Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire Chapter 301: Calvin is Jealous

*Beep—beep—beep.*

The call ended abruptly with a busy tone, clearly disconnected by the other party.

Antonio’s brows knitted together slowly, his expression darkening.

Whoever could answer Tiffany’s phone while she was showering must be soone special.

It seed this woman had wasted no ti finding a rebound after breaking up with Arlo.

Just as heartless as Camilla.

Calvin averted his gaze and spoke in a asured tone.

"Jey."

"Yes, sir."

His assistant stepped forward imdiately, head slightly bowed.

"Mr. Calvin—"

Antonio toyed with his phone in his slender, pale fingers, his voice low and deliberate.

"Find out who the man around Tiffany is.

Now."

After all, the capital wasn’t his territory.

Calvin had to tread carefully.

"Yes, I’ll get right on it."

The assistant nodded before turning and exiting the room.

Antonio rose from his seat and walked to the window, lighting a cigarette between his lips.

The faint blue fla casts eerie shadows across his handso face, twisting his features into sothing cold and ruthless.

His gaze fixed on the city lights beyond the glass, eyes sharp and unyielding.

Whether it was control of the family empire—or Camilla—he *would* have them.

No matter the cost.

anwhile, in a villa on the west side of the city...

Tiffany stepped back into the living room, freshly showered.

Spotting Calvin working on the couch, she instinctively softened her footsteps and turned to leave, phone in hand.

"Fanny—"

Calvin’s eyes lifted from his laptop screen, locking onto her.

"Soone called earlier.

I accidentally picked it up."

"Oh, that’s fine,"

Tiffany replied with an easy shrug, unfazed.

"Another real estate pitch?"

She had no family to speak of, and apart from Camilla, hardly any friends.

Very few people even had her phone number, let alone called her.

Most of the ti, when her phone rang, it was either a salesperson or a scamr.

"No,"

Calvin replied coolly, his gaze steady on Tiffany.

"Calvin said his na is Antonio."

"Senior ga?"

Tiffany’s eyes widened in surprise, her delicate features lighting up with astonishnt.

"How did he get my number?"

She studied Calvin curiously.

"Did he say why he was looking for ?"

"No.

I told him you were..."

Calvin’s striking, almond-shaped eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of guilt vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

"...busy. So he hung up."

Calvin admitted that what he was doing was unethical.

But he didn’t regret it.

Tiffany, completely unsuspecting, nodded.

"Then I’ll call back and ask."

As she spoke, she found the number and dialed. Calvin lowered his head, his gaze returning to the computer screen.

But upon closer inspection, it was clear his attention wasn’t on his work at all.

—— anwhile, at the Luther Family Estate.

"Alright, I understand."

Sinclair hung up Camilla’s call and stubbed out his cigarette.

Earlier, he hadn’t wanted to reek of blood because he was supposed to pick up Camilla.

But since she still had things to do and didn’t need him to co, he’d have to find sothing else to occupy himself.

Sinclair stood and walked toward the interrogation room.

"What did you say?"

The bald foreigner sneered, blood continuously trickling from his nose and mouth, creating a grueso and pitiful sight.

"I told you, I know nothing.

You’ve got the wrong person.

Let us go now," he spat through gritted teeth. Luke frowned deeply.

This man had an unbreakable will.

Just as he was about to continue the interrogation, his peripheral vision caught the entrance of a tall, imposing figure.

Sinclair imdiately halted his movents.

"President Luther—"

Sinclair.

They had investigated this man before—ruthless in action, brutal in thods.

At the sight of Sinclair, the bald man’s earlier defiance toward Luke vanished instantly.

His lips pressed together in terror.

"Start from the bottom and break his bones, one inch at a ti,"

Sinclair commanded, his voice icy as he looked down at the man, a faint, chilling smile playing on his thin lips.

"Let’s see just how unbreakable he really is."

His godlike features were half-lit by the harsh overhead light, his dark eyes fathomless as an abyss.

Break his bones... one inch at a ti?!

The bald man’s pupils constricted violently before dilating in sheer horror, his blood running cold.

"No, no no no—"

In the heat of the mont, he didn’t even have ti to switch back to Arica.

