Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 193: Let her In.

Inside the resting quarters of the Luther Family ancestral home, time ticked away relentlessly.

Before anyone realized it, more than two hours had slipped by.

Grandpa lay still, his back now covered with gleaming silver needles.

Meanwhile, Camilla’s complexion had grown increasingly pale, her forehead and the tip of her nose dotted with fine beads of sweat.

The speed at which she inserted the needles had visibly slowed.

"Madam," Ramsey couldn’t hide his concern any longer and spoke up hesitantly,

"perhaps you should take a break?"

"I’m fine,"

Camilla replied, shaking her head after drawing a deep breath.

Her voice was noticeably weak.

"Just a few more needles, and we’ll be done."

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to rest—she simply couldn’t.

Acupuncture demanded seamless execution; pausing midway would only halve the results for double the effort.

Not daring to disturb her further, Ramsey quietly retreated to the side and stood guard in silence.

Observing the subtle changes in Grandpa Luther’s complexion while keeping an eye on Camilla,

At last, only one silver needle remained.

Camilla bit her rosy lip lightly, her hand trembling slightly as she held the needle.

Clasping both hands together for steadiness, she finally inserted it precisely into the acupoint.

"Done."

Exhaling in relief, Camilla staggered backward a few steps, her strength nearly spent.

"Madam!" Ramsey reacted swiftly, reaching out to steady her—then hesitated mid-motion.

Remembering propriety, he snatched a nearby chair instead and slid it beneath her just in time.

With a soft thud, Camilla landed unceremoniously on the seat.

She turned to Ramsey, still holding the chair, torn between exasperation and amusement.

Ramsey, however, inwardly sighed in relief.

"Madam, grandpa—"

"Whether it’s what I suspect... we’ll know in fifteen minutes." Rubbing her shoulder wearily, Camilla replied with calm detachment.

"Make the call, have Uncle Carlos come in."

If Grandpa Luther had indeed been poisoned, there was still much to be done.

"Right away."

Ramsey gave a quick nod and picked up his phone.

Moments later, Uncle Carlos entered, carrying a tray of tea.

"You’ve worked hard, Madam. How is grandpa doing?"

Camilla repeated what she had just explained before shifting the conversation to inquire about the situation at the family estate.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the city...

*Screech—*

The sound of tires skidding against pavement echoed as a white Porsche came to a halt in front of a villa.

Tyler stepped out of the car and strode briskly toward the entrance.

"Where’s Mother?"

"Madam is in her room—she just retired for the evening."

Norris, noticing the gravity on Tyler’s face, immediately approached with concern.

"Mr. Tyler has something happened?"

"What good would telling a lowly servant like you do, even if something did happen?"

Tyler’s irritation flared as his gaze fell upon Norris, his disdain evident.

"Get out of my way," he snapped.

Norris froze at the words, humiliation burning in his eyes.

His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

Pushing the door open, Tyler was met with the sight of his, mother—her hair disheveled, her gaze vacant as she stared blankly at some point in the room.

A bandage was wrapped around her arm.

His brow twitched involuntarily, confusion etching across his face.

"What happened to you?!"

Clearly, he had no idea about the incident between Jonathan and Margaret at the hospital.

"Nothing,"

Margaret murmured, snapping out of her daze at her son’s arrival.

Her voice was flat.

"Weren’t you supposed to be helping Sandra pick out an engagement dress?

Why are you back?"

Tyler’s eyes flickered to the bandage on her arm, piecing together a rough guess.

But right now, he had no energy to dwell on it.

"Something’s come up."

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes betraying a flicker of panic as he looked at Margaret.

"The informant we planted at the old mansion just called. Camilla suddenly turned back—she might have discovered the poisoning."

"What?"

Margaret froze, her previously vacant gaze sharpening instantly.

Her face darkened.

"How is that possible?!"

"When it comes to that wretched Camilla, we can’t rely on conventional logic,"

Tyler muttered through gritted teeth, his expression tense.

"Mom, if she really finds out, what do we do?!"

"Let me think, let me think..."

Margaret squeezed her eyes shut, but her mind was a tangled mess, refusing to settle.

Tyler watched her in heavy silence, his own face grim.

Nearly fifteen minutes passed before Margaret finally opened her eyes and spoke slowly.

"Quick—get Norris in here!"

If things had come to this, they might as well go all the way.

" Norris again," Tyler’s face was a picture of bewilderment, his tone laced with irritation.

"What’s the point of calling him over at a time like this?"

"I said go get him, so just do it!"

Margaret suddenly raised her voice, her eyes glinting with barely restrained hysteria.

"There are things I need him to handle—right now!"

Taking in her frenzied expression, Tyler swallowed his protests and wordlessly rose to leave.

Moments later, Norris followed him back into the room, his expression icy and unreadable.

"Madam."

His voice carried a detached coldness, a stark contrast to his usual tone.

The complexity in his gaze was unmistakable.

These were his own woman and son, yet day after day, he had to bow and scrape, maintaining this suffocating distance.

The humiliation of it all had long since worn him raw.

Margaret noticed the shift in his demeanor but couldn’t be bothered to address it.

"Send men to grandpa Luther’s estate immediately," she said after a steadying breath, her voice low but razor-sharp.

"Silence those people—permanently."

Her next words came slower, deliberate.

"And as for Sinclair... no more delays. Move against him. Now."

Inside the exclusive VIP fitting room of a luxury brand under the Calvin Group,

The manager gestured respectfully toward a row of haute couture gowns with a polite smile.

"These are some of the latest pieces from our new collection that best suit your elegance. Would you like to see if you can catch your eye?"

Though he said "some," whenever Mr. Calvin’s companions visited, they never left with fewer than three outfits.

That was precisely why he didn’t dare suggest any specific dress for Tiffany.

So many?

Tiffany felt slightly overwhelmed, her gaze flickering over the dazzling array before turning toward Calvin, who was lounging on the sofa.

"Calvin, help me pick one," she said.

Didn’t he say it had to match his outfit?

"Sure," Calvin chuckled, closing the magazine in his hands before rising and walking over.

He began examining the gowns with careful consideration.

The manager’s lowered eyes flickered with surprise once more.

This was the first time he’d seen Mr. Calvin displays such patience.

It seemed this woman truly was... different. "How about this one?"

Calvin pointed to a fitted evening gown in soft blush pink with a strapless sweetheart neckline.

Simple yet elegant, it had no unnecessary embellishments.

Tiffany glanced at it and nodded with a smile.

"I’ll try it on."

As she disappeared into the fitting room, Calvin settled back onto the sofa.

Just then, a familiar voice carried in from outside.

"Not letting me in?

Are you joking?

Isn’t the store open?"

"My sincerest apologies,

miss.

We’re closed for a private appointment today."

"A private appointment?

Who could possibly outrank me?

Don’t you know who I am?"

The indignant female voice rose again.

"I’m a black card member of your brand!"

The manager glanced at Calvin, his expression uneasy.

"Mr. Calvin, it’s Miss Taylor."

What’s she doing here?

Calvin recognized the voice immediately, his handsome brows knitting slightly.

"Let her in."