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

Chapter 721:

He quickly assured her, “Just wait for me. I’ll heal soon, and you won’t have to wait long.”

For Hadley, he would endure for now. Finally, he settled down.

Eric was young and in good shape, so his recovery was swift. Within a few days, his wounds had healed significantly. However, since some had reopened once, it was likely to leave scars.noveldrama

While helping him change, Hadley mentioned it under her breath.

“What are you so worried about?” Eric didn’t seem to mind. “It’s just scars. Would you dislike me for them?”

Hadley was momentarily stunned, but then shook her head.

Her thoughts drifted to the scars on his back. For him, such small marks were nothing compared to those on his back. And those old scars… how did they come about? Could they be connected to the kidnapping he endured as a child?

As night fell, Ernest sat in his car, preparing to visit Eric at the hospital. Tonight, he was alone—Nyla wasn’t feeling well, and Linda had to stay home with her.

As the car approached an intersection, a shadow suddenly darted into the road.

With a screech, Sebastian slammed on the brakes!

A sickening jolt—had they hit someone? Ernest frowned. “Quentin, go check it out.”

“Yes!”

Quentin and Sebastian stepped out together. After a moment, Quentin returned, carrying someone in his arms as Sebastian opened the car door. Ernest’s brow furrowed. “Are they badly hurt?”

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“Mr. Flynn, take a look. You might recognize her.”

Quentin bent down, carefully laying the figure onto the seat beside Ernest. He turned his head, and his gaze fell upon a woman. “Who is she?” he asked.

Wrapped in a long white down coat, the woman lay still, the soft fabric barely concealing the bruises marring her delicate frame.

Quentin lifted a hand, carefully tucking back the loose strands of hair that veiled her face.

As he did, the full extent of her injuries became visible—her skin, once delicate and unblemished, was now mottled with bruises, thin cuts tracing along her cheekbones, and the corners of her lips split, fresh blood seeping through the cracks. Her left eye was swollen shut, dark and battered.

Even in this state, Ernest knew her in an instant—Elissa.

His chest tightened, a cold weight settling in his gut. His brows furrowed. What had happened to her?

These weren’t the kind of wounds left by a car accident. They spoke of violence, of cruelty.

Someone had done this to her. But who?

Quentin’s voice was low but firm. “She wasn’t hit by the car. She collapsed in front of it—probably from sheer exhaustion.”

A faint sound escaped Elissa’s lips—a pained murmur.

Her brows knit together, her eyelids fluttering before she finally opened them.

Disoriented, her gaze darted around, momentary panic flashing across her features. Where was she? The last thing she remembered—was she in a car?

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