Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 230: Misunderstanding between Sandra and her father

So Grandpa knew she’d run away, yet he remained indifferent—even spending time teaching that bastard calligraphy instead?

Did she overestimate her own importance?

"Impossible!"

Sandra’s pupils trembled as she glared at dad, her voice sharp with disbelief.

"You’re just saying this to provoke me—to drive a wedge between me and Grandpa!"

"Every word is true," Mr. Porter sneered, relishing the way her face grew even paler.

"If Father really wanted to find you, you’d have been dragged back to the Porter family long ago."

"No... That’s not..."

Her lips quivered, but no words came out. Deep down, she knew he was right.

With Grandpa’s resources and how well he knew her, tracking her down would’ve been effortless—just like all those times before.

But this time... there has been nothing.

Not a single move.

The bodyguards in the car had long grown accustomed to the hostile dynamic between this father-daughter pair who treated each other like sworn enemies.

They kept their heads bowed with practiced indifference, pretending not to hear a thing.

"After all this time, you still don’t get it?"

Seeing Sandra—usually so sharp-tongued—rendered speechless, Mr. Porter felt a vicious surge of satisfaction.

He narrowed his eyes, twisting the knife deeper.

"Mr. Porter hasn’t lifted a finger because he’s utterly disgusted with a granddaughter who does nothing but stir up trouble and disgrace the Porter family."

He paused, letting the words sink in.

"And now that Zamile is here, you’re no longer the only heir to the family’s legacy."

Many of these barbs were things Sandra had once hurled at him. freewebnσvel.cѳm

Now, he finally had the chance to throw them back in her face.

"You—!"

Blinded by rage, Sandra suddenly wrenched free from the two bodyguards and lunged at Mr. Porter.

With a feral snarl, she sank her teeth into the nearest part of him—his wrist.

"Ah—!!"

Mr. Porter let out a strangled cry, his face contorting in pain.

"Let go! Let go, damn it!"

With his free hand, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked hard, trying to pry her off.

To everyone’s shock, the pain from the blow only sent Sandra spiraling further out of control

. Her eyes bloodshot, she clamped down even harder with her teeth.

The spacious interior of the luxury van instantly descended into chaos.

The bodyguards sat frozen in place, stunned by the horrifying scene of literal flesh and blood turning against each other.

"Are you all just standing there like statues?!"

Mr. Porter bellowed in a mix of agony and fury.

"Get her off me—ah!"

Only then did the two bodyguards snap into action, rushing forward to pull Sandra away.

But when she refused to loosen her grip, they had no choice but to forcibly dislocate her jaw before dragging her aside.

Even then, Sandra’s glare remained locked onto Mr. Porter with terrifying intensity.

Yet despite their efforts, Mr. Porter’s wrist had already been torn open, a chunk of flesh missing and blood oozing from the wound.

Waves of excruciating pain pulsed through him.

"I’ll beat you to death, you ungrateful wretch!"

Clutching his injured arm, Mr. Porter advanced with a twisted expression and viciously kicked Sandra where she lay.

"If it weren’t for your mother and the grandpa scheming against me back then, a cursed creature like you would never have been born!"

His kicks continued mercilessly.

"I truly regret not strangling you at birth."

The bodyguards exchanged glances and subtly edged away, careful to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

Just then— "Mr. Porter, we’ve arrived." ——

Meanwhile.

Sinclair leaned back in his chair, the ember of his cigarette flickering between his fingers.

His striking features were shadowed with an intensity that made it hard to meet his gaze.

"Mr. Luther."

Gerald entered the room and immediately noticed the countless cigarette butts scattered at Sinclair’s feet, his eyes clouded with concern.

"It’s been taken care of."

"President Luther," Gerald met Sinclair’s gaze, his voice low and serious.

"By tomorrow evening, our team will have gathered every available shaman we can find in the area."

Though he wasn’t entirely sure what kind of curse President Luther was afflicted with, the situation was clearly dire.

He couldn’t afford to take any chances.

"Mm."

Sinclair responded slowly, his dark, narrow eyes like an endless abyss, sending chills down the spine of anyone who dared meet them.

"How’s the basement coming along?"

His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable, and the air around him crackled with a barely restrained, violent energy.

"It’s ready," Gerald answered promptly, though his expression remained troubled.

President Luther’s condition hadn’t flared up in a long time.

And now, with Madam away, if anything were to go wrong... the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to speak up.

"Mr. Luther, should I contact Madam for you

" Before he could finish, an oppressive gaze cut him off.

"You’ve been by my side long enough to know better," Sinclair’s dark eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke with deliberate slowness.

"I never repeat myself."

His voice was hoarse, restrained, yet laced with a bone-chilling coldness.

"Understood!" Gerald shuddered, immediately bowing his head.

"My mistake."

"Don’t let it happen again."

Sinclair crushed the cigarette between his fingers, then rose from his seat, loosening his tie before coiling it around his hand.

"Let’s go."

His tall, imposing figure moved toward the dimly lit basement like a predator poised to strike. "Open the basement door."

Gerald’s nerves tightened instantly.

"Everyone, stay alert."

—— San Francisco.

The setting sun painted half the sky crimson.

The same scene evoked different emotions in different hearts—some found it breathtaking, while others saw only blood and terror.

For Sandra, it was undoubtedly the latter.

Mr. Porter’s car had come to a stop in front of a derelict warehouse at the farthest edge of San Francisco.

The peeling, weathered walls spoke volumes about the decay within.

The dock was desolate—nothing but endless ocean and a few abandoned cargo ships in sight.

By all appearances, it was the perfect place for murder and disposal.

Murder?

Disposal?!

The thought sent a jolt through Sandra.

Her eyes flickered with unease as she stared at Mr. Porter.

"What... what do you want with me here?"

Her earlier fury had completely dissipated, replaced now by sheer dread.

"Didn’t I make myself clear?"

Mr. Porter’s gaze was dark and full of disgust as he stared at Sandra.

"You’ll find out soon enough."

As he stepped down from the doorway, the movement inevitably tugged at the wound on his wrist.

A sharp hiss escaped his lips, and the fury in his eyes deepened.

"Take her inside."

With that, he strode ahead into the building.

"No—I won’t go!"

Sandra shook her head violently, thrashing with all her strength.

"Stay away—don’t touch me—"

But against overwhelming force, her resistance was futile. One of the bodyguards hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her into the abandoned dockside warehouse.

The dim light outside barely penetrated the interior, plunging Sandra into momentary blindness.

Only when she was dumped onto the floor did her vision adjust.

The warehouse was vast and nearly empty, save for a few blue metal drums and scattered piles of discarded wood.

She swallowed hard.

What the hell was her dad planning?!

Just then, the growl of an engine sounded outside.

"He’s here."

Mr. Porter’s pupils darkened, his expression grim.