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

Chapter 239

Chapter 239 You Will Regret This

“Did you find him?”

Ernest’s gaze hardened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

His eyes flickered toward Linda, hesitation gripping him like a vice. He parted his lips slightly, as if on the verge of speaking, but in the end, he turned away in silence.

Linda’s breath hitched. Her heart pounded in disbelief. “Ernest! Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

At the sharpness of her tone, Ernest faltered. His shoulders stiffened before he slowly turned back, his expression a tangled mess of conflict and regret.

“Ernest!”

Linda lunged forward, fingers digging into his arm, her grip tight, desperate. Her swollen, tear–rimmed eyes bore into his as she shook her head, her voice low but seething. “You’re not leaving. Not like this.”

“Linda…”

His brow creased, his eyes dark with something unspoken. He held her gaze for a long, aching moment before

exhaling deeply.

Gently, deliberately, he pried her fingers from his arm. “We’ll talk when I return.”

The words hit her like a blow. Linda staggered back, her breath shuddering

Ernest spared her one last glance before turning away.

“Ernest! Ernest!”

Her voice cracked, desperation spilling into the empty space between them.

Nyla came rushing over, her brows knitted in confusion. She had caught fragments of the exchange, but none

of it made sense.

“Linda, what’s happening? What is all this?*

“Nyla

Linda spun toward her, her hands gripping Nyla’s arm like a lifeline, tears pooling in her eyes. “I need to know,” she whispered, her voice trembling with raw emotion. “I need to know what he’s been hiding from me.”

In the car

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“Um… Mr. Flynn?” Quentin’s sharp eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “Miss Harris is following us.”

Ernest remained unfazed, his expression unreadable. His voice, cool and unwavering, cut through the silence.

“Let her.”

Quentin gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

Their destination was already set–an orphanage.

The call had come unexpectedly. The orphanage director had informed them that the child had returned.

The boy was bright–eyed and healthy, his face carrying the kind of charm that made adoption seem inevitable.

Yet, fate had been unkind.

him six months

family took him in, promising stability. But a year later,

crossfire of their broken vows, was

Quentin had found

meant, the boy’s once–lively spirit had faded into guarded silence. A heart too young to

the orphanage to take him in, the director hesitated, her

concern.

please consider this carefully. Raising a child is an act of devotion,

said.

he shouldn’t take

would break the child in ways that couldn’t be undone.

his tone leaving no room for doubt. “From this day forward, he is my son.”

the finest comforts–everything money could offer. Personal caregivers, a home that lacked

it all, the child had run back to the orphanage.

a stop, Ernest’s sharp

outside

you, Mr. Flynn,

“You too.”

But as his eyes

voice, usually composed, held an unfamiliar edge of concern. “Is

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Will

a reassuring nod. “He’s

the modest room, the three–year–old sat on a wooden step stool,

of cookies.

the road back to the orphanage had been long and difficult. Running away from Maple Bay, searching

rumpled and stained with dust, his little

devoured the cookies as if he hadn’t

felt dry, and for the first time

his eyes.

closer as if afraid that one wrong

“Locke,” he whispered.

moment he heard his name, his little body jolted, eyes

“Locke…”

boy’s hair, to offer

to the director, where he clung to her tightly, hiding behind her like a frightened

hand fell to his side, empty.

stroking Locke’s back in

wrong, sweetheart? It’s Mr. Flynn. He adopted you, remember? You’re

“No!”

teary eyes filled with raw

I’m a good boy! Let me stay

“But, Locke…”

Flynn. You’ll live in a big house, eat all the good food you want, wear new clothes,

his tiny frame trembling as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. “I don’t want to!” Nothing the director said could console him. His cries grew

searching his face for any sign of frustration or impatience. “Mr. Flynn, this child has

betrayed no anger, no irritation–just quiet understanding. Leaning slightly on his cane, he took a step forward, lowering

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TOUTE Regiel IIS

deliberately, he extended his

this time, steady yet laced

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