Semua Bab Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother: Bab 11 - Bab 20

Benita’s driver pulled into the driveway of the Bellington Estate. It hadn’t changed a thing from ten years ago. If anything, it had become more grounded— more Bellington.Even the hedges trimmed by professionals, the fountain in the center of the courtyard looked spotless— like it had just been brought yesterday, yet it had been there for as long as she could remember. Everything was symmetrical. Proper. Perfect. Benita stepped out of the car, her light blue dress stuck to her body like a second skin. Her hair bounced on her back with every step she took into the overwhelming building. Her father met her at the door, arms stretched out to her only daughter. “Benita,” Benita ran into her father’s embrace. He smelled the same- warm and tobacco.“Welcome home, dear.” The man said, his eyes dull with emotion. Footsteps resounded in the background, pulling Benita from her father’s embrace. “Benita!” Her mother’s voice was loaded with excitement. “Is that you? Oh dear,” she cried, “

Cillian sat at his dining table, alone, a half-finished plate of chicken and rice in front of him. The soft clinking of his fork was the only sound in the room, apart from the television blaring in the background.“You are the hypocrite standing there—”He looked up.There she was, again. Benita. Red-eyed.The news segment replayed the viral video. Every station had picked it up, every angle covered. But none of them aired what triggered her. Just the outburst.Cillian’s thumb hovered over his phone screen. He had been trying to call her since he saw the clip but he hadn’t called her once—not since the funeral. Not even after the gala announcement. He stared at the name a second longer. Press or don’t press? Ding-dong.The sound of his doorbell snapped him out of his head.He wasn’t expecting anyone.He walked to the door and opened it. There she was.Benita.Drained. Red-rimmed eyes. She was still in the outfit from the viral clip. Cillian observes. Before he could even greet her,

Shanon King. The vaguely familiar face that sat across Benita was none other than the same face she remembered ten years ago. Her parents, Belle especially, were against her marrying Ben Dawson because Shannon King was the man they wanted for her. He was not only rich and handsome, he also came from a family whose wealth almost surpassed theirs. The Kings holds seventy percent of the political power in Oakland City, how could they not want Shanon as their son-in-law? It was a good look for the Bellington family, and also, a fucking thing of pride to ally with a family of such prestige. But just like ten years ago, Benita shook her head gently, and offered him a smile that was meant to offer comfort but ended up looking like pity. “I’m sorry, Mr King.”“Please call me Shanon, Benni. And before you say anything, I know… I know it was shameless of me to have shown up here but I saw your announcement at the funeral, which…” he exhaled, “I’m really sorry for your loss.”Benita nodded,

“Go home, Benni,” he clenched his jaw. “It’s late.” Silence fell, this time, unfamiliar and unneeded. “I thought you were on my side.” She muttered quietly. He stared at the screen for a long time after she hung up. It took more than will for him to pocket the phone again, it took reasoning. Somewhere inside him, he couldn’t feel a spark dim. But it’s alright, he thought to himself, it was to keep her safe. Give her at least one day of break. If he went to her, then definitely tomorrow morning would not be quiet for her and he wanted it to be quiet. Peaceful and quiet. —Benita blinked her eyes open. The bright yellow curtains glowing harshly brighter as it absorbed the sun light greeted her first.She flinched.Last night poured through her mind. Benita closed her eyes and cringed.She palmed her face and inwardly scolded herself. “What is wrong with me…?”Her phone buzzed. It startled her. Benita snatched it from the lamp stand. An European sirocco. Expensive. Her brows wr

The door slammed open with a bang loud enough to wake a sleeping baby. Kent charged in like a musical number—half Broadway, half hurricane. “Wake up, Prince Broody!” he shouted, “You’re trending!” Cillian flinched, groaning from beneath the covers. “Go away, Kent…” Too late. His phone was already in Cillian’s face. “Congratulations!” He sang, “You’ve officially broken the internet.” Cillian groaned, dragging a pillow over his head. “Why are you like this at 8 AM?” “Because the world is already awake and in desperate search of you, Cilli,” Kent tapped at his phone screen as he spoke. “Apparently, tall, brooding men in black suits and an enormous air of mystery is in high demand this morning.” He held out his phone, practically shoving it in his face. “Do you see this? Do you see what the people are saying? They’re writing fanfiction about you two. “Jesus Christ, Kent.” “What? I mean it. Just look…” Cillian peeked out from under the blanket, his hair a mess and his soul bare