Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 327: The transplant was successful

Time crawled by, each second stretching endlessly.

At some point, Camilla passed out from the excruciating pain.

Sinclair’s pupils constricted violently, his breath hitching as if his lungs had frozen.

Only when he confirmed she was still breathing did the tension in his eyes ease slightly.

Gently, he laid her down before stepping outside.

The sunlight outside was bright, yet it couldn’t pierce the suffocating gloom that clung to him like a second skin.

Luke and Ramsey, waiting by the door, were stunned by the sight of their boss drenched in blood.

"Mr. Luther, what happened to you?"

"I’ll call a doctor right now—you need treatment."

"No doctors,"

Sinclair’s voice was hoarse, his eyes dark with a dangerous crimson hue as he swept a chilling gaze over them.

"Bring Iris here."

The words dripped with icy malice, sharp enough to send a shudder down their spines.

Seeing the two men frozen in place, Sinclair’s eyes darkened as he roared, his voice grating like gravel.

"Are you waiting for an invitation?!"

As the head of the Luther Family, his mere presence was enough to command fear.

But now, with his terrifying aura on the verge of eruption, even his most trusted subordinates couldn’t suppress their instinctive dread.

Ramsey and Luke’s pupils contracted sharply under his wrath.

"Y-yes, sir!"

"Right away!"

They scrambled out in haste.

Before long, Iris was hauled in between the two men, her delicate brows furrowed in displeasure.

But the moment she caught sight of Camilla’s condition, all grievances vanished.

The situation was far more critical than she had anticipated.

Sinclair remained seated beside Camilla, cradling her tightly.

His obsidian eyes never left her pallid face, not even for a second.

"How is Camilla?"

"Not good.

The poison worm is unusually agitated.

If this continues, it’ll be extremely dangerous."

After a heavy silence, Iris’s voice turned icy.

"I need to put it to sleep immediately to buy Mrs. Luther some time."

"Mmm."

Sinclair didn’t look up.

His striking features were shadowed with unreadable darkness as his tall, imposing frame seemed to merge with the gloom of the corner—like a specter.

No one dared meet his gaze.

No one dared approach.

Everyone in the room could feel it with chilling clarity: The woman in his arms was Sinclair’s very life.

Without another word, Iris swiftly retrieved a black flute and began to play.

The entire room held its breath.

Every second stretched unbearably long.

No one knew that Camilla was trapped in a nightmare of utter despair.

In her dream, she watched from a detached third-person perspective as the scene unfolded in the medical room.

There, on the bed, Sinclair—his eyes cold and hollow—held another version of herself.

An aura of lifelessness enveloped her entire being, as if she were trapped within an invisible cage.

Inside the room, Grandpa Luther, Uncle Carlos, and the others wore expressions of deep sorrow.

Taylor and Calvin also looked grim.

Each of them was saying something to Sinclair, their overlapping voices sounding as though they came from a great distance—so faint she could barely make out a word.

Camilla’s beautiful eyes suddenly widened, filled with utter despair.

Had she failed to transfer the poison worm and died?

But no—that couldn’t be.

If the poison transfer had failed, her Sinclair would die too.

A moment later, her expression twisted into something frantic and obsessive as she lunged toward her own body.

She had to go back.

She *had* to.

Camilla passed right through her own form, but she refused to give up.

She couldn’t let fate come full circle, dragging them back to the same tragic ending as their past life!!

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Camilla’s long, thick lashes fluttered before her eyes finally opened.

Only when she took in her surroundings did she realize—everything she had just witnessed had been nothing but a dream.

Iris stopped playing her flute, exhaling a long, quiet sigh of relief in her heart.

Truth be told, Madam Luther’s condition had been critical just moments ago.

Even if she had managed to suppress the restless poison worms, there was no guarantee Madam Luther would have regained consciousness.

Fortunately, things were finally taking a turn for the better.

Sinclair’s rigid posture relaxed slightly, and the lifeless darkness in his eyes flickered with the faintest trace of emotion.

"Camilla—"

His voice was hoarse and strained, his arms tightening unconsciously around Camilla.

"Camilla."

All his unspoken words seemed to dissolve into those two syllables.

Remembering the nightmare she had just endured, Camilla pressed a gentle kiss to Sinclair’s cold, bloodless lips.

"I’m sorry, Sweetheart.

I must have frightened you."

Sinclair shook his head slightly, resting his face against the crook of her neck without another word.

The others in the room quietly took their leave, sensing the moment was theirs alone.

For days, the entire Luther estate had been shrouded in suffocating tension.

The servants moved about in hushed silence, careful not to make the slightest sound.

The situation at the Luther Manor had also reached Jonathan through covert channels.

The weight pressing on his heart finally lifted.

Even if it was all an act, they wouldn’t go to such lengths.

"It seems the plans we’ve been preparing can now be set in motion ahead of schedule."

Without delay, Jonathan summoned his most trusted aide and began issuing orders.

The oppressive atmosphere in the Luther Manor lingered well into the dead of night.

Twenty-four hours had passed.

Iris, Grandma Porter, and the team of doctors once again entered the medical room.

Outside, Grandpa Luther, Uncle Carlos, Ramsey, and the others waited with grim expressions.

Camilla’s face remained devoid of color, and she had slipped back into unconsciousness.

Iris and Grandma Porter stepped forward, examining Camilla’s condition using the unique methods of their craft.

After thorough verification, they finally exhaled in relief and turned to Sinclair.

"President Luther, the parasite transfer was successful."

Sinclair’s eyes flickered, but he remained silent.

His dark gaze remained fixed on Camilla’s pallid face as he spoke in a voice thick with emotion.

"When will Camilla wake up?"

"Mrs. Luther is still weak and will likely be needed until tomorrow,"

Grandma Porter said gently, her voice warm with concern.

"You should go and rest now. We’ll take care of things here." "No need."

Sinclair reached out and lifted Camilla into his arms, striding toward the door without hesitation.

Outside, Grandpa Luther and the others tensed at the sight, their eyes fixed on him, waiting for news.

Sinclair met the old man’s gaze.

"Everything’s fine.

You should get some rest."

Without another word, he continued forward, his tall, imposing figure merging with the shadows cast by the lamplight.

Grandma Porter and Iris followed, explaining the situation in detail to Grandpa Luther.

Only then did the tension in the old man’s body finally ease, his legs nearly giving way beneath him.

"Grandpa!"

"It’s nothing, nothing,"

Grandpa Luther chuckled, his lips curving into a faint smile.

"I’m just... too happy. Heaven still favors our Luther Family."

Uncle Carlos knew better.

Joy was one thing, but exhaustion was another.

At his age, staying awake for a full day and two nights had already pushed the old man to his limit.

Grandpa had held on solely out of worry for his grandson and his wife.

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