Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 249: Bloody Massacre

No sign of Sinclair?

Could it be that the little bastard really died, and he was just being overly cautious?

Grandpa Porter narrowed his eyes slowly.

Then why did Camilla go to Mileage?

After a long silence, he finally spoke in a hoarse, aged voice thick with murderous intent.

"Tell Bryan to find out about Camilla’s purpose for this trip before making a move."

His words dripped with menace.

"Remember—leave no one behind."

"Understood!"

A stern-faced man with a shadowed expression nodded grimly and strode out.

Just then, a short, portly middle-aged man brushed past him and entered.

"Grandpa Porter,

Samson and Norris have acted ahead of schedule."

Samson?

Norris?

Hearing the familiar name, Mr. Porter’s eyebrows twitched in shock, his mind completely blank.

"The operation in Mileage isn’t complete yet.

Who gave them the order to act prematurely?"

Grandpa Porter’s graying brows knitted tightly together.

"Those two idiots!"

His eyes narrowed slightly, glinting with an inscrutable chill.

"What’s happening at the Luther Family’s old residence?

What are Carlos and his son up to?"

Grandpa Luther might be down, but Carlos and son were still in play.

At this critical moment, they couldn’t afford to let their guard down.

Mr. Porter listened to their exchange, utterly lost.

"Our informants report that Grandpa Luther’s condition has taken a sudden turn for the worse—he’s practically hanging by a thread," the stocky man continued.

"Carlos has called in numerous doctors, scrambling to keep things under control, while Ramsey rushed to the Luther Corporation not long ago."

So that’s how it is.

Grandpa Porter’s tense expression eased slightly.

"Keep watching closely.

If anything seems off, pull out immediately.

Under no circumstances can this be traced back to the Porter family!"

"Yes, sir!"

The stocky man gave a slight bow before retreating from the room.

Grandpa Porter lowered his head, taking a slow sip of tea.

The study fell into silence once more.

Another late-night ambush?

And now targeting the Luther Family’s ancestral home?

Mr. Porter had an inkling of what was happening, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

"Father," he finally managed to speak, swallowing hard.

"Are you... planning to wipe out the Luther Family’s bloodline?"

Grandpa Porter set down his teacup with a cold snort.

"Finally showing some intelligence."

The confirmation sent another nervous gulp down Mr. Porter’s throat, an uneasy feeling settling in his chest.

"Father, our Porter family’s strength is nowhere near the Luther Family’s... Isn’t this too much of a gamble?"

"It’s not that the Porter family falls short—it’s you and Sandra combined who can’t hold a candle to Sinclair," Grandpa Porter snapped, his gaze sharp as a blade as it cut into his son.

"With Grandpa Luther poisoned and Sinclair dead, dealing with the Luther Family will be a piece of cake for our Porter family."

His eyes narrowed into sharp slits.

"After tonight, no one will dare say the Porter family is inferior to the Luther Family—no one!"

This was the moment he had spent his entire life working toward.

Yet Mr. Porter still felt a flicker of unease.

"But, Father—"

"Shut your mouth!"

Grandpa Porter slammed his palm onto the desk, cutting him off.

"My decisions are not yours to question!"

Mr. Porter’s lips trembled, but in the end, he didn’t dare utter another word.

"...Yes."

With a cold snort, grandpa turned and strode out.

"Come with me to see Zamile."

Soon, the two men disappeared down the hall.

Only then did Madam Porter emerge from behind the bookshelf, her face ashen.

If the Porter family succeeded, there was no guarantee that she and her daughter would benefit.

But if they failed, she and her daughter would undoubtedly be implicated.

She had to find Sandra’s whereabouts as soon as possible and prepare for escape.

What Mrs. Porter didn’t know at that moment that in just a few hours, she would do something so shocking it would send tremors through the entire capital.

The downfall of the Porter family had officially begun its countdown.

Mileage, Hospital.

Gunfire, the sounds of struggle, and screams erupted in an instant.

The scent of blood permeated the corridors, growing thicker by the minute.

An outsider might have mistaken the scene for the depths of hell.

Yet, inside the conference room on the top floor— Camilla sat calmly, her delicate fingers slowly turning the pages of a medical book before her.

Her exquisite features, illuminated by the soft glow of the lights, seemed almost ethereal in their perfection.

She appeared entirely unfazed, as if the chaos outside didn’t exist.

Not far from the hospital, in a top-floor hotel suite.

A tall, imposing figure stood before the floor-to-ceiling window.

His sharp, obsidian eyes remained fixed on the distant hospital, unwavering.

His strikingly handsome face was an unreadable mask, devoid of any discernible emotion.

Yet, an aura of icy dominance radiated from him, oppressive and unrelenting.

The entire room felt like a frozen vault, thick with suffocating tension.

"President Luther..."

Gerald entered and couldn’t suppress a shiver.

"They’ve made their move.

Our men are already closing in to cut off their escape."

"Hmm."

Sinclair’s frigid gaze darkened further, his voice a glacial whisper as it left his lips.

"Make it quick.

Leave none alive."

"Understood!"

Gerald gave a curt nod and withdrew.