The two n huddled in the corner were so terrified, their souls seed ready to flee their bodies.

"Yes, sir!"

The two rcenaries hauled the bald man up and strapped him onto the nearby iron bed.

Without hesitation, they raised their tools and brought them down hard on his foot bones.

"AAAAAAHHHH—"

"AAAAHHHH—"

A blood-curdling scream echoed through the basent.

"FUCK!!"

"Damn, I still have the energy to curse,

huh?"

Luke swore under his breath, casually picking up a stun baton and shoving it straight into the man’s mouth.

Go ahead, curse again.

See what happens.

The man’s eyes widened in sheer terror, his pupils dilating to their limits.

"Mmmph—!

Mmmph—!"

The slightest movent triggered the switch, sending a jolt of electricity surging through him.

His body convulsed violently, his mouth going completely numb.

Trapped in a living hell—unable to beg for rcy, unable to even scream—he could do nothing but endure the agony.

Desperate, the man turned pleading eyes toward Sinclair and Luke, clearly at his breaking point, desperate to say sothing.

"Mr. Luther—"

Luke glanced at Sinclair, awaiting his signal.

"Continue."

Sinclair’s thin lips parted slightly, his striking, almond-shaped eyes narrowing with a razor-sharp edge.

His voice was low and icy, each word dripping with frost, chilling to the bone.

Once a mouth was silenced, there was no need for it to open again.

**Bang!**

*Bang!*

The two rcenaries resud their work, reducing the man’s kneecaps to shattered fragnts.

Blood splattered in grotesque arcs, the scene horrifying in its brutality.

A faint smirk curled at the corners of Sinclair’s lips as he gazed down at the carnage with detached indifference.

The bright light overhead cast an almost ethereal glow on his flawlessly sculpted face—as if ticulously crafted by the gods themselves—yet it failed to lend him even a trace of warmth.

His entire presence exuded an aura so cold it bordered on inhuman.

In the corner, the two n had long since turned ashen with terror.

They were products of their organization, no strangers to bloodshed—hands stained with countless lives.

They prided themselves on having witnessed every form of savagery imaginable.

But the thods these Arican n employed...

They were so cruel, so rciless, that even hardened killers like them trembled in fear.

The two rcenaries worked swiftly, and soon the man lying on the bed ceased breathing entirely.

Sinclair held a cigar between his slender, well-defined fingers, bringing it to his lips with unhurried grace before lighting it.

His movents exuded an air of aristocratic refinent.

"Which one of you wants to go first?"

His narrow, ink-dark eyes lifted toward the corner, their depths inscrutable and chilling.

The long-haired man, his hair tied back, glanced at the bloodied figures sprawled across the iron bed and the floor.

His body trembled uncontrollably.

The others had family or other vulnerabilities the organization could exploit, which was why they gritted their teeth and refused to talk.

But he had no one.

His own survival was all that mattered. Everything else could wait.

"I’ll talk, I’ll talk!"

The long-haired man dropped to his knees and crawled toward Sinclair, desperation in his voice.

"Mr. Luther, I’ll tell you everything!"

The buzz-cut man beside him widened his eyes in shock.

"Ankes, how could you—"

*Bang!*

A bullet tore through him before he could finish.

"Speak,"

Sinclair exhaled a plu of smoke, his cold, authoritative gaze fixed on the long-haired man kneeling before him.

"Rember," he said, his voice laced with an icy command, "you only get one chance."

"Yes, yes—"

The man nodded frantically, his broken Arican stumbling out in a nervous rush.

Russia again.

Sinclair’s dark brows lifted slightly as he recalled the intel Vicente had ntioned earlier.

His long fingers tapped idly against the desk, a rhythmic, contemplative sound.

Seems like he’d have to make so moves sooner than planned. ——

In the western villa district, Tiffany hung up the phone and settled onto the couch beside Calvin.

"Calvin," she said, turning to him, "could I borrow a car tomorrow?

I need to go into the city."

The place was too remote—hailing a cab was impossible.

Calvin knew exactly why she wanted the car: to et that so-called Senior ga.

A flicker of displeasure darkened his eyes, and for a mont, he didn’t respond.

"Is it... not convenient?"

she pressed.