Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire Chapter 219: Begin?

Son?!

Yoland’s hand trembled slightly, nearly spilling the wine in his glass.

Why would Sinclair suddenly ntion his son?

Unless...?!

eting those unfathomable, all-seeing dark eyes of Sinclair, an inexplicable unease crept into Yoland’s heart.

"Sir, you must have forgotten," His assistant interjected smoothly with a practiced smile, noticing his employer’s discomfort.

"Mr. Yoland’s son’s coming-of-age ceremony is in two months.

Our people are currently assisting Madam with the preparations."

That’s right.

He deployed nurous bodyguards to protect his wife and son.

Had anything happened, he would’ve been notified imdiately.

Besides, they were safely in S City, far from the Mileage borderlands. Comprehension dawned on Yoland’s face as his practiced smile returned.

"Indeed, two more months.

May I ask why you inquired about him so suddenly?"

"Two months?"

Sinclair swirled the crimson liquid in his glass, his thin lips curling into a faint smirk.

His dark eyes were unfathomable, like ink that refused to dissolve.

"What a sha."

Those three simple words sent Yoland’s heart leaping into his throat again.

His expression stiffened, the forced smile on his face crumbling once more.

But before he could ask anything, Sinclair had already raised the glass and drained the red wine in one smooth motion.

Then, with effortless grace, he resud his al—as though completely unaware that this was a banquet laced with treachery.

Watching the now-empty wineglass, Yoland exhaled in quiet relief, swallowing the words he had been about to say.

"Are they here?"

Sinclair’s voice was low, betraying nothing.

"Yes, everyone’s arrived," Yoland nodded eagerly.

"Once you finish your al, I’ll have soone bring them in."

"No need."

Sinclair’s tone was indifferent.

"Gerald, take your n and escort them directly to the hotel."

"Yes, sir!"

Gerald imdiately stepped forward, giving a respectful nod.

"Mr. Luther may I ask where those people are?"

"Guard," Yoland glanced at his assistant, subtly signaling with his eyes.

"Go and personally hand them over to Mr. Luther’s n."

"Understood!"

The assistant caught the hint at once.

"Please follow ."

Gerald gave Sinclair a slight nod before leading a few n after the assistant, disappearing down the corridor.

In an instant, only one person remained behind Sinclair.

Noticing this, a shadow of sothing dark flickered briefly in Yoland’s eyes.

*Heaven itself is helping .*

Sinclair said nothing more.

Left with no choice, Yoland picked up his utensils and chanically went through the motions of dining, the food tasteless on his tongue as he kept his rival company.

His gaze kept darting to his wristwatch.

Half an hour later, Sinclair slowly set down his cutlery.

He withdrew a handkerchief and ticulously wiped his slender, pale fingers with aristocratic grace.

"President Luther," Yoland imdiately put down his utensils as well.

"Since Gerald isn’t here, let escort you back to the hotel."

"No need."

Sinclair paused, his striking yet coldly indifferent eyes locking onto Yoland.

"Don’t you have matters to attend to?"

As he spoke, he casually tossed the used handkerchief aside and rose to leave.

His tall, imposing figure exuded an aura of formidable darkness.

A sudden wave of dread surged through Yoland’s heart.

But with things having gone this far, he was already in too deep to back out.

The mont Sinclair departed, he imdiately pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

The sleek black Maybach sped down the road.

In the backseat, an exceptionally handso man with an air of aristocratic elegance rested his eyes, his long, well-defined fingers idly toying with his cufflinks.

The driver—sent by Yoland—kept stealing glances at Sinclair through the rearview mirror.

Not far behind, several cars trailed at a distance.

Just as the vehicle approached a four-way intersection, Sinclair slowly opened his eyes.

His thin lips parted slightly as he uttered in a voice so low and icy it sent chills down the spine: "Begin."

"Begin?"

"Begin what?"

The driver froze in confusion. Before he could react, a gleaming dagger flashed from the side, slicing his throat in one swift motion.

"Guh—ack—"

Crimson blood splattered across the steering wheel as his body slumped forward.

The rcenary in the passenger seat had been prepared. In an instant, he seized the wheel, steadying the vehicle that had montarily veered out of control.

At the sa ti, an oversized cargo truck pulled out from a side street, blocking the view of the trailing cars.

The occupants of the following vehicles paled, their expressions tightening with alarm.

For a tense few seconds, they braced for the worst—until the truck finally moved on, revealing Sinclair’s car still cruising smoothly ahead, undisturbed.

"The sedative should be taking effect by now," The n in the trailing cars switched on their walkie-talkies and spoke in clipped tones.

"Once we pass this intersection, we move in!"

"Copy that!"

"Understood."

The vehicles accelerated in unison, closing in on Sinclair’s car like a pack of wolves.

anwhile, at a luxury hotel in San Francisco... "

The truth about the Luther Family bloodline hasn’t been fully verified yet.

There might still be misunderstandings," Camilla said steadily, eting Grandpa Porter’s piercing gaze without flinching.

Her voice carried clearly through the expansive sitting room.

"Moreover, what Sandra and Tyler did during your birthday banquet is public knowledge.

If the engagent gets called off over re rumors about his lineage, people might assu the Porter family only cares about social climbing."

She paused deliberately.

"After all, agreeing to this engagent in the first place was clearly an attempt to latch onto the Luther Family’s coattails."

"Latch onto?"

Calvin leaned back in his chair, the corners of his lips curling into a sardonic smile.

Now that was an interesting choice of words.

The expressions on the faces of the Porter family mbers were far from pleasant.

Though both the Luther and Porter families were considered top-tier aristocratic clans in the capital, everyone knew the Porter had long fallen behind the Luther’s in every aspect.

It was just that no one dared to say it outright—after all, even a dying cal was still larger than a horse.

The word "climb" that Camilla used was like tearing off the Porter family’s fig leaf right in front of everyone.

"The Porter family doesn’t care about outsiders’ opinions," grandpa Porter said coldly, his piercing gaze fixed on Camilla like a blade, his eyes dark with suppressed fury.

"Even if you don’t care about outsiders’ opinions, you still have to care about Miss Sandra, don’t you?"

Camilla remained unruffled, as if completely oblivious to the old man’s displeasure.

"Her reputation is already in ruins.

Finding a suitable match in the future won’t be easy."

A faint smirk curled her lips.

"Might as well embrace this marriage and make the best of a bad situation—save yourselves from further embarrassnt."

Ruined reputation?

Make the best of a bad situation?

Sandra’s face turned deathly pale, veins bulging at her neck and forehead.

She wanted to speak, but under grandpa Porter’s icy, warning gaze, she could only bite her lip and remain rooted to the spot.

Her slightly reddened eyes glared daggers at Camilla.

Camilla’s words had spared no one’s dignity.

The rest of the Porter family didn’t look too pleased either.

Thanks to Sandra, the Porter family’s reputation had been thoroughly tarnished.

anwhile, the Luther Family mbers were quietly stunned by Camilla’s boldness.

Even they wouldn’t dare defy grandpa Porter’s authority so fearlessly.

"Camilla, your words are far too reckless," grandpa Porter said, his earlier amiable deanor gone, replaced by a sharp, imposing aura.

"Not even grandpa Luther would dare humiliate Sandra and our Porter family like this."

His anger seed to thicken the air in the hall, sending a palpable wave of tension through the room.

Many of those present felt their hearts pound with unease.