Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 256: Karma. Retribution. The end of the Porter family 2

"You—"

Mr. Porter’s eyes widened in sheer terror as he watched his wife stagger down the stairs, struggling with a heavy can of gasoline.

"You are a venomous witch!

H-help... HELP!"

His voice, already ravaged by poison, came out in ragged gasps, each word clawing its way from his throat.

Unless someone stood right beside him, the plea would be inaudible.

And the servants?

They had long since fled the courtyard.

The smile on Mrs. Porter’s lips deepened, her eyes burning with manic hatred.

She tilted the can, splashing gasoline across the staircase and the living room carpet. The acrid stench filled the air instantly.

"You vile creature!"

"Madwoman!"

The shadow of death loomed over Mr. Porter, freezing the blood in his veins.

Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself toward the door, his limbs trembling with the effort.

His son, collapsed nearby, paralyzed and helpless, didn’t even earn a glance.

Blood dripped relentlessly from Mr. Porter’s mouth and nose, smearing a gruesome trail across the floor as he crawled—a horrifying testament to his desperation.

"Help! Help me..."

Mrs. Porter made no move to stop him, instead following step by step as he inched toward the door, her gaze icy and mocking.

Only when Mr. Porter had crawled to the threshold, his hand trembling toward the door handle, did she finally act.

She stepped forward, blocking his path, and under his horrified stare, she locked the door from the inside—first with the deadbolt, then with the electronic keypad.

Then, one by one, she secured the other doors.

Watching his last hope of escape vanish, Mr. Porter’s body convulsed violently, his terror and despair reaching their peak.

"Now," she sneered, her voice dripping with malice, "where will you run?"

With that, she upended the remaining gasoline over him, drenching his trembling form.

"Cough—cough—!"

The fumes choked him, twisting his face into a grotesque mask of agony.

His fingers clawed desperately at the floor, nails splitting from the force, yet he couldn’t break free.

"Mrs. Porter," he gasped, turning his head with painful effort, tears of blood streaking his face.

His voice was a broken whisper, raw with terror.

"Spare me... please, I beg you.

I won’t divorce you... I’ll never cheat again...

I’ll make it up to you—"

"Sandra begged you the same way," she cut in coldly, her eyes burning with fury.

"Why didn’t you spare *her*?"

The memory of Sandra’s heart-wrenching screams still echoed in her mind as Mrs. Porter crouched beside Mr. Porter, flicking open the lighter with trembling fingers.

"She was your own flesh and blood.

How could you do this to her?"

Her bloodshot eyes burned with unbridled hatred, yet her lips twisted into a grotesque smile.

"Then again, I forgot—your Porter family has never been human. You’re all beasts, capable of anything."

With a flick of her wrist, the ignited lighter landed on Mr. Porter’s body.

Flames erupted instantly, roaring to life.

Agony beyond human endurance consumed him.

"Aaaah—!!"

His mangled throat could produce no coherent sound, and his charred limbs refused to obey even the instinct to thrash.

His features contorted grotesquely as the fire engulfed him.

"Sandra, can you see this?

Mother has avenged you."

Mrs. Porter didn’t flee.

Instead, she staggered back to the sofa and slumped into it, her frenzied expression laced with something like relief.

"A shame that old bastard grandpa Porter isn’t here.

Otherwise, I could’ve dragged the entire Porter family down to hell with us.

Ha... haha..."

Fueled by gasoline, the inferno spread in seconds, swallowing the room whole.

Outside, servants gasped as thick, black smoke billowed from the windows.

"Fire—the house is on fire?!"

Chaos erupted.

The Porter estate descended into pandemonium.

"Hurry! Put out the fire"

"Mr. Porter, Mrs. Porter and boss Zamile are still inside!

Save them!!"

But all the security-grade doors were deadbolted from within—impossible to open from outside.

By the time the flames were finally extinguished, only three charred corpses remained, frozen in their final agonized poses.

Outskirts of San Francisco.

Inside a speeding car.

Just as expected.

Camilla narrowed her mesmerizing eyes at the screen, watching the Porter family’s ancestral home being devoured by flames.

Mrs. Porter was far from a saint.

But no one could deny she had been a devoted mother.

Sinclair merely observed in silence, his strikingly handsome face half-hidden in shadow, betraying no emotion.

Like an aloof deity, untouched by the suffering of mere mortals.

"Sweetheart," Camilla closed the laptop and nestled deeper into Sinclair’s embrace, her voice soft and drowsy.

"We’re almost home."

And at last, the troubles would finally come to an end.

"Mmm."

Sinclair tightened his arm around her, the sweet warmth of her presence softening the dark depths of his eyes.

At the Luther Family ancestral estate.

The usually heavily guarded entrance now stood with only a middle-aged man of unremarkable expression.

Yet, under the glare of the headlights, the splatters of dark crimson blood staining the door were unmistakable.

The sprawling manor was eerily silent. Shrouded in the pitch-black night, it had lost much of its imposing grandeur, replaced instead by an air of desolation.

As Grandpa Porter stepped out of the car, the middle-aged man waiting at the entrance hurried forward.

"Grandpa Porter, they’re inside.

I’ll take you in right away."

"Not yet."

Grandpa Porter remained at the gate, his aged yet piercing eyes sweeping over the Luther Family estate, a deep, unreadable shadow lurking in his gaze.

The Luther Family ancestral home had stood for over a century—a testament to their enduring legacy as one of the great aristocratic families.

In contrast, the Porter Family had declined in both wealth and influence, forcing them to relocate their ancestral residence multiple times over the same period.

Though he had managed to halt their downward spiral during his tenure, restoring their former glory remained beyond reach.

The shame of their fall kept them from ever reclaiming their ancestral grounds.

This alone spoke volumes about the gap between the Porter and the Luther’s.

Fortunately, after tonight, everything would be different.

"Loric,"

grandpa Porter’s voice was low and grave.

"Take your men and guard the entrance. Stay alert for any unexpected developments," he commanded, his sharp eyes narrowing.

"If there’s any news from Mileage, report to me immediately."

"Understood!"

The middle-aged man, short in stature but stern in demeanor, nodded solemnly and immediately began directing the men from the following vehicles to take their positions.

"Loric," grandpa Porter tapped his cane as he strode toward the Luther Family’s ancestral residence.

"Bring the men and follow me inside."

No matter the circumstances, caution was second nature to him.

The interior of the Luther estate was brightly lit, exposing every trace of dark bloodstains along the path.

Samson’s cleanup had been swift, at least.

Stepping over the bloodstains, grandpa Porter walked steadily toward the main hall, his pace unhurried but deliberate.

"How is grandpa Luther doing?"

The middle-aged man leading the way ahead didn’t turn around, his voice low and steady as he replied.

"Grandpa is the same as before."

"The same as before" meant he wasn’t dead yet.

Grandpa Porter gave a slow, solemn nod.

He had come all this way to see the man off before he breathed his last.

The double doors of the living room stood wide open.

The guide stepped aside and bowed slightly. "Grandpa Porter, please—"

The moment grandpa Porter caught sight of Samson’s figure, his expression darkened, and he strode inside.

Loric and his men followed closely behind. But the instant they stepped in, the doors were abruptly shut from the outside.

**Bang!**

The sound of the doors slamming echoed sharply through the silent room.

Loric and the others tensed, their pupils flickering with sudden alertness.

Grandpa Porter didn’t turn around.

His gaze remained fixed on Samson, growing heavier by the second.

"What’s the meaning of this?"

He had been certain Samson wouldn’t dare to burn bridges after crossing the river—that was why he’d come.

Yet from the very start, things had taken an unexpected turn.