Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire Chapter 216: Paternity test report

Hundreds of miles away, inside a hotel room.

Jonathan.

This is the woman you abandoned your wife for, the child you cast aside your own son to cherish.

Everything happening now is exactly what you deserve.

Sinclair gazed coldly at the surveillance footage unfolding before him, his dark eyes devoid of warmth.

Like an emotionless deity looking down from on high.

Yet the increasingly oppressive aura around him betrayed his true feelings.

"President Luther, the item you requested." Gerald entered, holding a sterilized dagger.

"Co here."

"Yes, sir!"

Though puzzled, Gerald obeyed and stepped forward.

Sinclair narrowed his eyes, his well-defined fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt. One.

Two. ... Watching Sinclair’s deliberate movents, Gerald swallowed hard, his throat dry with nervous tension.

Why was the CEO undressing?!

Without pause, Sinclair continued until the shirt slipped from his shoulders, revealing a tall, sculpted fra—every muscle defined with striking clarity.

He rose from the couch and stepped toward Gerald.

"Mr. Luther, you—"

Gerald gulped again, instinctively retreating half a step, his expression a mix of unease and bewildernt.

"What are you... doing?"

Was the CEO so furious that he’d lost his senses?

Did he have so... improper intentions?!

Gerald was straight—this absolutely could *not* happen!

Sinclair frowned, studying Gerald’s reaction.

"Let’s begin."

The voice was flat and emotionless, yet the words sent Gerald’s face draining of color.

Begin?!

He took half a step back, his expression twisting with discomfort as he stared at the strikingly handso face before him.

"President Luther, I—I have a girlfriend!!"

Sinclair’s brows furrowed sharply as he lifted his gaze to et Gerald’s.

"Having a girlfriend ans you can’t do your job?"

His icy tone carried unmistakable displeasure.

"Of course not!" Gerald shook his head frantically.

"It’s just... it’s just..." Sinclair studied Gerald’s nervous, fearful deanor, and sothing seed to click in his mind.

His dark eyes turned stormy.

Without a word, he reached out and took the dagger from Gerald’s hand.

Gerald flinched, his earlier tension morphing into outright terror.

Ignoring him, Sinclair pressed the tip of the blade against his own abdon.

"Here?"

Gerald froze.

"Wh-what?"

Without Ramsey around, things really were inconvenient.

Sinclair’s brows furrowed.

"Where Shadow was injured."

Only then did Gerald realize he had misunderstood—and badly at that.

His face flushed red, then paled.

"Y-yes, it was here," he stamred.

"Mr. Luther, we could have a makeup artist disguise the wound.

You don’t have to—"

"Yoland isn’t as stupid as you," Sinclair cut in, his eyes dark with a chilling, bloodthirsty intensity.

Without hesitation, he tightened his grip on the dagger and drove it into his own abdon.

The motion was swift, decisive—as though the flesh he pierced ant nothing to him.

Gerald frowned deeply.

Even for soone like him, accustod to living on the edge, this was too extre.

President Luther was ruthless—even to himself.

Sinclair’s eyes were dark, his slightly pale face carrying a sickly yet striking handsoness.

Without hesitation, he pulled the dagger from his flesh.

Crimson blood welled up instantly, tracing the contours of his muscles before dripping to the floor.

"Begin the plan."

His voice was low and rough, laced with an oppressive weight that made the air feel thick.

"Yes, sir!"

Gerald gave a sharp nod, his expression grave as he stepped back and withdrew.

It was clear—things were about to get serious.

Sinclair picked up the prepared dical supplies and bandaged the wound on his abdon.

His bloodstained eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Camilla’s figure on the screen.

The sooner he dealt with these nuisances, the sooner he could return to her.

anwhile, downstairs—

"Sir,"

The assistant gazed at Yoland, who was slumped on the sofa.

"You look absolutely terrible."

"No shit," Yoland snapped through gritted teeth, his brow furrowed as he fought off waves of dizziness.

"Try donating 800cc of blood and see how *you* feel."

Today had cost him dearly—literally.

But at least he had confird the news: Sinclair was seriously injured.

"Has the ssage been sent to the capital?" "It’s already been delivered.

Let help you back to rest first," the assistant urged, eyeing Yoland’s ashen face, which suggested he might collapse any second.

