence. Every breath felt weighted. Every glance, a judgment. And at the center of it all sat Benita Bellington, spine straight, fingers interlocked on the polished mahogany table like she belonged there—even if half the people in the room were starting to question that.She didn’t blame them. Not entirely.The past week had shaken more than her inbox.It had cracked something in the structure—something deeper. A belief, maybe. That doing the right thing always bore the right results. That if you vouched for someone, and believed in them publicly, the world would meet you with understanding, not fire.But Isla had seen to that.Now, headlines moved faster than truth. Opinions were currency. And Benita—by name, bloodline, and bold decision—was financially tethered to the man being painted as a con in a suit.“Miss Bellington,” one of the older members of the Elders Council began, voice clipped, “we have reviewed your st

The message came in just past midnight.Benita:I didn’t defend you. I stood beside you. There’s a difference.Cillian sat back in his chair, phone still in hand, that single line echoing louder than anything the news had said in the last forty-eight hours.He hadn’t realized how badly he needed someone to say that.Not his comms team.Not his lawyers.Not Kent, or even Syl.But her.She wasn’t offering comfort. She was drawing a line in the sand — and choosing his side.Cillian exhaled slowly, set the phone down on his desk. His office at Dawson Construction was dark except for the desk lamp and the white glow of his laptop screen, where a dozen unread articles still loomed like threats.He closed the tabs one by one. He already knew what they said.Fraud.Manipulator.Too clean to be true.And now — according to a whisper campaign — maybe dangerous.Isla was playing the long game. She always had. But this time, she wasn’t coming for just his name. She wanted his impact — every contr

Cillian’s POVThey didn’t trust him.Cillian could feel it in the weight of the room—the rigid postures, the too-neutral faces, the council members sitting behind the long oak table like a jury with too many verdicts to deliver. It was the first time he’d been summoned to an Elders Council meeting since his reinstatement. And this time, there were cameras.Official ones, yes. But there was always another kind. Phones tucked into handbags, eyes flickering toward corners. They were watching not just for answers—but for failure.He adjusted his cuffs and kept his expression still. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t blink too fast. The performance wasn’t new. Just older now. Heavier.A councilwoman cleared her throat.“Mr. St. James,” she said. “You’ve seen the latest exposé?”Cillian nodded once. “Yes.”“And do you have a response?”His jaw clenched. “It was deliberate. Calculated. And timed to undo every inch of progress I’ve made.”“That’s not an answer,” another member said coolly.“I’ve alread