Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire Chapter 366: Kill all of them

"Think carefully before answering—unless you want to die."

Luke’s warning cut through the tense silence as he eyed the trembling n slumped on the floor.

Their bodies shook violently, eyes darting between one another in silent desperation.

If they talked, their families would pay the price.

If they stayed silent, they had no idea what horrors awaited them.

Ti crawled, each second stretching into an agonizing eternity.

Sinclair sat motionless, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, his gaze as frigid as winter steel.

The sheer dominance radiating from him pressed down on the room like an invisible weight, suffocating the air itself.

"My patience is running thin."

His voice was low, edged with a chilling indifference as he narrowed his eyes.

"Since they won’t talk, kill them all."

"Yes, sir."

Luke nodded, turning his attention to the remaining n.

To his surprise, the n didn’t cower in fear.

Instead, relief flickered across their faces—as if death were the only rcy left to them.

They had already prepared themselves for death when they were captured.

But the brutal death of their comrade monts ago had shaken them to the core.

Now, all they wished for was a quick and painless end.

Yet their fleeting expressions of relief froze in an instant.

Hah.

Too soon to celebrate.

Luke cast a pitying glance at the n but didn’t act imdiately. Instead, he turned to Sinclair and asked, "Mr. Luther, should we deal with their families as well?"

"I said," Sinclair replied, his strikingly handso face twisting into an inscrutable, icy smile, "kill them all."

Families?

The mont Luke spoke, the n’s faces drained of color.

"W-what families? What the hell are you talking about?!"

"How could you possibly have my family?!"

"I don’t believe it!!"

"So," Sinclair’s thin lips curled into a smirk, his pitch-black eyes brimming with rciless frost.

"You really think keeping silent will save them?"

The n gulped, a bone-chilling dread seeping from the depths of their souls, spreading through every limb.

"N-no way," one stamred, voice trembling. "You’re bluffing."

"Y-yeah," another chid in weakly.

Their families had long been relocated overseas by their employer—there was no way Sinclair could’ve tracked them down so quickly.

Sinclair took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a languid curl.

His sharply defined features blurred behind the haze, rendering him eerily unreadable.

"Let them say their goodbyes."

His voice was crisp, devoid of inflection or warmth, yet it carried the faintest whisper of a ruler’s condescending rcy.

"Yes, sir."

Luke cast a glance at the n before moving to the computer.

With a few keystrokes, the projector across from them flickered to life, splitting into multiple screens.

The n’s eyes bulged in horror as the faces of their loved ones materialized before them.

There were elderly people, young won, and small children.

They were all going about their daily routines—attending school, shopping, or visiting hospitals—as if nothing were amiss.

But the n slumped on the floor, their faces magnified by the cara’s deliberate focus, could see the sniper rifles trained on their loved ones.

It was clear: with just one word from Sinclair, everyone on that screen would be dead in an instant.

Despair washed over the n as their resolve crumbled.

A middle-aged man was the first to break.

The man scrambled forward on his knees, kowtowing frantically before Sinclair.

"Mr. Luther, my son is still a minor—just a student!

Sinclair knows nothing about this! Please, I beg you, spare him!"

His plea set off a chain reaction.

The others followed suit, pressing their foreheads to the floor in desperate supplication.

"Mr. Luther, my parents are innocent! Have rcy, I’m begging you—"

"Mr. Luther—"

The dull thuds of their kowtows filled the room in a relentless rhythm.

Sinclair lounged against the sofa, his posture relaxed yet exuding an icy indifference.

Sinclair remained utterly unmoved.

"I didn’t ask for useless begging."

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice slow and deliberate.

"Their lives are in *your* hands."

Those few words carried a chilling clarity.

The last shreds of the n’s resistance shattered.

"Listen,"

One of the middle-aged n, unable to bear the sight of his parents, wife, and daughter on the monitor any longer, was the first to break the silence.

His voice trembled with desperation.

"Mr. Luther, I’ll tell you everything—just please, spare my family."

Seeing his plea, the others quickly followed suit, their lips quivering as they murmured in shaky voices.

"Mr. Luther, I’ll talk too.

I beg you, have rcy on my son."

"Mr. Luther..."

Their faces were gaunt, eyes hollow with fear and despair.

Luke observed the scene, unsurprised by their surrender.

A man may not always have the armor to protect himself, but he will always have a weakness—sothing he cherishes above all else.

These n had refused to speak, even under the threat of death, only because their families were being held hostage by those pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Now that Mr. Luther had taken control of their loved ones, the power was entirely in his hands.

There was no chance they’d stay silent.

"The leverage is mine,"

Sinclair’s gaze was icy as he looked down at the n, his expression one of ruthless indifference—like a sovereign who saw them as nothing more than insects beneath his feet.

"You don’t get to negotiate."

A smirk curled his lips as he spoke slowly, word by word.

"Take them down separately for interrogation.

If any of them dares to lie—they’ll face the consequences."

The last four words carried a chilling sharpness that sent shivers down the spine.

Separate interrogations—this was a test of human nature.

Luke gave a firm nod.

"Yes, sir!"

Sinclair rose and strode out, his strikingly handso face etched with frost, his dark eyes glinting with an icy, calculating gleam.

Inside the study, Ramsey was already waiting at the computer.

"President Luther—"

Ramsey stood up.

"Hmm."

Sinclair’s voice was icy, barely more than a whisper.

"Everything ready?"

"Yes."

Ramsey dipped his head in confirmation.

"President ga is already waiting."

Sinclair remained silent, his well-defined fingers tapping lightly on the mouse.

The video call connected almost instantly.

A young man in a wheelchair appeared on the screen.

His features bore so resemblance to Antonio ga’s, but his complexion carried the pallor of prolonged illness, starkly contrasting with the dark dress shirt he wore.

His thin lips curved into a faint, perpetual smirk, yet it did little to soften the quiet but unmistakable air of authority around him.

Stephen ga.

The illegitimate son of the previous head of the ga family.

Of course, thanks to Stephen’s thods, no one in Country E dared to ntion that fact carelessly anymore.

Had it not been for the car accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down, such a man would have shone even brighter.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

If one wanted to take down Antonio ga—or even the entire ga family—Stephen ga was the perfect ally.

As Sinclair studied Stephen, the latter was also assessing the man on the other end of the screen—the so-called uncrowned king of Arica business world.

His tall, lean fra lounged casually in the chair, one long leg crossed over the other.

With striking, refined features and an aura of aristocratic depth, he exuded effortless command.

A single glance was enough to command involuntary admiration.

"President Luther, I’ve long heard of your reputation."

Stephen spoke first, his eyes narrowing slightly behind silver-rimd glasses.

"The pleasure is mine."

Sinclair’s lips curved into a faint smile, his dark eyes unfathomably deep, revealing nothing.

"I assu you know why I reached out to you."

His voice was calm and asured, yet impossible to ignore.

"Of course."

For the first ti, Stephen felt the weight of soone else’s presence overshadowing his own.

Sinclair lowered his gaze and took a sip from the teacup beside him, the pale, slender back of his hand traced with faint blue veins.

"As per your instructions, I’ve already dispatched people to investigate.

We should have results soon, barring any unforeseen delays."