Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire Chapter 244: that little brat

Inside the hospital room.

Camilla prepared her silver needles and reached out to unbutton Sinclair’s shirt.

With each undone button, his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and sculpted abs gradually ca into view—perfectly defined, every muscle etched with precision.

Yet Camilla had no mind to admire her husband’s flawless physique.

Her gaze locked onto the vicious knife wound just below the left side of his abdon.

How could he have been hurt this badly in just one day?

Her delicate face, usually so gentle, was now shadowed with heartache and an icy, barely restrained fury.

Whoever had done this—she would make sure they paid.

Retrieving antiseptic powder and gauze from the dical kit, she carefully dressed Sinclair’s wound before turning her full attention to the acupuncture.

Her expression was solemn, her movents deliberate. What she hadn’t told Gerald was this: His pulse was erratic, his nerves strained to the breaking point.

These signs indicated that Sinclair wasn’t truly unconscious—no, he was trapped, imprisoned by his own extre subconscious.

In other words, he was lost in a nightmare from which he couldn’t wake.

Unless Sinclair broke free on his own, it would be difficult for him to wake up.

Even with her acupuncture now, all Camilla could do was help speed up his awakening to a certain extent.

After inserting the last needle, she turned her attention to treating the wounds on Sinclair’s hands.

Her movents were ticulous and tender, filled with an indescribable depth of love.

Dawn gradually broke outside.

The morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow into the room.

Finally finished, Camilla freshened up briefly before lying down beside Sinclair.

"Sinclair, didn’t you say you missed ?" She reached out, gently tracing the contours of his handso, refined face, then whispered softly by his ear, "I’m here now, so wake up soon."

As she spoke, her rosy lips lightly brushed against his.

Then, nestling into the comforting embrace that always made her feel safe, she closed her eyes.

The chaos of the outside world seed to fade away, leaving only the quiet serenity within the room.

Peaceful. Perfect. ——

The Luther Family Mansion, Living Room

"So you’re saying," Grandpa Luther set down the dicine bowl in his hand and turned to Uncle Carlos,

"Camilla, went to see that Tiffany girl last night?"

"Yes," Uncle Carlos nodded truthfully. "Mada ntioned that Miss Tiffany was having trouble with her leg, so she went to check on her.

She said she’d return this afternoon."

Grandpa Luther gave a slow nod.

"And how are things progressing on Sinclair’s end?"

"Those troubleso factions have been mostly dealt with by Mr. Sinclair" Uncle Carlos refilled the old man’s teacup with a smile.

"The n you instructed us to send haven’t even been needed."

"Good.

The less they’re needed, the better—I’d be more than happy if they never had to step in," Grandpa Luther took a sip of tea, washing away the bitter taste of dicine lingering in his mouth.

"By the way, have we figured out why that child went to Mileage in the first place?"

He knew his grandson well.

That boy never did anything without a purpose.

This sudden trip to Mileage was too abrupt—even he couldn’t fathom the kid’s intentions.

"Mr. Sinclair’s movents were extrely discreet," Uncle Carlos shook his head.

"Our people couldn’t uncover any information."

"That brat...

Never mind, we’ll ask him when he gets back," Grandpa Luther sighed, his expression resigned but unsurprised.

"What I need to do now is take advantage of this opportunity to thoroughly clean out the parasites within the Luther Family."

His gaze shifted into the distance, sharpening abruptly like a blade unsheathed.

"Have all the suspects been identified?"

Uncle Carlos handed over the ticulously prepared list.

"These are the first ones we’ve confird."

"I’m not even dead yet, and they dare lay hands on Sinclair," Grandpa Luther muttered, his aged eyes glinting with cold fury as he scanned the familiar nas.

"Make sure they vanish from the capital within three days."

The low, aged voice carried an overwhelming and terrifying authority.

At that mont, Uncle Carlos was instantly reminded of the days when Grandpa Luther had once dominated the capital with an iron will.

"Understood.

I’ll see it imdiately." ——

The next day, at noon. Sinclair’s lashes fluttered slightly as his eyes slowly opened.

Despite having been unconscious for so long, his narrow, dark eyes were still bloodshot, as though he had been pushed to the brink of exhaustion.

He only rembered having a long, endless dream, but the mont he woke, most of it slipped away, leaving him grasping at fragnts he couldn’t piece together.

Yet the feeling of heart-wrenching agony remained painfully vivid.

When his vision finally cleared, a delicate, sleeping face ca into view. Camilla?

A dark, turbulent light flickered in Sinclair’s narrowed eyes.

Camilla was in the capital—was he still dreaming?

But even if it was a dream, it was beautiful enough.

Sinclair gazed at Camilla with tender affection for a long mont before curling his lips into a faint smile.

His fingers gently brushed through the silken strands of her hair that had fallen across his chest, but his hand stilled abruptly when he noticed the neatly bandaged wound—wrapped in Camilla’s signature style.

Camilla had been sleeping lightly, her rest unsettled by worry for Sinclair.

The slightest movent beside her roused her, and her lashes fluttered open.

"Sinclair, you’re awake?"

Her beautiful eyes, still clouded with lingering drowsiness, sharpened instantly the mont they t his dark, inscrutable gaze.

"Are you feeling any discomfort?

Let check your pulse again."

She had just reached for his wrist when his long, powerful arm encircled her waist, pulling her firmly against him.

Sinclair stared down at her, his burning gaze intense, his voice roughened with an uncharacteristic hoarseness.

"Camilla... why are you here?"

He had explicitly ordered Gerald not to disclose his location or what had happened.

"What?"

Camilla looped her arms around his neck, her clear eyes narrowing with playful indignation.

Sinclair’s eyes darkened slightly, his voice softening.

"Of course not."

He longed to rge her into his very bones, to be with her every single mont—how could he ever not want to see her?

"It’s just—"

Before he could finish, soft crimson lips sealed his words.

The sweet fragrance of her breath, mingled with the warmth of her love, surged over him like a tide.

Damn near lethal.

A flicker of resignation flashed through Sinclair’s narrowed, obsidian-dark eyes before they deepened into sothing far more dangerous.

His hand cradled the back of Camilla’s head as he seized control of the kiss, his lips dominating hers with ruthless possession, claiming every inch of her mouth.

The lingering unease from his nightmare gradually stilled, soothed by the heat between them.

A love that ran bone-deep filled their souls, binding them together.

"Madam, the prisoners have confessed—"

Gerald froze mid-sentence as he took in the scene before him, his entire body stiffening in horror.

Oh no.

He was so dead.