All Chapters of Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother: Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

The heavy leather duffel bag dropped near the coat rack as Sylvester stumbled back into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind them. The formality of the previous hours, the professional distance, the corporate armor, all dissolved in the space of a single, desperate stride. Lola’s hands were already tangled in his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers. The kiss was ferocious and immediate, a dizzying release of years of coiled tension. It was the absolute, total surrender of two highly organized minds finally abandoning all pretense of control. Sylvester responded with an intensity that surprised even him, every unresolved argument, every suppressed glance across a conference table, fueling the fierce demand of the moment. His tailored precision vanished. He ripped his suit jacket off without noticing, his hands anchoring on her waist as he effortlessly lifted her. Lola responded in kind, her fingers flying over the buttons of his shirt, desperate to shed the corporate facade

Sylvester, now fully dressed in the tailored trousers he’d worn two days ago, paced Lola’s living room like a caged panther. The soft morning light felt intrusive, and the silence of the condo was suddenly oppressive. He held his phone, staring at Cillian’s contact name. This was the most complex negotiation of his career. “Deep breath, Syl. He’s your brother, not a hostile corporate raider,” Lola said calmly, placing two mugs of steaming coffee on the counter. She was the picture of control in her silk robe, managing the global crisis with the same focus she used to book flights. “I know,” Sylvester sighed, taking up the cup, “it’s just… he clearly told me not to make any trouble before I left…” “You didn’t cause any trouble, love. We went on a date and they…” Lola paused to breathe, “well, they did what they know how to do best. He knows Oakland more than anyone else, so it shouldn’t be that difficult to handle.” Syl nodded, thinking about it. It was true that Cillian had b

The next morning, the serene quiet of the manor was abruptly interrupted by the insistent vibration of Cillian's phone. He reached for it, groggy, expecting the usual frantic calls from his brother, Syl, or Kent, regarding the fallout from the previous night's public date. The corporate world, he knew, never truly slept. But instead of a call, it was a message. From Benita. Cillian instantly looked to his left and realized the space beside him was empty and cold. His heart gave a slight, nervous thump; after the delicate progress they'd made, any unexplained absence was a cause for concern. He swiped off the duvet and dropped out of bed. He unlocked his phone, reading the text again: "To the dining room... and don't take too long. We have a very important schedule to keep." Still dressed in his pajamas— a striped, expensive silk that nevertheless looked disheveled from sleeping too well, Cillian appeared in the dining hall a few seconds later, mentally preparing for a new crisis.

The intimate birthday party had been a spectacular success, ending in a cascade of laughter and genuine affection. Around midnight, the celebration naturally dissolved. Cillian and Benita ascended the grand staircase, their hands linked, promising a lifetime of intentionally joyful moments. Kent was already calling a cab, his mind clearly back on the markets. Lola and Sylvester lingered in the ballroom, sharing a final glass of champagne, watching the bartender discreetly pack up. Lola was relaxed and beautiful, her scarlet dress shimmering in the low light. "That was the best night of my life, Syl," Lola whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder. "No strategies, no contracts, just... family." Sylvester kissed the top of her head. "It's what you deserve, Lola. Forever." Just then, her phone, which had been silent all evening, gave a sudden, insistent trill. Lola glanced at the screen, and her smile instantly dimmed. The light in her eyes, so vibrant moments before, flickere

The sleek, corporate jet was a sanctuary, carrying Cillian and Benita high above the world. The flight had begun with the comforting chaos of Sylvester and Lola performing their roles: exaggerated discussions of mooring fees in Sardinia, loud complaints about the slow progress of the alleged yacht charter. But hours into the flight, the feigned commotion had ceased. Sylvester and Lola had retreated to a separate cabin, and a deep, unnerving quiet settled over the main cabin. Benita was looking at her tablet, but Cillian watched her brow furrow, knowing her keen mind was detecting the deception. "We passed the standard point of no return for Europe hours ago, Cill," Benita stated calmly, without looking up. "We're flying due south, not east. If the yacht in Sardinia had a systems failure, we would have rerouted to an airport in France or Spain. We are currently heading toward the equator. Where are we really going?" Cillian put down his drink, meeting her gaze with a controlled cal