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.

with open arms–only to return him six months later when they had a biological child of their

a year later, their marriage crumbled. The child,

their broken vows, was sent back

when Quentin had

faded into guarded silence. A heart too young to bear such burdens had already learned the sting

first arrived at the orphanage to take him in, the director hesitated, her eyes heavy

concern.

carefully. Raising a child is an act of devotion, both

said.

warning was clear–if Ernest couldn’t commit, he shouldn’t

would break the child in ways

assured,” he had said, his tone leaving no room for

could offer. Personal caregivers,

child had run

the car rolled to a stop, Ernest’s sharp eyes scanned

outside

you, Mr. Flynn, she

“You too.”

as his eyes

he?” His voice, usually composed, held an unfamiliar edge of concern. “Is he

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Will

reassuring nod. “He’s inside, eating”

a wooden step stool, his

of cookies.

and difficult. Running away

stained with dust, his little face

the cookies as if he hadn’t eaten in

throat felt dry, and for the first time

his eyes.

steps, moving closer as if afraid that

“Locke,” he whispered.

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

“Locke…”

the boy’s hair, to offer a gentle touch–something to

He leapt from the stool, his small legs carrying him straight to the director, where he clung to

fell to his

director chuckled awkwardly, stroking Locke’s back in a soothing motion.

Flynn. He adopted you, remember? You’re part of his family now.”

“No!”

teary eyes filled with

I’m a good boy! Let me

“But, Locke…”

director’s sigh was heavy, burdened with helplessness. “Sweetheart, be good and follow Mr. Flynn. You’ll live in a big house, eat all the good

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

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

understanding. Leaning slightly on his cane, he took a

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TOUTE Regiel IIS

his hand toward Locke.

softer this time, steady yet laced with

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