บททั้งหมดของ Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

Benita rushed into the hospital in a frenzy, her heels echoing down the hallway. Doctor Brian was already waiting, his face tight with urgency.“Where’s your husband, Mrs. Dawson? Gaby is in a risky situation.”“My husband…” Benita panted, "Is he really a match?"Doctor Brian nodded. “You need to call him. Quickly.” he said, “There’s no time left.”Benita stood there, paralyzed, staring through the glass at her son’s fragile form. Gaby’s little chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm, surrounded by wires and machines. The faint beeping sounded like a countdown. A ticking bomb waiting to explode.How could she let him die because of her own pain? No matter what Ben had done— Gaby was still his son. And right now, he was all that mattered.Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone and dialed Ben’s number.No answer.She tried again.Still nothing.Panic rose in her chest like a rising tornado. She called again. And again. And again.Behind her, the monitors went crazy. The beeping s

Ben’s laughter echoed softly in the room. He brushed Fiona’s hair to the ear, before pressing a kiss on her lips.Fiona stretched lazily against his chest, a picture of peace.Meanwhile, miles away, Benita’s legs ached from pacing the hospital corridors. Her hands trembled as she gripped her phone tighter, redialing Ben—voicemail. Again. Again. The doctor’s words haunted her: “If the surgery isn’t signed off within the hour, we’ll lose him.”“Waterside Hotels” Ben’s assistant whispered into the phone. “Please don’t say I told you.”Benita didn’t even grab her coat. She just ran.By the time she reached the hotel, she was breathless. Her fingers trembled as she rode the elevator up. Room 503. She pounded on the door.She didn’t plan what she’d say. She just needed Ben.It opened too slowly.“Benita! Jesus, you look horrible…”. Benita flinched. “I haven’t slept in days, Ben. Our son has been sick.”“At least you could take a bath and brush your hair…” Benita looked at him. He stood

The warm rays of the morning sun filtered into the large living room through the side of the window left open. A.C. to the highest, television on. Benita jerked up, her head spun. She blinked, disoriented. Last night crossed her mind in flashes. Marry me. No. Yes. Beer. Blackout. She looked around her, trying to process waking up in the middle of Cillian’s living room, surrounded by cans of beer she could not account for. Just then, Cillian walked in. Without a word, he pulled the curtains open and Benita recoiled like a vampire. Cillian turned around, shirt half-buttoned. Hair styled in centre parting to fit the black suit he had on. “What the hell…” He breathed, he never thought his living room could be in such bad shape. Benita darted her eyes to the ground, hiding her flustered face. Cillian returned his attention to her. “Can you still remember what we talked about?" Benita tilted her head, searching her memory. A few things came. “Marry you? Go back to

Fiona let out a furious scream, ripping the covers off her bed. “She’s mad! She’s absolutely insane! What is this?!” She tossed her tablet, and it went crashing against the floor. She sank into her bed, trying to calm down but the headlines pouring in rattled her. “Benita Bellington’s Bold Goodbye: A Divorce at Her Son’s Funeral” “What st*pid son?” she jolted up. “Who the f*** does she think she is?” “Ben was mine before she ever knew him. Mine. I only lend him to her. How dare she stand there pretending she dumped him— how dare she treat my man like shit?” She yanked open her closet, throwing out a dozen dresses before collapsing onto her ottoman. “You’re getting smart, aren’t you, Benita?” Benita walked out of Gaby’s funeral, straight into the spotlight—solo. Every word she had muttered at the funeral had become a trending topic. But for Ben Dawson, it was worse than that. Ben nearly tore his car apart as he punched the steering wheel again. And again. “What t

The rain had stopped, leaving behind a calm over the mansion. Benita stood on the patio, barefoot, soaked. Her shoulders trembled beneath her hoodie, stray drops slipped from her lashes as she looked up into the dull, gray skies. The door creaked open, Cillian stepped out, wrapped in a sweater the color of old charcoal. He was dry now. She didn’t notice the towel in his hands until he placed it over her head. The cotton caught in her damp curls, muffling the air around her. Then his hands, without thinking, began rolling it gently over her hair—pressing, squeezing, almost massaging. She didn’t resist. Didn’t flinch when his fingers brushed her temples. Instead, she giggled-under the towel- a small, girlish sound. It sounded like happiness yet it made something in his chest tighten. An emotion he couldn’t name. He imagined what it felt like to lose a child. He wondered if there was a small voice in her mind asking her why she didn’t let him play in the rain often. Why