"As for *him*, we can take our ti planning the next move."

"Not yet,"

Yoland murmured, shaking his head weakly without opening his eyes.

"Either way, we have to keep up appearances."

The assistant was about to nod when he suddenly caught sight of a tall, imposing figure erging in the distance.

"Sir, sir—it’s...."

"What’s with the hysterics?"

Yoland opened his eyes, glaring at his assistant with visible irritation.

"Don’t tell it’s Sinclair?"

The assistant swallowed hard, nodding frantically at Yolanda.

Yolanda’s brow furrowed.

What was this supposed to an?

Just then, Gerald’s icy voice cut through the air from behind.

"Mr. Luther, the Chairman is here."

A bloodthirsty hunt was about to begin. ——

anwhile, in San Francisco.

"Your little productions just keep getting more and more thrilling."

Calvin narrowed his eyes, a lazy smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"What kind of show is this now?"

"Just wait and see," Camilla replied, her srizing eyes glinting with a bone-chilling smirk as she watched Jonathan and the others.

She wanted them to stand at the very brink of success—only to co crashing down.

To watch them sche with everything they had, only to end up empty-handed.

This was all what they owed Sweetheart.

"Jonathan, have you lost your mind?!"

Margaret was stunned by Jonathan’s sudden attack on Tyler.

She imdiately rushed down from the stage, hurrying to Tyler’s side, her face etched with worry as she frantically examined his injuries.

"Tyler, let see."

A thin trail of blood seeped from the corner of Tyler’s lips, and the spot where Jonathan had struck him was already swelling, the angry red mark stark against his skin.

Wiping the blood away, Tyler frowned at his father.

"I’m fine."

His father had never laid a finger on him—not once in his entire life.

What the hell was going on?!

"Jonathan—"

Jonathan glared at Margaret with fury burning in her eyes.

"What on earth could justify you laying such a vicious hand on your own son?!"

"My son?"

Jonathan let out a bitter, mirthless laugh, his entire body trembling like a beast on the verge of losing control.

"You shaless wretch!

How dare you call that bastard my son?!"

He lunged forward, grabbing Margaret’s arm and swinging his hand hard across her face.

"I’ll beat you to death, you disgraceful whore!"

The slap was even more brutal than the one he’d dealt Tyler monts before.

Unlike Tyler, Margaret was no match for the force—she was sent flying backward before crashing heavily onto the floor.

Her head spun violently, a sharp ringing filling her ears.

Warm liquid gushed from her nose and the corner of her mouth, crimson blood imdiately staining her face.

Everyone present stood frozen in shock.

What stunned them wasn’t just Jonathan’s sudden violence toward Margaret and her son—it was his words.

Tyler... wasn’t his son? What the hell did that an?! Of course, it wasn’t just the onlookers who were stunned—the two people at the center of the storm were equally dumbfounded.

Tyler’s face turned ashen, his piercing gaze fixed on Jonathan as he processed the bombshell just dropped.

Margaret, on the other hand, stared at Jonathan with wide, panicked eyes, oblivious to the blood trickling from her nose and lips.

"Jonathan, what nonsense are you spouting?"

She braced her arms, struggling to rise.

"There must be so misunderstanding—let’s discuss this privately.

Don’t ruin the children’s engagent banquet over this!"

"Nonsense?

A misunderstanding?"

Jonathan hurled the docunts in his hand straight at Jonathan’s face with a furious snap.

"Black and white proof is right here!

Explain to —what kind of ’misunderstanding’ is this?!"

The mont Margaret caught sight of the words "paternity test," her pupils constricted violently, her face draining of all colors.

"No—it’s not what you think, Jonathan—"

"Shut your mouth! You filthy whore don’t deserve to say my na!"

Blind with rage, Jonathan lunged forward, grabbing Margaret by the collar before slapping her hard across the face.

"I’ll kill you!"

Jonathan shrieked, clutching her cheek.

A murmur of shocked whispers rippled through the crowd.

anwhile, grandpa Porter, having finally regained his composure, descended the stairs with the support of Mr. Porter.

The chaotic scene before him darkened his expression further.

His sharp, aged eyes suddenly locked onto Camilla with an unreadable intensity.