Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 206: Over night drive

The night deepened, swallowing everything in its silent darkness.

By the time Sinclair drove through the gates of the Luther Family estate, the clock had already struck two in the morning.

"Mr. Sinclair?"

Uncle Carlos, startled awake, gaped at the man who should have been a hundred kilometers away.

"What brought you back so suddenly?"

Had something unexpected happened?

Sinclair didn’t answer.

After changing his shoes at the entrance, he lifted his gaze to meet Uncle Carlos’s.

"Is Grandfather in his room?"

Understanding dawned in Uncle Carlos’s eyes.

Ah, so he’d rushed back through the night, worried about his grandpa’s health.

"Yes," he nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"Mrs. Camilla’s treatment has been remarkably effective.

Grandpa slept far more peacefully tonight than he has in a long while."

Noticing the icy aura emanating from Sinclair, the butler continued cautiously.

"The midnight snack prepared for Mrs. Camilla is still warm in the kitchen.

You’ve been driving all night—let me fix you something to warm your stomach."

"No need."

Sinclair strode toward the staircase with his long legs, his expression unreadable as ever.

"I’ll check on my grandpa first."

*Grandpa will surely be relieved to see you like this.*

Uncle Carlos smiled and followed him upstairs.

Grandpa lay deep in slumber, undisturbed by their entrance.

His usually stern face now bore the fragile weariness of any ordinary grandpa, exuding an air of frailty and twilight years.

A pang of sorrow struck unexpectedly.

Sinclair stood by the bedside, his thin lips pressed into a tight line, his dark gaze deepening with something unspoken.

Soon. Everything will be over soon.

*I’ll purge every last piece of filth from the Luther Family.*

This will never happen again.

Sinclair didn’t wake grandpa.

He stood motionless by the bedside for a long moment before turning to leave.

Uncle Carlos’s lips twitched in a wry smile.

He hadn’t expected the young master to take his words so literally—just one glance, truly nothing more.

By then, Sinclair’s tall, imposing figure had already reached a door.

After a brief pause, he slowly turned the handle and stepped inside.

The room was quiet, the dim glow of the bedside sleep lamp casting a soft, warm light.

In the stillness of the night, it created an inexplicably cozy atmosphere. Sinclair deliberately softened his footsteps as he approached the bed.

Camilla lay curled on her side, her chestnut-brown curls spilling carelessly across the pillow.

Her delicate, fair face was tinged with a faint flush from deep slumber.

The sharpness and coldness in Sinclair’s expression gradually melted away, his entire demeanor softening into warmth.

He reached out, his hand hovering just above her, as if tracing her form without touching. Perhaps too much had happened in just one day.

Once asleep, Camilla had plunged into a relentless stream of dreams.

Suddenly, a large hand, carrying the faint scent of medicinal herbs, grasped hers.

The scene before her eyes abruptly transformed into the old courtyard of the Rodriguez family, where her grandfather’s smile radiated warmth and kindness.

"Don’t be afraid, Camilla.

Grandpa is here."

"Camilla is my treasure, the treasure of our Rodriguez family."

"Our Camilla will surely find happiness."

Camilla wanted to reach out and hold his hand, to ask where he was, to tell him she was already happy.

But before she could do anything, her grandfather and the courtyard vanished into thin air.

Just as despair began to creep in—

The vision shifted again, returning to the Luther Family manor.

A strikingly handsome yet aloof man sat by the bedside, gently kissing the woman’s hand.

His touch was feather-light, his expression almost reverent.

"Camilla—"

His smile was tender to the extreme, a stark contrast to the madness and obsession burning in his eyes.

"Camilla, they’re all dead."

"Camilla, don’t hate me."

"Camilla, I’m coming to be with you!"

A lighter flickered with eerie blue flames in the man’s slender, well-defined fingers.

In the next instant, a raging fire erupted, swallowing everything in the room in a blaze.

"Sweetheart" Camilla’s lashes fluttered as her eyes snapped open.

Still groggy, she saw Sinclair’s tall, imposing figure standing by the bed, gazing down at her.

"Sweetheart?"

She stared at him for a few seconds before closing her eyes again.

Lifting a hand, she rubbed her temples lightly and muttered under her breath,

"They say you dream of what you dwell on by day.

But now I’m not just dreaming—I’m even hallucinating."

Her voice, still thick with sleep, carried a husky edge, cutting clearly through the silence of the room.

Dream by night of thoughts by day.

A glint of amusement danced in Sinclair’s eyes as his lips curved into a smile.

Camilla blinked her eyes open once more, but instead of vanishing, the figure before her grew increasingly distinct.

"Could this be... not an illusion, but a dream within a dream?" she murmured to herself.

"Camilla."

Sinclair leaned down, his cool lips brushing gently against her forehead.

"It’s me."

His voice, deep and slightly hoarse, was laced with tenderness.

The crisp, familiar scent of him instantly chased away the last remnants of her drowsiness, jolting her fully awake.

"Sweetheart!"

She bolted upright, her luminous eyes locking onto his face, a mix of astonishment and delight flashing across her delicate features.

"You’re back?

But I thought you were swamped with work?"

"I came back for you," he replied, his lips quirking upward.

His dark eyes, usually so inscrutable, now shimmered like a sky full of stars as they gazed at her.

"Are you happy to see me, Camilla?"

Her heart twisted painfully—a bittersweet ache of affection and sorrow tightening in her chest.

It must have been because of what she said earlier that sweetheart rushed back overnight.

All because of a single sentence from her.

He was always like this—never one to speak of love, yet his every action screamed devotion.

Stubborn yet passionate.

"Happy,"

Camilla wrapped her arms around Sinclair’s neck, pressing her nose against his, their breaths mingling.

"Sweetheart, I’m happy, but I’m also heartbroken."

Her delicate fingers traced the sharp contours of his face, her luminous eyes brimming with tenderness and concern.

"You must be exhausted?"

"Not at all," Sinclair held her gaze, the corners of his lips curling into a faint, teasing smile.

"Don’t believe me?

Then test me."

Camilla knew he was deflecting.

Her lashes fluttered as she opened her mouth to reply—

But before she could speak, his arm tightened around her slender waist, pulling her flush against him.

His lips captured hers in a searing kiss.

The room melted into warmth.

The lingering kiss left Camilla’s dark eyes glistening, her fair cheeks flushed a delicate pink.

Under the dim, golden glow of the lamplight, she looked even more enchanting—soft, irresistible.

Sinclair’s palm burned against her skin, his inky, fathomless eyes simmering with something barely restrained.

Camilla knew that look all too well.

"Sweetheart,"

She glanced at the clock, then at the faint weariness shadowing his brow, her voice a tender mix of exasperation and concern.

"It’s late.

We should get some rest."

"Alright."

His dark, hooded eyes narrowed slightly as he suppressed the rising heat threatening to consume him.

"Rest."

The room fell silent again, but this time, wrapped in warmth.

Sinclair pulled her close, his arms locking around her in a possessive embrace.

His sharp jawline rested against the curve of her neck as he breathed in her comforting scent.

The hollow ache in his chest vanished instantly, his world settling into quiet contentment.

In the darkness, the corner of his lips curved into a faint smile.

This trip back wasn’t just for Camilla—it was for himself too.

Love swirled between them, wrapping the moment in quiet, perfect peace.