Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 254: Speed up

"Sinclair—"

Camilla’s beautiful eyes trembled as she realized her unintended words had touched the unhealed wound deep in Sinclair’s heart.

"The caregiver from back then still hasn’t been found.

There might be more to what happened than we know."

She reached out and wrapped her arms tightly around him, as if trying to transfer her own warmth into his body.

Back then, Sinclair’s mother had taken her own life by slitting her wrists after Jonathan’s betrayal.

To Sinclair, it was the most unforgivable and haunting abandonment.

"More to it?"

Sinclair’s lips curled slowly into a faint, indifferent smile, his strikingly handsome face betraying no emotion—as though it no longer mattered to him.

But Camilla knew better. It was all just a facade.

Her heart clenched as if gripped by an invisible hand, aching so sharply it nearly made her shudder.

Sweetheart,

I’ll always be by your side."

No matter life or death, she would stay with him—always.

Just like how you treated me in our past life.

"Is that so?"

Sinclair’s lips curled into a smirk as he gazed at Camilla, his narrow eyes darkening with an intoxicating mix of obsession and possessiveness.

"Camilla, you better not lie to me."

Otherwise, he would punish her mercilessly.

"I won’t lie to you,"

Camilla declared, grabbing his hand and pressing it firmly against her chest.

Her delicate, beautiful face was etched with solemnity.

"If I do, sweetheart can just carve my heart out."

She paused, then frowned thoughtfully before adding spice sincerity,

"Or chop it into pieces.

Feed it to the dogs—whatever you prefer."

"You really are ruthless with yourself,"

Sinclair murmured, though despite his lingering displeasure, his wife’s words amused him.

The smile on his lips deepened.

"But I could never bear to do that."

At most, he’d just break her legs—so she could never leave his side.

Not even a single step.

"Don’t worry about holding back," Camilla’s beautiful eyes flickered as she tried to remove Sinclair’s hand.

Yet the man’s slender, powerful fingers remained firmly pressed against the softness of her chest, unmoving—even giving a deliberate squeeze.

"Very soft," Sinclair murmured, his thin lips brushing against her ear, his voice low and rough.

"Now you understand why I can’t help myself, don’t you, Camilla?"

His deep, fathomless eyes had darkened with unmistakable desire.

Where his fingers touched, an electric current seemed to spark across her skin.

"You—"

Flustered and indignant, Camilla grabbed his wrist and glanced frantically behind her.

Only then did she realize the car’s partition and curtains had long been drawn shut.

Before she could turn back to protest, his hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her into a searing kiss.

Lips moving hungrily, the air between them grew thick with heat. In that moment—

All noise from the outside world faded into silence.

The world seemed to shrink until only the two of them remained.

—— Meanwhile, on the road to the Luther Family’s ancestral home.

Grandpa Porter, reclining in the back seat with his eyes closed, suddenly felt a familiar, suffocating pain grip his heart.

His brows furrowed as he forced his eyes open.

Why was today so full of complications?

Loric, sensing the disturbance, turned to look at him.

"Sir, are you feeling unwell?"

"It’s nothing, just the usual ailment," the old man replied, fishing out a small bottle of medicine from his pocket.

He tipped a few pills into his palm and slipped them under his tongue, his sharp, penetrating gaze fixed on Loric.

"Still no word from Bryan?"

Loric shook his head grimly.

Logically, that woman Camilla wasn’t some invincible force—there shouldn’t have been any complications.

But now, it seemed he had underestimated her.

"Never mind," Grandpa Porter said, his voice icy and resolute.

"Once we secure matters in the capital, even if that woman is still alive, she won’t be able to stir up any trouble."

His eyes narrowed as he stared into the pitch-black night outside the window.

"Speed up."

The Porter Residence, living room.

Mrs. Porter descended the stairs slowly.

Her hair was pinned up neatly, and she had changed into her usual dark green cheongsam.

The bruises on her face were mostly concealed beneath layers of makeup.

At first glance, she appeared once again as the poised and gentle Mrs. Porter everyone knew—

That is, if one ignored the bone-chilling coldness lurking deep in her eyes.

Mr. Porter sat on the sofa, watching his son play with a ball, his expression brimming with paternal affection.

At the sound of footsteps, he glanced up.

"Mrs. Porter," he sneered, his voice dripping with undisguised contempt—more venomous than ever.

"All dressed up in the middle of the night?

What madness are you planning now?"

Zamile, emboldened by the indulgence of grandpa Porter and Mr. Porter, as well as the servants’ attitudes, had quickly learned his newfound status in the household.

"Daddy’s right!" he chimed in, seizing the opportunity.

With a malicious grin, he hurled the ball straight at Mrs. Porter, then stuck out his tongue and jeered,

"Take that, you crazy hag!"

The basketball struck her squarely in the chest before thudding heavily to the floor.

Thud.

Thud.

Mr. Porter’s brow furrowed slightly, but his expression remained cold and unreadable.

He said nothing.

The Porter family servants standing nearby exchanged glances, their faces a mix of awkwardness, pity, and thinly veiled amusement.

Everyone expected Mrs. Porter to erupt into another hysterical fit, just like before.

But to their surprise, she simply watched the bouncing basketball with an unsettling calm.

"I need to speak with my husband alone," she said, her voice steady.

"All of you, step outside and close the door."

"Yes, Madam!"

Disappointment flickered across their faces—no more drama to witness—but they obeyed, filing out and shutting the door behind them.

The vast living room was now empty except for Mr. Porter and the two others.

"Are you going to bring up Sandra again?"

Mr. Porter snapped, his patience clearly worn thin.

"I’ve already told you—I have no idea where that ungrateful daughter of ours has disappeared to."

You don’t know?

Wasn’t Sandra burned to death in that warehouse you ordered to be set on fire?

The mention of her daughter’s name sent another sharp pang through Mrs. Porter’s heart.

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she stepped forward toward Zamile and reached out her hand.

Children have an uncanny ability to sense emotions.

Meeting Mrs. Porter’s icy, lifeless gaze,

Zamile instinctively recoiled in fear.

He took two quick steps back before darting into Mr. Porter’s arms.

"Dad, this old hag is trying to hit me—"

"Don’t worry, son.

She wouldn’t dare with me here," Mr. Porter soothed his son in a gentle voice before glaring at Mrs. Porter and snapping,

"If you’ve got nothing to say, get back to your room.

You’re scaring Zamile."

"I was just picking up the ball to return it to him,"

Mrs. Porter said, her outstretched hand still holding the ball as she offered it to Zamile.

A faint smirk curled her lips.

"What could possibly scare him?"

Though young, Zamile understood that this woman was the reason his mother couldn’t be by his side. Instead of taking the ball, he swatted it out of her hand.

"Hmph, I don’t want it anymore after you’ve touched it,"

The child pouted at Mr. Porter with spoiled petulance.

"Dad, I want you to buy me a new one."

"Alright," Mr. Porter’s face softened with doting indulgence.

"Dad will get it for you.

Whatever Zamile wants, Dad will buy it."

After all, this child was his only flesh and blood in this world—his sole hope.

What a touching display of fatherly devotion.

Watching the scene unfold, Mrs. Porter’s lips twisted slightly, her eyes darkening with deeper mockery.

But it didn’t matter.

Everything was about to end.