Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 55: I will make sure you have no place to be buried

"Madam,"

Seeing the person arriving, a look of joy crosses Ramsey’s face.

"Ramsey, what are you doing outside?"

Camilla looks at the direction of the iron gate, her beautiful eyes carrying worry.

"How is Sinclair?"

"President Luther..." Ramsey didn’t know how to describe his boss Sinclair’s current condition.

He can’t exactly say that President Luther might have an attack at any moment.

"Open the door,"

A hint of understanding flashes in Camilla’s eyes and she walks up to the iron gate.

"I will go in to accompany Sinclair."

If it was before, Ramsey would certainly hesitate.

But after realizing the position of Madam in President Luther’s heart, he can only feel it’s better to let Madam in.

"Yes."

In the midst of conversation, he stepped forward to unlock the iron gate.

Without hesitation, Camilla pushed open the door and walked in.

What met her eyes was pitch blackness.

From the faint light filtering in through the door, she could just make out the vast interior of the room.

Sinclair was seated on the sofa, his head bowed quietly.

His austere figure was almost one with the darkness.

His whole demeanor radiated a sense of solitude, as if he was isolated from everything around him.

It was as if his world only consisted of him alone.

Camilla’s red lips pressed tightly together, her beautiful eyes full of heartache.

She took a step forward, moving towards Sinclair At this moment, Camilla had only one thought in mind.

She wanted to step into Sinclair’s world.

No matter what that world was like, she wanted to be there with him.

Hearing movement behind him, the eyes-closed Sinclair furrowed his brows.

"Get out," he said.

The low and hoarse voice seemed to be suppressing something, exuding an icy chill that made people feel as if they were plunging into an ice cellar.

Camilla’s steps didn’t stop, continued to walk towards Sinclair in the glow of the light leaking from the door.

"Sweetheart, it’s me."

Her soft, sweet voice was completely out of place with the gloominess of the room.

Sinclair, who was in a state of extreme repression, didn’t hear Camilla’s voice clearly.

Sensing a hand reached out towards him, he didn’t lift his head, but instinctively seized her wrist.

Her fair wrist was very delicate, seemingly breakable with just a little force. Camilla bore the pain, bent down quickly, and pecked lightly on Sinclair’s lips, whispering softly.

"Sweetheart, my hand hurts so much, could you let go?"

The soft sensation from his lips and the familiar scent struck him, causing Sinclair’s hand to abruptly stop.

Camilla? Sinclair raised his head, his eyes filled with murderous intent suddenly opened wide, with a touch of confusion at the bottom.

"It’s me,"

Camilla stared at the man in front of her, her tone becoming even gentler.

"If you won’t come to accompany me, then I have no choice but to accompany you."

She reached out with her other hand, gently touching Sinclair’s face, the corners of her mouth curving slightly.

"You know, I can’t sleep soundly without you by my side."

Sinclair remained silent, his slightly red eyes intently staring at Camilla.

Camilla returned his gaze in silence, her eyes curved in a soft smile.

Those pure and clear beautiful eyes.

There was neither fear nor deceit in them. Only him.

Time was passing by, second after second. They didn’t know for how long.

The violent murderous intent in Sinclair’s heart gradually subsided, and the intense crimson in his eyes slowly faded.

As he saw Camilla clearly again, he also noticed the gruesome scene in the basement, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"Camilla, I’m sorry," Sinclair let go of Camilla’s wrist he had been holding tightly, his voice deeply husky to a certain degree.

"I always expose you to my unsightly side."

Seeing the self-deprecation in Sinclair’s eyes, Camilla felt as if her heart was being clenched in a fist, the pain making it difficult to breathe.

"It’s not like that, Sweetheart" She reached out her hands, cupping Sinclair’s face.

"It’s these people who are despicable, not you.

They deserve to be punished for being such scum."

Sinclair looked at Camilla, his dark eyes flickering.

"Sweetheart," Camilla pressed her forehead against Sinclair’s.

"In my eyes, you’re the best, best, best man in the world."

Her voice was very soft, but it hit Sinclair straight in the heart.

His deep, ink-black eyes were filled with hidden turmoil.

That bloody, dark corner buried deepest inside him was suddenly illuminated in that instant.

"Camilla,"

Sinclair’s deep, magnetic voice slowly resonated.

Just a two-letter term, yet it sounded as if it had been brewing in his throat for a long while, indescribably charming.

"I’m here,"

Camilla’s eyebrows curved up in a smile, her eyes glowing with radiant beauty.

"Sweetheart, I’m here, I’ll always be here."

Her soft voice carried an unfathomable determination.

Would she really always be there?

However, Sinclair’s eyes were full of emotions, and a nearly imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

His handsome face softened to an extreme.

He reached out his hand, longing to touch the delicate face in front of him.

Yet, the moment his hand approached Camilla’s cheek, he halted.

Noticing Sinclair’s movement, Camilla’s eyebrows furrowed.

"Sweetheart, what’s wrong?"

Sinclair pulled back his blood-stained hand, a touch of dark self-mockery flashed in his eyes, and his voice was husky.

"Dirty."

Such filth was not befitting of the purity of Camilla.

A flicker of determination passed through Camilla’s eyes.

She picked up the towel that Ramsey had prepared earlier, held Sinclair’s hand, and began to wipe it.

"It’s okay, I will clean for you sweetheart."

Her movements were gentle, her expression focused.

As she saw the wounds on his fist, a trace of heartache flashed in her beautiful eyes, adding softness to her actions.

Sinclair lowered his gaze, looking at Camilla’s delicate and gentle eyebrows, feeling a rush of affection.

Once she had completely wiped away all traces of blood, Camilla seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"All good."

