Semua Bab Too Late to Want Me; I chose your Billionaire Brother: Bab 191 - Bab 200

The easy clatter of plates and the sizzle of bacon had returned to the backdrop, but the atmosphere at their counter seats remained thick with Cillian’s unintended confession. Kent was the first to break the silence.“Benita is your type,” Kent repeated slowly, stirring his large black coffee. “That’s a big statement considering she… you know.”Cillian rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could rewind the last ten seconds. “It was a slip of the tongue. Don’t make it a thing.”“I’m not making it a thing,” Kent insisted, taking a huge bite of bacon. “I’m just clarifying, if you’re still hung up on your ex, I should probably tell you that she called yesterday.”Cillian froze, his fork hovering above his smoked salmon. “She called who?”“You, not me. She called you.”Cillian’s eyes narrowed, a crease forming between his brows. “That’s impossible. My phone didn’t ring all afternoon...”“Yeah, it did,” Kent said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “She called when you were inside with G

The St. James mansion driveway, usually reserved for luxury sedans making leisurely entrances, was violated by the screeching tires of Syl’s car as he threw the SUV into reverse. Cillian was in the back seat, clutching Gill to his chest as tightly as he could. He wasn't breathing; he was simply existing in a loop of fear. It felt like his entire life was flashing before his eyes and, oh God, this wasn’t even a love child. She was the child of his halfbrother who hated him yet, his mind was too chaotic to remember anything. The only sound in his mind was the steady, low humming from Noah, who was strapped in next to him. She was pressing the emergency button on her phone, giving coordinates, repeating the symptoms, fever, seizure, four months old. “Now five,” Cillian corrected quickly, “she’s five months old.” Noah repeated the same thing to the 911 dispatcher. Her voice was shaky, but at least her head was clear. "We need to get her temperature down," Noah whispered, repe

“Lunch, anyone?” Cillian’s voice was hoarse, but the question was a surrender to normalcy. The crisis was over, the adrenaline spent, and the exhaustion that followed felt physical and mental.Kent immediately sprang up. “Yes, God, yes. I can’t tell if I’m starved or just emotionally drained. I’ll go forage for something edible. Syl, stay here, be the guard.”“Get me a burger or something. Something that’ll ruin my entire dieting for the week, I deserve it.”Kent chuckled softly, but deep down, he wouldn’t get Syl a burger. “Everyone’s going to have a plate of hospital food, not one burger goes to into that stomach. Brace yourself.”Cillian smiled wryly as he sat back down, watching Kent walk past the sealed door to the Pediatric Wing. He felt lighter knowing Gill was stable, but he still didn’t come to terms with the fact that he was so close to getting Benita back and he lost her.Sylvester shifted on the bench, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The corporate fixer ma

Cillian’s spoon almost clattered onto the table at the mere mention of that information.Her name alone was enough to fracture the peaceful silence and glimpse of happiness he thought he was having. She was the only good thing that came out with from his past with Ben. She was the subject of his greatest regret, the only woman whose opinion of him still mattered, and she was arriving without warning.“Classic Benita,” Kent chimed, recalling the last time she was here. “She came by midnight the last time, this is an upgrade if you ask me.” “Ugh!” Syl groaned, not because he didn’t want to see her but because they were about to deal with the version of Benita that no one else knew or ever saw but them. The whirlwind Benita. The one that dropped by to speak her mind and then leave like it never happened. Cillian sho to his feet. He wasn't thinking about anything else but a perfect atmosphere. An environment where Benita’s temperament would not leave all of them in bits. “Ten minu

Two days had passed since Benita Bellington walked through Cillian’s front door, exhausted and searching only for assurance that Gill was safe. The most immediate change was the air Cillian breathed. He was forgiven and truly absolved by the one person whose judgment mattered most to him. Their love story had resumed, cautiously. There was no overwhelming, passionate return to intimacy; instead, there was a meticulous, almost reverent rebuilding of trust. Every morning, Cillian placed a single white rose on the antique table in Benita’s suite. It was a conscious choice. The red rose was too aggressive, too demanding of immediate, overwhelming passion. The white was an offering of peace, caution, and renewed hope. Benita was yet to speak up about it, but she smiled every time she picked up the roses and she collected all of them into a single vase. She’d pick up each rose, inhaling its subtle, fresh scent, and sometimes press a quick kiss to the stem before she began her workda