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.

to return him six months later when they had a biological child

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

their broken vows, was sent back once more.

Quentin had found him.

before even understanding what love truly meant, the boy’s once–lively spirit had faded into guarded silence.

first arrived at the orphanage to take him

concern.

carefully. Raising a child is an act of devotion,

said.

couldn’t commit, he shouldn’t take

break the child in ways that

said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “From

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

the child had run back to

a stop, Ernest’s sharp eyes scanned the surroundings. The director stood waiting

outside

you, Mr. Flynn, she greeted, her expression

“You too.”

his eyes

His voice, usually composed, held an unfamiliar edge of concern.

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director offered a reassuring nod. “He’s inside, eating”

on a wooden step

of cookies.

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

dust, his little face

With each bite, he devoured the cookies as if he hadn’t eaten in

the sight. His throat felt dry, and for the first time in a long while, emotion

his eyes.

as if afraid

“Locke,” he whispered.

puffed up with food. The moment he heard his name, his little body

“Locke…”

meaning to ruffle the boy’s hair, to offer a

legs carrying him straight to

fell to his side, empty.

awkwardly, stroking Locke’s back in

you, remember? You’re part of

“No!”

up, his big, teary eyes filled with raw

a good boy! Let me

“But, Locke…”

be good and follow Mr. Flynn. You’ll live in a big

spilled down his cheeks. “I don’t want to!” Nothing the

glistened as she watched the little boy break down. She turned toward Ernest, searching his face for any sign of frustration or

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

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he extended his hand

his voice was softer this time, steady yet laced with something deeper. “Come

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