Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You Can't Afford Me by Thedora Birnir

Chapter 127 He’s Not The

Only One Who’s Worried…

Linda didn’t react, keeping her expression composed, as if she had seen nothing unusual.

“I managed to get back earlier today,” she said smoothly. “How about a walk in the garden?”

Ernest met her gaze and gave a small nod.

Though he still relied on a wheelchair, his condition had improved enough that he could stand with assistance.

Taking a few steps was no longer an impossible task–and he welcomed the challenge.

“Let’s go.”

Without hesitation, Linda stepped behind him, pushing the wheelchair toward the garden.

Later, under the glow of the evening lights, Ernest practiced standing with his walker, his movements steady

but cautious.

Nearby, a servant approached Linda, keeping their voice low. “Miss Harris, the trash has been cleared.”

Linda barely shifted, her gaze still on Ernest as she responded, “Anything unusual?”

The servant hesitated for a fraction of a second before extending something toward her. “Please have a look at

this.”

Turning slightly, Linda reached out and accepted the object. A small, charred fragment–roughly the size of two

knuckles.

She studied it, her fingers brushing over the burned edges. Her brows furrowed.

The fragment in Linda’s hand was small, but telling. A charred corner of a photograph. Though most of it had been lost to the flames, a faint outline remained–what seemed to be a head. The hairstyle suggested it belonged to a girl.

So this was what Ernest was so desperate to destroy….

But why? And who was she?

She masked her thoughts with a calm nod. “That’s all for now. You may leave.”

“Yes, Miss Harris,” the servant responded before quietly stepping away.

Once alone, Linda carefully tucked the fragment away, her expression unreadable.

The date was set.

13:43

Chapter 127 He’s Not The Only One Who’s Worried About Her

This Friday. Eight o’clock.

A prime–time slot–proof of how much Blanche valued this performance. It wasn’t just another show; it was a

statement.

Hadley felt a rush of emotions–excitement, nerves, and the weight of expectation pressing down on her.

This was her first real stage performance. A defining moment. Failure wasn’t an option.

With tickets going on sale that night, Hadley forced herself to sleep early.

Blanche had already reassured her beforehand.

“Don’t stress over ticket sales,” she had said firmly. “Lightning Studio performances always sell out fast. Just focus on your dancing. If the premiere flops–that’s when we’ll have a problem.”

the ticketing website, the numbers spoke for themselves. Sold out. Every single seat.

“Wow!”

stage,” she thought. If she couldn’t make a name for herself here… then she

chimed, snapping her out of her thoughts.

from Denver.

The performance tickets are sold out!” A blushed,

her chest. So he was keeping track of this

“Thank you.”

to be incredible. Break a leg,

his phone down, a thoughtful look

chat. His

Studio’s performance. VIP box tickets. Who’s in?”

the message, hit send, and leaned

had already secured his own

Hadley’s first performance? Not an option.

been prepared for anything–even buying up any unsold tickets

money, and he was more than willing to spend it.

he had underestimated just how high the demand would be.

night, he had stayed up, watching the ticketing site like a hawk. The moment the clock struck midnight,

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The Only One Who’s Worried About Her

had been a frenzy. A battle of speed. In the end, he had barely managed to snag a few VIP box seats. If he had hesitated even a second longer, he might

phone buzzed, pulling him from his

to respond. “Hadley’s first stage

“Yeah. Come

“I’m in, too.”

“Thanks, Marshall.”

But what about

sat at his desk, coffee in hand, his phone

a reply to Barrie’s question. “Alright. Nothing better

Appreciate it,

Eric casually set his phone down, his expression as

speaking. “Mr. Flynn… most of the employees I reached out to weren’t

wasn’t the only one worried about ticket sales.

arranged for Flynn Group employees to

unsurprisingly, these corporate staff weren’t exactly seasoned ticket buyers. By the time they figured out the process, the seats had

seem the least bit disappointed. If anything, there was a trace of amusement in his

eyes.

brief, knowing glance before speaking. “No problem. Tell them I appreciate the effort. Anyone who pitched in–count it as overtime. Make sure

small nod. “Understood, Mr.

a thought lingered in his mind-

Eric actually want those tickets… or was he just playing a

Friday.

theater was alive

composed demeanor. Howeve efore heading to his seat, he made a quick detour to the

short. Ahead, standing in the corridor leading from backstage to

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to the flowers, and then back to Denver. It wasn’t hard to guess who they were

“Denver!”

view, dressed in her performance attire, the soft lighting

“Hey, Hadley!”

lips as he lifted the bouquet

small laugh, shaking her

right now. You’re just in time

nervous, Denver straightened, concern

You’ve got this. You’re going to be