All Chapters of Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

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

The knock came just as Benita dropped her bag on the chair. It was soft, deliberate, like whoever stood outside had no intention of leaving until someone answered.Lola looked up from where she was untying her hair. “You expecting anyone?”Benita shook her head. Her voice came out low, weary. “No. Not at all.”It had been a draining day, the kind where even small talk at the office felt like hauling rocks. She had planned to sink into the couch, maybe let the silence of the apartment numb her thoughts. But the knock came again. Same rhythm. Same patience.Lola muttered something under her breath and went to the door. When she opened it, the fatigue in Benita’s body turned sharp and electric.Cillian.He stood there, framed in the dim hallway light. No jacket, just a dark shirt rolled at the sleeves, his presence filling the small space like an inevitability. His gaze swept past Lola, finding Benita instantly.“I need to speak with you,” he said.Lola folded her arms across her chest,

The rain followed them down to the garage, running in silver sheets off the hood as two cars idled. Kent leaned against one, Syl against the other, both men watching Benita with quiet evaluation as she slid into the back seat beside Cillian.The city blurred past, neon running like veins across wet pavement. Cillian didn’t speak until they hit the bridge.“Your mother’s maiden line—Laurent. That’s what the Elders sealed.”Benita turned, every nerve ending taut. “Laurent?”He nodded once. “Ade says it ties into St. Maren’s. Your father wanted the past scrubbed before it could surface.”Benita’s pulse hammered. “Why St. Maren’s? What happened there?”“That’s what we’ll find out.” He slid the envelope across the seat. Inside, the old crest glared up in faded ink. “It’s a registry mark from the convent school. The same place in your photo.”She traced the embossed edges, the paper older than her memory. “So whoever sent me that package knew exactly what they were pointing at.”“Or wanted

The rain had eased into a steady curtain, tapping faint rhythms against the high glass of Luke Bellington’s study. Shadows pooled in the corners, and the air was thick with the leather-and-oak scent of a room that had kept too many secrets too long.Luke stood at the hearth, his frame rigid, a glass of whiskey trembling just enough to betray his nerves. Cillian had taken up position by the far wall, arms loose at his sides, but his eyes tracked everything—the locked cabinet behind the desk, the window latch, the thin gleam of steel near the visitor’s chair.Benita lingered near the threshold, her coat still damp, Lola just behind her with fingers clenched around her phone. They had come here expecting confrontation, but not this: the figure already seated in the room, waiting, as though Luke had known the storm would drive them all together.The man was older, not ancient but worn in ways that suggested long service to something darker than time. His suit was immaculate, his hair clip

The gate at St. Maren’s creaked shut behind them with a finality that made Lola shiver. Rain had left the stones slick, their footsteps echoing in a courtyard where ivy curled like fingers across abandoned walls. The convent’s chapel leaned at a weary angle, its bell tower silent, cross snapped in half decades ago.Benita stood in the center of the courtyard clutching the photograph of her mother and the unknown woman. Her knuckles whitened. “She was here,” she whispered. “This isn’t just an old picture. This is a warning.”Cillian scanned the grounds, every muscle coiled. “Or a breadcrumb.” He moved toward the cloister archway, rain dripping from his coat. “They wanted us here.”“Who’s they?” Lola muttered, hugging her arms around herself. “The same people who vanished your mom on paper? Or the ones who want her vanished for real?”Benita didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her phone buzzed in her pocket — the same unknown number. She lifted it with trembling fingers.Leave now. Do not let