Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 247: Double our force

"Sinclair,"

Camilla gazed at Sinclair, her face a mix of sweetness and helplessness.

"That’s enough."

Her plate was already piled high with several peeled shrimp.

Sinclair kept his head down, his slender, well-defined fingers meticulously handling another shrimp.

The simple motion looked effortlessly elegant when performed by him.

"Not enough," He lifted his eyes to meet hers, his thin lips curling into an enigmatic smile.

"You’re too delicate.

You need to eat more."

His tone was perfectly normal, his words utterly ordinary, yet when Camilla met the fathomless depths of his dark eyes, her own couldn’t help but tremble slightly.

Unbidden, her mind flashed back to the moment in their room when she had tearfully begged for mercy, only for him to lean close and whisper in her ear—

"Can’t take it already?

Baby, you’re far too delicate." ƒreewebɳovel.com

And then, instead of stopping, he had only grown more relentless, more unrestrained.

At the memory, Camilla hastily averted her gaze, grabbing her glass of milk to take a few quick sips, forcing the wild thoughts from her mind.

Yet her fair and delicate face couldn’t help but flush with a faint rosy hue.

A deeper smirk curled at the corners of Sinclair’s lips.

Meanwhile, in the corner— Luke, sporting a bruised lip, and Gerald, with a blackened eye, exchanged glances before simultaneously lowering their heads, dutifully fading into the background.

These days, money just wasn’t as easy to earn as it used to be.

After peeling several more shrimp, Sinclair picked up a napkin and meticulously wiped his fingers clean.

Then, taking up his Spoon, he began feeding Camilla the other dishes on the table.

He barely ate anything himself—as if watching Camilla enjoy the meal and satisfy him far more.

Only when she firmly insisted she couldn’t take another bite did he finally set down his Spoon, reluctantly ending his role as her caretaker.

"Sweetheart," Camilla said softly, setting aside her napkin.

Her gaze grew more serious as she looked at him.

"Now, will you tell me what really happened here?"

She needed to know—just what were those people outside after?

"Mmm,"

Sinclair’s narrow, deep-set eyes flicked toward Gerald with an indifferent glance as his thin lips parted slightly.

"Gerald."

His hand moved instinctively toward his cigarette, then abruptly stilled.

Without missing a beat, he picked up the glass beside him, twirling it idly as if nothing had happened.

Was he supposed to inform Madam?

Gerald studied Sinclair’s expression, ensuring there was no hidden meaning in those inky black eyes before speaking.

He relayed the matter concisely—how Yoland and other factions in the capital had repeatedly sent assassins after Sinclair.

In just two days, Sinclair had faced so many life-threatening attempts?!

Thankfully, he was unharmed.

Otherwise, her second chance at life would have been meaningless.

After a brief silence, Camilla’s icy gaze shifted to Luke.

"Have the men who followed us to Mileage talked?

Were they sent by the Luther Family’s branch as well?"

"Aside from a few foreign mercenaries who genuinely didn’t know their employer and were just hired hands," Luke nodded, his expression grim, "the rest were all connected to them."

It seemed the rot within the Luther Family tree ran far deeper than she had imagined.

Camilla’s delicate hands, resting on her skirt, clenched into fists.

Her beautiful face was etched with a chilling intensity that sent shivers down the spine.

But perhaps it’s for the best.

These parasites have been lurking inside the tree trunk, gnawing away at its roots.

Only when they all crawl out can we wipe them out completely!

The chilling aura radiating from Camilla made Luke and Gerald exchange silent glances, both inwardly marveling.

Truly, only a woman like Madam is worthy of standing by President Luther’s side.

"By the way, there’s one more thing,"

Camilla suddenly spoke again, her gaze fixed intently on Gerald as if recalling something crucial.

"Who was responsible for the wound on Sinclair’s abdomen?"

Her voice remained as soft and melodious as ever, but the suppressed fury beneath was unmistakable—she clearly had no intention of letting the culprit who harmed Sinclair off the hook.

The wound on his abdomen?

But wasn’t that self-inflicted by President Luther himself?!

Gerald froze, momentarily at a loss for how to respond.

Could he answer the madam’s question truthfully?

Gerald’s lips twisted in hesitation, his gaze involuntarily darting toward Sinclair’s direction.

Sinclair paused the absentminded twirling of his wine glass, his dark, inscrutable eyes fixed on Gerald.

