All Chapters of Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother: Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

BenitaThey say what doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger. But it wasn’t the same for Benita Bellington, nor the Bellington family. They were united again but definitely not the same.In fact, more than anything else, Benita Bellington had lost her mind over and over again in the last three months.She had been with Cillian St.James for only a few months, but the heartbreak had lasted more than she expected.He hadn’t called her since that day. He hadn’t reached out to her, and he definitely didn’t realize just how hurt she was, still.She only saw him on tv now. Only heard his voice in interviews. Cillian St.James was now out of reach.As if that wasn’t enough, she was in a constant fight with her longing. Despite everything that had happened between them, she longed for him. Longed for his affection, his love and his time. But her desire for him was a controversial even amongst friends- Kent and Lola.Cilliam St.James had not only broken up with her, she used her family’s

Him.That scent. That hand.For a minute, everything inside her screamed his name.Her body reacted before her brain could catch up; her panic turned into relief. She was supposed to be upset with him but God, was she grateful for the rescue. She turned slowly, pulse racing as she searched for his eyes. And froze.Gray eyes stared down at her.Cold.Calm.But not his.Sylvester St. James stood behind her, jaw tight, presence commanding enough to silence an entire crowd.“Benni,” Syl said quietly, his voice steel-wrapped velvet. “You can stand straight, I’m here.” It should’ve made her feel better, instead a pang of heartbreak, sharper than any insult that could’ve been hurled at her stabbed through her chest. It was Syl. Not Him. Her memory had failed her. She had thought that he would’ve come for her. She had thought he couldn’t watch her suffer because but instead it was Syl, fulfilling his filial duty to Lola, her assistant. His hand slid from her shoulder to her forearm, fir

The ringing wouldn’t stop.Benita stirred beneath her sheets, face pressed into the pillow, eyes burning from lack of sleep. The world felt heavy—like someone had draped grief across her body and stitched it into her skin. She didn’t remember falling asleep. Didn’t remember getting into bed. Only remembered silence. The kind that creeps over you after a storm and pretends to be peace.The phone kept ringing.She groaned, rolled over, squinted at the screen.Mom.Her breath caught. She hesitated—but answered.“Benni!” Belle’s voice burst through the line, breathless, hopeful. “How did it go? Did they listen to you? Were you able to convince them?”Benita stared at the ceiling. Her mouth wouldn’t move. Her throat closed.On the other end of the call, her father joined in. “We’ve been waiting. Your mother hardly slept. Tell us. Were you successful?”The truth pressed against her chest like a dagger.I failed.I lost everything.Your legacy is gone. Because of me.But the words didn’t lea

The rain had slowed to a tired drizzle, soft enough that the air around the monastery seemed to breathe again. The courtyard glistened with puddles that caught the gray morning light. Everyone stood there in silence, Benita, Lola, Syl, Kent, Cillian, and Elara, everyone each waiting for someone else to say something.Then Cillian stepped forward.“Give us a moment,” he said quietly.Lola frowned. “You sure that’s—”“Lola,” he said, not unkindly but firm. “Please.”Syl nodded, tugging Kent’s sleeve. “Let’s go. Come on.”Kent rolled his eyes but followed. “Fine. But if she throws something, I’m not running back in there.”Lola hesitated, gave Benita a look that said be careful, then left with the others. The door closed behind them, leaving just the three of them in the echoing stillness.Elara stood by one of the old stone pillars, her arms crossed. Her expression was unreadable. “You think you can just walk in here and convince me,” she said, her voice soft but sharp. “That’s ambitiou

Midday light streamed through the wide glass walls, dull and half-hearted, as if it too had grown tired of waiting. Benita stood at the bar, her eyes fixed on the half-empty whiskey glass still sitting where Cillian had left it. The air smelled faintly of oak and rain. Her reflection looked back at her in the glass, drawn, and uncertain.She couldn’t shake her mother’s voice from her head, or Cillian’s silence when he told her what her mother had said. He had carried that wound quietly all this time, never using it against her, never even mentioning it. The thought made her chest ache. Why had he kept it to himself? What else had he been carrying for her sake?The sky outside had been soft blue earlier, but now the color was fading, clouds pulling across the light. The house seemed to shrink around her, all glass and silence and too many memories.She moved into the kitchen, filled a cup with coffee, watched it steam, then left it untouched on the counter. The warmth against her palms