Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 372: An accident

"Ramsey,"

Uncle Carlos frowned deeply as he looked at his son, who was still blocking the car.

"Are you still not moving?"

"I’m sorry, grandpa. I’m sorry, Dad."

Ramsey didn’t dare meet grandpa Luther’s gaze from the back seat, but he refused to budge.

"President Luther gave me a direct order. I can’t let you pass."

If there was ever a perfect example of saying the toughest words in the meekest tone, this was it!

Grandpa Luther studied Ramsey, his eyes gleaming with approval.

"Ramsey is just like you were in your youth. Keeping him by Sinclair’s side was the right decision."

Grandpa shifted his gaze to Uncle Carlos in the front seat and spoke slowly.

"However, this trip is non-negotiable. Go handle this."

"Yes, sir."

Understanding Grandpa’s meaning, Uncle Carlos nodded.

"I’ll go teach that brat a lesson."

Before the words had fully left his mouth, he pushed the door open and strode out.

Am I about to get my ass kicked?

Ramsey watched as his father marched toward him, his lips twisting into a bitter half-smile.

"Dad—"

"If you know I’m your father, then step aside," uncle Carlos narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping lower, heavier.

"What grandpa intends to do—you can’t stop him."

"Doesn’t mean I won’t try," Ramsey sighed, frustration etched across his face.

"You know how President Luther is.

Need I say more?"

Without giving his father a chance to respond, he pressed on, voice tinged with pleading.

"Come on, Dad.

I’m your flesh and blood. Don’t make this harder for me."

Uncle Carlos studied him with a knowing gaze, his tone firm and unwavering.

"Mr. Sinclair stationed you here for grandpa’s safety—nothing more."

Uncle Carlos placed a hand on Ramsey’s shoulder, his words weighted with conviction.

"Listen to me, son.

I swear on my life—nothing will happen to him."

Even if something were to happen to anyone else, Grandpa would remain unscathed.

Of course, Uncle Carlos didn’t voice this thought aloud, not wanting to frighten Ramsey.

"Dad," Ramsey said, picking up on his father’s unwavering tone.

Assuming grandpa had some contingency plan in place, he felt slightly reassured.

"I trust you, of course.

But what about President Luther—"

Ramsey abruptly cut himself off, casting a meaningful glance at the bodyguards stationed around the ancestral home before turning his gaze back to his father.

"Whatever happens, I won’t back down."

Uncle Carlos knew his son well.

The implication was clear, and his expression darkened instantly.

"If talking won’t get through to you, then don’t blame me for what comes next," he said, his voice sharpening.

"Someone, tie this kid up!"

"Yes, sir!"

The mercenaries guarding the estate hesitated but didn’t dare disobey.

They immediately moved toward Ramsey.

Ramsey’s eyes widened in disbelief.

"Dad, how could you do this?"

"Grandpa, you see, my father is upholding justice at the expense of family ties.

You can’t blame me for this."

Uncle Carlos curled his lips in disdain.

This kid’s acting is way too over the top.

Grandpa Luther chuckled and shook his head before rolling up the car window.

The confrontation escalated into a physical fight.

With a mix of reluctance and complicated emotions, Uncle Carlos cast one last glance at Ramsey before turning away and getting into the car.

The vehicle roared to life and sped away from the old estate.

Sinclair soon received the news.

His grip on the wine glass tightened until it shattered.

Shards of glass pierced his palm, yet he seemed numb to the pain.

His icy gaze was so cold it could freeze the very air before him.

"Keep a close watch on the outskirts of the city.

If my grandfather is in any danger, act immediately—no mercy."

No matter the circumstances, he refused to let anyone sacrifice themselves for him.

When Camilla returned from outside, she was startled to find Sinclair’s hands covered in blood.

"sweetheart—"

Camilla dropped what she was holding and rushed to Sinclair’s side.

"Wait here for me."

Her eyes filled with concern as she quickly assessed the wound before grabbing the first aid kit.

Kneeling before him, she began tending to his injury with gentle hands.

"What happened?

How did this occur?"

"It’s nothing," Sinclair murmured, his icy gaze softening as he watched her crouch before him.

"Just an accident. Don’t worry about it."

An accident?

Camilla’s eyes narrowed at the shard of glass embedded in his palm.

If sweetheart didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t press him.

Instead, she focused on carefully cleaning and dressing the wound.

The moment she finished, Sinclair pulled her into his arms.

"Watch your hand!"

Worried he might aggravate the injury, she couldn’t help but gasp in protest.

But before she could utter a word, the man silenced her with a kiss.

Sinclair wrapped one arm around Camilla’s slender waist, pulling her flush against him, while his other hand cradled the back of her head as he captured her lips.

Her unspoken words dissolved into the heat of the moment.

Helpless, she wound her arms around his neck and melted into the tender exchange.

Time slipped away unnoticed before they finally parted.

A delicate flush colored Camilla’s cheeks, scattering the questions she had meant to ask.

"How did the meeting go?"

Sinclair rested his forehead against hers, his fingers tracing idle circles along her waist as he spoke in a low, measured tone.

"Did those old foxes give you any trouble?"

To lull the Luther Family into complacency, Camilla had attended the corporate meeting in his stead.

Her long, delicate lashes fluttered slightly as a faint smile curved her lips.

"No."

Truth be told, she hadn’t minded it at all. "Sweetheart, you’re a terrible liar.

Tell me the truth."

His dark eyes narrowed as he pressed a featherlight kiss to her forehead, drawing her closer into his embrace.

The deep rumble of his voice vibrated against her, resonating from his chest.

"Whoever it is, your husband will always have your back."

This incident was merely a litmus test. Those who dared to make things difficult for Camilla would not escape unscathed.

In the shadows where Camilla couldn’t see, Sinclair’s gaze turned razor-sharp, icy enough to freeze one’s bones.

Suburban Villa, Jonathan Residence.

"Sir," Goliath strode in swiftly.

"Your father’s car is about to arrive." Jonathan’s hand, holding the teacup, paused slightly.

The hot tea spilled over, scalding his fingers.

The sharp pain made him grimace.

"Proceed as originally planned." Finally, the day had come.

"Yes!"

Not long after Goliath left, Grandpa Luther, along with Uncle Carlos and several mercenaries, was led into the room where Jonathan waited.

The composed Jonathan from moments ago now leaned weakly against the headboard, his face twisted in discomfort.

Grandpa Luther stopped at the doorway, his deep, penetrating gaze fixed on his son.

His deep-set eyes brimmed with unspoken complexity.

Jonathan couldn’t quite bear the weight of Grandpa Luther’s gaze.

Clearing his throat, he pressed a fist to his lips and coughed lightly.

"Ahem... Ahem... Dad, you’re here."

"Hmm."

Grandpa withdrew his scrutinizing stare and shuffled forward with the aid of his cane, settling into the prepared armchair by the bedside.

His tone was as measured and indifferent as ever.

"How did you fall so ill all of a sudden?

What did the doctor say?"

Jonathan studied his father—older now than he remembered—and a flicker of conflict flashed in his eyes before vanishing just as quickly.

"The doctor said it’s a long-suppressed burden of the heart.

Not sudden at all."

"A burden of the heart?"

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