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

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 crushing 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 cunexpectedly. 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.

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The first family welcomed him with open arms-only to return him six months later when they had a biological

child of their own.

A second family took him in, promising stability. But a year later, their marriage crumbled. The child, caught in

the crossfire of their broken vows, was sent back once more.

And that was when Quentin had found him.

Rejected twice before even understanding what love truly meant, the boy’s once-lively spirit had faded into

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

When Ernest first arrived at the orphanage to take him in, the director hesitated, her eyes heavy with unspoken

concern.

“Mr. Flynn, please consider this carefully. Raising a child is an act of devotion, both to him and to yourself,” she

said.

The warning was clear-if Ernest couldn't commit, he shouldn't take the boy at all.

Another rejection would break the child in ways that couldn't be undone.

But Ernest had met her gaze with firm resolve. “Rest assured,” he had said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

“From this day forward, he is my son.”

He provided the boy with the finest comforts-everything money could offer. Personal caregivers, a hthat

lacked nothing.

And yet, despite it all, the child had run back to the orphanage.

Now, as the car rolled to a stop, Ernest’s sharp eyes scanned the surroundings. The director stood waiting

outside

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Flynn, she greeted, her expression unreadable.

“You too.”

Ernest gave a curt nod, his demeanor steady. But as his eyes searched for the child and found only absence, his

jaw tightened.

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

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Chapter 239 You Will Regret This

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

Inside the modest room, the three-year-old sat on a wooden step stool, his small frhunched over a plate

of cookies.

He was still so young, yet the road back to the orphanage had been long and difficult. Running away from Maple

Bay, searching for a place that felt safe-it was too much for a child his age.

His clothes were rumpled and stained with dust, his little face smudged with dirt.

He was exhausted, Starving With each bite, he devoured the cookies as if he hadn't eaten in days.

Ernest's chest tightened at the sight. His throat felt dry, and for the first tin a long while, emotion stung

his eyes.

He instinctively softened his steps, moving closer as if afraid that one wrong move might scare the boy away.

“Locke,” he whispered.

The child's tiny cheeks were puffed up with food. The moment he heard his name, his little body jolted, eyes

wide with alarm as he looked up at the towering figure before him.

“Locke...”

Ernest raised a hand, meaning to ruffle the boy’s hair, to offer a gentle touch-something to reassure him.

But Locke's reaction was immediate. He leapt from the stool, his small legs carrying him straight to the director,

where he clung to her tightly, hiding behind her like a frightened kitten.

Ernest's hand fell to his side, empty.

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

“What's wrong, sweetheart? It's Mr. Flynn. He adopted you, remember? You're part of his family now.”

“No!”

Locke's head snapped up, his big, teary eyes filled with raw fear.

“Please don’t makego! I'm a good boy! Letstay here, please!”

“But, Locke...”

The 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 food you want, wear new clothes, go to the best schools-"

“No!” Locke's voice cracked, his tiny frtrembling as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. “I don’t want to!”

Nothing the director said could console him. His cries grew louder, his body shaking with every sob.

The director's own eyes glistened as she watched the little boy break down. She turned toward Ernest, searching

his face for any sign of frustration or impatience. “Mr. Flynn, this child has been through too much. Please...

don’t take it personally. He just needs time.”

Ernest didn’t respond right away. His face betrayed no anger, no irritation-just quiet understanding. Leaning

slightly on his cane, he took a step forward, lowering himself to one knee to meet the child's height.

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Slowly, deliberately, he extended his hand toward Locke.

“Don’t be afraid, Locke,” his voice was softer this time, steady yet laced with something deeper. “Chere.”

Ernest hesitated for a brief second before adding, his voice just above a whisper-“Cto Daddy.”

Locke's small shoulders trembled. His breath hitched. For a long moment, he simply stared at Ernest, eyes

searching his face for something unseen. Then, as if unsure of what to believe, he turned to the director, silently

pleading for an answer.

The director gently patted Locke’s small head, her voice warm with encouragement. “Did you hear that,

sweetheart? Mr. Flynn is going to be your daddy from now.”

Locke's big, teary eyes shimmered with uncertainty.

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A family. A real family. Who wouldn't want that?

And yet, his heart clenched with hesitation. The past still loomed over him like a shadow, whispering

reminders of broken promises, of love given and then taken away.

“Locke, don’t be afraid,” Ernest coaxed, his voice softer than ever. He knelt down, careful not to startle the boy.

“Daddy has been very busy these past few days, and that’s why he couldn't visit you. But listen to me-Daddy

will never leave you, Locke. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You have a hnow, and no one will ever

send you back again.”

Locke's breath hitched. His tiny fingers curled at his sides. He was only three, but he had lived through too much.

He knew what it meant to be abandoned, to be unwanted.

His little lip quivered as he whispered through his sobs, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Ernest said, his tone steady and certain.

Slowly, he reached out his hand, extending his pinky toward the child. “Daddy promises. No lies. Ever. Okay?”

Locke hesitated. His small chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as he stared at the outstretched pinky. Then,

after what felt like forever, he raised his chubby little hand and hooked his tiny finger around Ernest's.

“No lies?” Locke's voice was barely above a whisper.

“No lies.” Ernest promised, his grip gentle but firm. “Daddy will never lie to Locke.”

The director beamed, her eyes misty. “Locke, sweetheart, aren’t you going to call him Daddy now?”

“Dad... Daddy.” Locke's throat bobbed as he swallowed. His voice cout shaky, unsure, but it was there.

“Good boy, Locke.” Ernest's heart clenched. A rare warmth surged in his chest, something unfamiliar yet

profoundly moving. He exhaled slowly, his arms opening. The boy hesitated only a moment longer before

allowing himself to be pulled into Ernest's embrace.

At the door, Linda stood frozen.

So did Nyla.

And at that moment, everything clicked into place for Nyla. Her grandson had a child. A child of the Flynn family.

Her great-grandson.

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“Locke!”

Overwhelmed with emotion, Nyla rushed forward, momentarily forgetting everything else-including Linda

“Locke, my precious boy!” she called out, her hands trembling as she reached for him. “I'm your great.

grandmother. Chere, lettake a good look at you!”

Linda’s gaze turned ice-cold, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. Her hands curled into fists at her sides

as she watched the scene unfold before her.

“You'll regret this, Ernest,” she grumbled under her breath, her eyes dark with fury. “You'll regret ever treating

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