As she spoke, she held Sinclair’s hand, pressing her face against it and rubbing gently.

Sinclair’s pupils flashed, overflowing with tenderness at the bottom of his heart.

He tightened his hand, cradling the nape of her neck, and with a bit more force, he leaned in for a kiss.

Camilla. In this lifetime, I will never let you leave my side.

Regardless if you agree or not.

Late at night, Camilla wrapped her arms around Sinclair’s neck, responding gently.

"Hmm..."

A bodyguard lying on the ground suddenly struggled, letting out a light groan.

Camilla: She was startled and immediately turned her head to avoid Sinclair’s lips, burying her face in his shoulder.

Sinclair didn’t force her and slowly loosened his hand.

His cold ink-like eyes were shot towards the culprit who had interrupted their moment.

"Sweetheart," Camilla didn’t want to be here, she tugged at the clothing in front of Sinclair.

"Let’s go home."

"Okay,"

When Sinclair withdrew his gaze and looked back at Camilla, his gentleness has returned.

He picked up Camilla sideways, got up, and walked out with long strides.

Coincidentally, his foot stepped on the bodyguard who had just made the noise.

"Hiss!"

The bodyguard’s hand clenched tightly, then quickly loosened, ceasing any movement.

"President Luther, Madame."

Seeing President Luther, or Sinclair, leave with Camilla held in his clear-headed embrace, Ramsey’s furrowed brows relaxed, and he felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted.

The madame is certainly President Luther’s remedy for his addiction.

Inside the room. Sinclair gently places Camilla on the bed, brushing a kiss on the corner of her lips.

"I’m dirty, I need to take a shower first."

Only by washing away the bloody scent from his body can he fall asleep with Camilla in his arms.

As he spoke, Sinclair made it rise.

Unexpectedly, Camilla suddenly reached out and held his waist.

"Sweetheart--" Sinclair’s movements halted, and he gently moved the hair from Camilla’s cheek behind her ear

. "What’s wrong?"

"Your hand injury can’t touch water yet, let me help you clean it."

Sinclair looked at Camilla, his gaze dropping deeper and deeper, finally coalescing into an abyss.

"Camilla, do you know what you’re saying?"

"I don’t know," Camilla looked into Sinclair’s eyes and suddenly got cold feet.

She raised her head, lips parting slightly.

"I didn’t say anything.

Go wash up," she said.

"But Camilla has spoken," Sinclair’s mouth slightly curved up.

"I heard it very clearly."

His clear black eyes had turned into unfathomable whirlpools, as if they wished to engulf the woman in front of him, integrating her into his very marrow.

Camilla pursed her red lips, her fair and elegant face flushing bright red.

Sinclair reached out and took Camilla into his embrace.

"Camilla--" He gently stroked her hair, his voice hoarse to the extreme.

"I’m here,"

Meeting Sinclair’s eyes, Camilla inexplicably felt nervous and subconsciously swallowed hard.

"Sweetheart,"

"Promise me,"

The murky gaze of Sinclair held back a storm that could be seen in his eyes.

"You will never leave me."

His voice was dark and husky, carrying a semi-commanding tone.

"I promise you," Camilla’s beautiful eyes were filled with sincerity,

"I will never leave you, never ever."

At this moment, Sinclair was ready to give his life for her.

"Hmm,"

With his slender white hand supporting her nape, Sinclair descended on her with a kiss full of possessive desire.

"Never break your promise, or else, I will punish you."

Her heart sank, inch by inch.

With her beautiful eyes slightly closed, Camilla tilted her head back to respond to Sinclair.

I won’t break my promise, sweetheart. Even if I die, I will never leave you.

The air within the bathroom rapidly heated up.

A night, sleepless.

There were many who also spent a sleepless night.

Unlike the clearness in San Francisco, the night in S City was filled with stormy winds and heavy rain.

The man sat upright in his wheelchair.

The pain emanating from his leg caused the veins on his stern face to bulge, and his expression became exceedingly ferocious.

He firmly grasped his own leg, and an air of gloom enveloped him at its peak.

Even the divine mercy prayer beads, which he usually fiddled with, were tossed to the ground, left unattended.

"Sir,"

A middle-aged man with a scar on his brow watched this scene, worry written all over his face.

"I should go out and bring a doctor."

"No need,"

The man gripped the armrests of the chair tightly, his pale face covered in a cold sweat.

"If it were curable, it would’ve been cured long ago.

They’re all useless."

"Sir,"

The middle-aged man with a scar on his brow bone started to speak, hoping to persuade him further.

Yet, the man sitting in the wheelchair cut him off once again.

"Get out!"

"No,"

The man resisted, shaking his head.

"I’ll stay here with you."

Before he could finish his sentence, he was harshly hit in the face with an ashtray.

The dull pain engulfed him instantly.

The middle-aged man held back his pain, daring not to make a sound.

"I’ll say it one more time, get out,"

The man’s voice was ominously brooding, as if squeezed out from his throat.

"Could it be, you also think that because I’m crippled now, my words don’t hold weight anymore?" frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

Hearing this, the middle-aged man certainly didn’t dare to stay any longer.

"My apologies, I will leave immediately."

In the middle of his speech, he nodded his head and quickly stepped out.

The room was suddenly left with just one person.

The man stared out at the curtain of rain, his pupils shaded and cold to the extreme.

Whenever the weather was like this, the same image would unintentionally surface in his mind.

The gloomy basement.

The pungent smell of blood.

The unbearable pain.

And the handsome face of Sinclair, half-hidden in the shadows.

The man’s eyes, hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses, gradually reddened.

Sinclair. I will make sure you have no place to be buried!!