His handsome face remained an unreadable mask of indifference.

"What’s the matter?"

Camilla’s beautiful eyes followed Gerald’s line of sight to Sinclair, a shadow flickering briefly in their depths.

"Is the question that difficult to answer?"

"No, not at all," Gerald replied hastily, lowering his head as he caught the unspoken warning in Sinclair’s gaze.

"It’s just that... the people who laid hands on President Luther have already been dealt with."

At this, a glint of schadenfreude flashed in Luke’s eyes.

Dodging the question?

Seems this guy really doesn’t know the madam well. Sure enough.

The moment Gerald finished speaking, Camilla’s delicate brows furrowed slightly, confirming the suspicion growing in her heart.

Her beautiful eyes flashed with thinly veiled anger as she shot a glare at the man beside her.

What kind of situation could possibly justify him being so ruthless with her?

This score would be settled once they got home!

Sinclair caught his wife’s icy"reckoning-will-come-later" look, and a trace of helplessness flickered in the depths of his dark, narrow eyes.

When he turned his gaze back to Gerald, however, his expression grew several degrees colder than before.

From this moment onward, the Luther Family’s recruitment standards wouldn’t just test physical prowess—they’d also assess intelligence.

Just then, a knock sounded at the conference room door.

"President Luther, Madam," A mercenary stepped inside and gave them a respectful nod, his voice low and grave.

"The external forces have suddenly doubled in number.

They’re spreading out in a wide perimeter, attempting to encircle the hospital completely."

Doubled their forces?

A full-scale siege?

Luke and Gerald exchanged grim looks. It seemed their enemies were finally making their move.

"Sinclair," she murmured, "these people don’t know you’re still alive."

Camilla spoke softly, her beautiful eyes glinting with bone-chilling coldness.

"How about giving them a surprise they won’t see coming?"

"Good idea," Sinclair replied without hesitation, the corners of his lips curling slightly.

"Whatever you want, Camilla."

—— **Capital City.**

The overcast sky, gloomy for hours, was suddenly split apart by a bolt of lightning.

Torrential rain poured down, enveloping the bustling metropolis in a curtain of water.

The already dim sky grew even darker, as though it might collapse at any moment.

At that very instant, on the mountain road behind the Luther Family’s ancestral estate, dozens of black Jeeps stood parked, nearly blending into the inky downpour.

"Damn it," cursed Samson from the back seat of the lead car, his expression dark as he took a drag from his cigarette and glared at the rain lashing against the window.

"Couldn’t have picked a worse time to rain—right when everything’s on the line. Just my damn luck!"

I can’t quite put my finger on why, but this sudden downpour filled Samson with an inexplicable unease.

A voice in the depths of his heart seemed to whisper, urging him to back out.

From the passenger seat, Norris observed Samson’s expression through the rearview mirror, his eyes brimming with impatience—though his tone betrayed none of it.

"Personally, I think this rain is heaven itself lending you a hand, Mr. Luther."

"A hand?" Samson arched an eyebrow, waiting for Norris to elaborate.

"The Luther Family estate is always heavily guarded," Norris said, his brow furrowing as he cast a venomous, eager glance toward the mansion.

"This rain will not only obscure their line of sight but also muffle the sound of our approach and cover our tire tracks."

"You make a fair point," Samson admitted, feeling somewhat reassured.

"Though who knows how long this heavenly favor will last?"

Norris pressed, barely containing his urgency as he turned to face Samson.

"Mr. Luther, I believe we should act now—while the rain is still on our side."

Taking action sooner would mean rescuing Camila and Sinclair earlier.

Samson glanced at the contract beside him, lost in thought for a moment before finally silencing the hesitation in his heart.

"Give the order. Move the schedule up by half an hour."

"Yes, sir!"

Norris nodded in satisfaction and began instructing the team to prepare for the operation.

Meanwhile, at the Porter residence.

Grandpa Porter sat in the study’s master chair, flipping through the family’s historical records, his aged eyes deep and inscrutable.

If tonight went smoothly, it would add a defining Chapter to the Porter family’s legacy.

But if it failed...

A shadow passed over the old man’s gaze.

Then they would simply start over.

After waiting all these years, what was one more attempt? Mr. Porter sat below, visibly uneasy.

His father had summoned him to the study but hadn’t spoken a word—what could it mean?

Could he have found out about Sandra’s murder?

The thought sent a chill down Mr. Porter’s spine.