This game was destined to be a one-sided slaughter from the very beginning.

Once again, Sinclair found himself alone in the room.

His slender fingers, with their prominent knuckles, retrieved a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.

As his thin lips parted, pale gray smoke curled upward, veiling his bloodthirsty eyes behind its hazy tendrils.

If not for the fear of worrying Camilla, he would have loved to indulge in the exhilarating sensation of fresh blood himself.

Outside the hospital.

"What the hell is going on?"

Bryan frowned deeply as he watched the majority of his men disappear inside without a single one returning.

The men he had brought were all handpicked elites, far outnumbering the mercenaries stationed within the hospital.

That was precisely why he had been so confident.

But now—what was happening?!

Glancing at his watch, Bryan issued another grim order.

"Send thirty more men in to assess the situation.

If anything seems off, retreat immediately and report back!"

"Yes, sir!"

The thirty men, upon receiving the command, swiftly scaled the hospital walls and slipped inside once more.

But the moment they entered the building, they vanished like stones sinking into the ocean, never to emerge again.

As time dragged on, Bryan’s gaze darkened as he stared at the hospital entrance, the knot of unease in his chest tightening with every passing second.

Had they misjudged the situation?

Was there another force lurking within the hospital?!

The others couldn’t help but mirror his growing panic, their expressions flickering with unease.

"Mr. Bryan, we’re running low on manpower. What should we do now?"

Bryan furrowed his brow, silent for a long moment before finally speaking in a low, measured tone.

"Fall back a safe distance first.

We’ll observe the situation before making our next move."

He couldn’t understand it—why did everything involving the Luther Family always go wrong?

"Understood!"

But just then, gunfire erupted behind them.

Bryan’s face paled instantly.

What the hell was happening now?!

The others turned deathly white, panic flashing across their faces.

"Mr. Bryan, where did these people come from? What do we—"

Bang!

The man’s words were abruptly cut short as a bullet embedded itself in his forehead.

Warm, crimson blood splattered across Bryan’s face.

Only then did he realize—another armed group had stormed out from the hospital entrance.

Ambushed?!

Bryan’s face drained of color. Without hesitation, he bolted toward the car.

"Move, get in now!

Just find any exit and get us out of here!"

The vehicle was modified, its windows bulletproof.

Inside was far safer than out here.

But just as his fingers brushed the door handle—

Two gunshots rang out from opposite directions.

Bang!

Bang!

Bullets tore through both his legs.

A searing pain shot through his body before he could even react, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Before he could struggle to his feet, Luke and his men were already upon him.

Meanwhile, Gerald and his team closed in from behind, cutting off any escape.

The battle ended almost as soon as it began.

Bryan lay limp as a dead dog, dragged mercilessly by Luke toward the hospital.

Meanwhile, Gerald made quick work of the remaining men, leaving no survivors.

The inky darkness of the night swallowed the bloodshed and slaughter, as if nothing had ever happened.

Meanwhile, at the Luther Family ancestral estate...

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit at such a late hour, sir?"

Uncle Carlos dipped his head slightly in greeting, his smile as composed as ever.

His tone was light, almost casual, as though he hadn’t noticed the unusually large entourage trailing behind Samson.

"To what do I owe the visit?"

Samson’s lips curled into an unreadable smirk as he studied Carlos.

His voice dripped with mock sincerity.

"Naturally, I came to check on grandpa.

I heard his condition has taken a turn for the worse."

"Grandpa’s condition... worsened?"

For the briefest moment, panic flickered in Uncle Carlos’s eyes before he schooled his expression back into calm indifference.

"Mr. Samson, where did you hear such baseless rumors?"

"Rumors?"

Samson arched an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with icy disdain.

"Whether it’s a rumor or not, we’ll find out once we step inside."

As he spoke, he made a move to enter.

"My apologies, Mr. Samson," Uncle Carlos stepped to the side, blocking Samson’s path.

"Grandpa has already retired for the night. It would be more appropriate for you to visit tomorrow."

"Carlos, this estate bears the Luther name, not Yours," Samson’s expression darkened, his voice dripping with displeasure.

"You’re nothing but a dog grandpa keeps by his side.

Who gave you the nerve to stand in my way?"

In the past, even in front of a mere servant like Carlos—one loyal to the Luther Family’s main line—he had always felt an unspoken inferiority.

But from this moment on, everything would be different.

"My apologies, Mr. Samson Luther.

I meant no disrespect,"

Uncle Carlos gave a slight bow, his expression unreadable.

"The old master has already retired for the night.

Disturbing him now would be inappropriate.

Perhaps you should return tomorrow."

"Don’t make me force my way in," Samson’s expression darkened, his jaw clenched.

"What if I insist on entering tonight?"

Uncle Carlos frowned, about to respond, when suddenly the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

In an instant, the mercenaries stationed in the Luther residence drew their weapons.

But Samson’s men were quicker—already poised with guns drawn.

Dozens of firearms locked in a deadly standoff, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Uncle Carlos paled.

"Mr. Samson, what is the meaning of this?!"

"You’ll find out soon enough,"

Samson sneered.

"Take me to Grandpa."