Lahat ng Kabanata ng Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Chapter 61Some ghosts don’t wait to be summoned—they drag you back themselves.The hospital smelled like ammonia and abandonment.Cillian shoved through the double doors, Kent at his heels. The linoleum gleamed too bright beneath buzzing fluorescent lights, but nothing could mask the decay underneath—bureaucratic rot, institutional apathy.Second visit in two days.First time, he thought maybe Ben had cracked. That remorse had finally come knocking.Now he knew better.One moment you see a flicker of change. The next, you remember why some bloodlines are best severed.He stepped to the front desk with slow, deliberate fury.“Ben Dawson,” he said.The nurse blinked, startled by the storm behind his eyes. “I’m sorry, sir, visiting hours are—”Cillian’s fist hit the counter hard enough to rattle her clipboard.“This is a life or death situation,” he said. “We need to speak to him. Now.”The nurse recoiled. Kent muttered a sharp curse under his breath. The tension hung in the air like sm

Chapter 63They hadn’t been moved.Still tied. Still back-to-back. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering like a dying pulse.Benita had stopped trying to free her wrists—plastic ties cut into her skin every time she struggled. Across her spine, she could feel the shallow rhythm of Cillian’s breathing. Not calm. Not panicked either. Just waiting.“You’re too quiet,” she muttered.“I’m thinking.”“That’s what you said last time. Right before we got dragged in here.”“I was thinking then, too.”“Well, think faster.”Cillian shifted slightly. His shoulder brushed hers. “Do you remember what I told you, the first time we fought?”Benita rolled her eyes. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”“I said—if it comes down to me or the enemy, I always win.”“Right. Very macho. Very British.”“I’m modifying it.”“Oh?”“If it comes down to you or the enemy… I’ll still win. But only if you walk out too.”Benita swallowed hard, her throat dry. “You’re ridiculous.”“But you smiled.”

The hallway was on fire.Not literally—yet. But the smoke curling out from under the stairwell reeked of accelerant, and the faint orange glow flickering against the warehouse walls didn’t bode well.Shanon didn’t pause. “Left flank. Close the exits.”His men vanished like ghosts. Kent coughed into his elbow, eyes stinging. “Where’s Ben?”“Running away,” Syl said.“Let’s go after him,” Cillian said, pushing off the wall. “Why are we talking?”“Wait—” Kent moved to steady him. “You’re barely standing.”“I don’t care.”Benita’s voice rang out sharp. “He’s right.”Everyone turned. Her face was still pale, her wrists raw—but her eyes burned clean.“He’s not getting away. Not again.”“Benita—”“I’m going. With you. Don’t argue.” She looked at Cillian. “Ben is my problem.”He stared at her. And saw that her mind was made up.They moved fast. Shanon’s team spread through the maze of steel corridors, barking coded commands into their comms.But suddenly, the fire alarm blared, distorting ever

Cillian watched the last gate close behind him with a thud. The hallway stretched ahead—too clean, too quiet.The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant and hopelessness. He’d been here before. Six years locked away, and the man he was about to face had put him there.The guards led him down into the visitor’s bay.No one had visited him back then. Not once.That was what it meant to be alive and erased. Men like Shanon, the Bellingtons—they didn’t kill people. They buried them alive.Belle’s words still echoed in his mind: “If I see you anywhere near my daughter again, I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.”She’d said it with her whole face clenched.The door buzzed, and Ben walked in.He slumped into the chair across the partition, face twitching like static.“I get it now,” Cillian said quietly. “To love something enough to give anything to protect it.”Ben blinked, confused. “This about Benita?”“No. It’s about you. I understand you now.”Ben scoffed, leaning

BENITAThe home doctor peeled back the last of the gauze around her ankle. His touch was brisk but careful, hands gloved, eyes avoiding hers.“There,” he muttered, pressing a flexible patch down where the deepest wound used to be. “You’re good to walk again. Just don’t run a marathon.”Benita nodded. “Wasn’t planning to.”Her voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else. Her mind had already drifted elsewhere— another ankle. Wondering if it was still wrapped in stiff gauze.Was he still limping? Had he let it heal, or had he been too stubborn to sit still?She hadn’t seen him since the night they found her. Hadn’t heard his voice since he’d been warned to steer clear of her. The midafternoon light poured into the Bellingtons’ private sitting room like honey through lace. The air smelled faintly of bergamot and restraint.Benita tugged her pant leg back down and flexed her foot. It didn’t hurt anymore.She sank into one side of the low table, looking around like she had jus