Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You can’t afford me now

Chapter 974:

The driver shook his head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Then who did?! What do you want from me?”

“Don’t worry.” His tone remained even. “No harm will come to you. My boss just needs to meet with Eric Flynn. That’s all.”

Eric.

Hadley’s chest tightened. This was about him.

Her hands clenched, and she trembled.

She remembered those times when Eric had come back bruised or bloodied—when Linda had been attacked in Storia. He always said it was because of the past chasing him. So this was the same. More of his enemies.noveldrama

In Orkmont,

Eric had just wrapped up a meeting and was headed back to Srixby. He picked up his phone to call Hadley. No answer. He tried again. Still nothing.

“Probably filming,” he thought.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, but it rang almost immediately.

A smile tugged at his lips. Maybe Hadley was calling back. But when he checked the screen, the number was unfamiliar.

It couldn’t be spam—his phone was filtered. Who could it be?

He answered. “Hello?”

A low, gravelly voice crackled through. “Eric.”

Eric froze. The voice was aged, calm—and terrifyingly familiar.

Goosebumps rose across his arms. He forced a sneer into his voice. “Who the hell are you? You got the wrong number.” He was ready to hang up.

𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙩: 𝙜ⲁ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀﹒𝙘𝙤𝙢

“Wait.” The voice sharpened, carrying a soft menace. “I’ve had some people invite both Linda and Hadley.”

Eric’s blood ran cold.

Silence.

Then a roar—raw, furious. “What the hell do you want?!”

The caller laughed, slow and deliberate. “I sent an invitation. You ignored it. What choice did I have?”

“Coward.” Eric’s voice dripped with disgust. “Still hiding behind women? Some things never change.”

The man chuckled again, amused. “Come meet me. I’m waiting.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command. A trap laid with cruel confidence. And Eric had no choice but to comply.

Eric gritted his teeth. “Where?”

The man gave an address.

“I’m on my way.”

Eric ended the call, his expression ashen. “Phillips,” he barked, “change course. We’re heading somewhere else.”

“Yes, Mr. Flynn.”

The car swerved onto a new path.

Eric leaned back, eyes shut. That voice—his worst nightmare.

An old, buried fear stirred inside him.

And then—Crack! A whip snapped through his memory. Again. And again.

Each strike tearing through a younger Eric’s back, leaving him bloody, broken, barely conscious. But he never died—they’d make sure of it. He always woke up—to another round of torment.

Shortly after, Eric and his entourage reached their intended destination. Right by the doorway, a man stood waiting. The moment he spotted Eric, his posture straightened with practiced respect.

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