Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire Chapter 426: Here to see Mr and Mrs. Luther

Inside the hospital room.

"Madam," Ramsey walked in carrying a thermal lunchbox.

Seeing that Camilla was awake, he visibly relaxed, letting out a long sigh of relief.

"You’re finally awake!"

"Yeah, just woke up," Camilla replied, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips as she noticed Ramsey’s relieved expression.

"You’ve got great timing."

She had barely opened her eyes when the food arrived.

"Timing?

Oh, you an this?"

Ramsey glanced at the strikingly handso man beside her, hesitated for a few seconds, then decided to be honest.

"President Luther ordered to bring fresh als every half hour.

Boss said if you woke up, you’d have sothing warm to eat right away."

Camilla turned her gaze toward the man next to her, her smile deepening.

"And what if I hadn’t woken up?"

Ramsey stole a cautious look at his boss before lowering his head and muttering under his breath.

"Just take a look at my stomach and you’ll understand."

Ramsey and his team had already eaten three full als.

If Mrs. Camilla didn’t wake up soon, they’d end up martyrs on duty—death by overeating.

Camilla couldn’t help but laugh at Ramsey’s expression, torn between frustration and restraint.

Her eyes crinkled with amusent, bright and lively.

"How outrageous!

This is downright capitalist exploitation," she teased her husband rcilessly, not holding back in the slightest.

"You’ve all worked hard!"

*Mr. Luther, you heard it with your own ears. Those were the lady’s words—nothing to do with !*

Ramsey nearly jumped at Camilla’s bold remark, imdiately shooting a glance in Sinclair’s direction, his eyes pleading innocence.

Camilla caught every flicker of Ramsey’s reaction, her smile deepening at the corners.

Perhaps it was the joy of knowing she was pregnant, but her mood was exceptionally light, making even the smallest things seem delightful.

Sinclair lifted his gaze lazily, giving Ramsey a brief, indifferent look before turning his attention back to Camilla.

His voice, though cool, carried unmistakable tenderness.

"It’s getting late.

Have sothing to eat first."

She hadn’t had a single bite since morning, and now that he ntioned it, Camilla realized she was quite hungry.

She nodded obediently.

"Alright."

Sinclair adjusted the pillow to the perfect curve behind Camilla’s back, then raised the bed tray to just the right height for her.

When you love soone, every little detail about them matters.

Ramsey, ever the perceptive assistant, quietly unlatched the multi-layered thermal container in his hands, carefully arranging each dish one by one.

Since everything had been freshly prepared, steam still curled invitingly from each plate, filling the air with mouthwatering aromas.

Camilla’s eyes lit up as she recognized all her favorite dishes, her lips curling into an irrepressible smile.

Sinclair rolled up his crisp shirt sleeves, first ladling out a bowl of soup before bringing the spoon to her lips, his deep-set eyes brimming with tenderness.

"Start with so soup to warm your stomach."

There was an innate nobility and quiet authority about this man that no position or circumstance could diminish.

Which was precisely why monts like these—when he set aside his usual deanor—felt so extraordinarily rare and tender.

Gazing at his handso features softened with affection, Camilla felt her heart swell with sweet contentnt as she sipped from the spoon he held.

Tsk tsk.

The sun hadn’t even set yet, but he was already shining bright enough to blind soone.

Ramsey, long accustod to such scenes, discreetly lowered his head to make himself invisible and began edging toward the exit on silent feet.

Just then, Camilla’s gaze suddenly flicked in his direction.

"By the way, Ramsey, has Sinclair eaten yet?"

Her tone was casual, as if she were rely making small talk.

"No."

"Yes."

Two voices answered simultaneously.

Shit!

Ramsey’s pupils constricted in alarm.

Before his words fully landed, he quickly pivoted to salvage the situation.

"...Or maybe he has?

I’m not sure.

You’d better ask President Luther yourself."

It wasn’t his fault.

Madam had caught him off guard—he hadn’t even had ti to glance at the boss for cues.

Sinclair: "..." It had been a while since he last checked on the business operations in Africa.

"Alright, I’ll ask him myself then."

Having achieved her goal, Camilla smiled and turned to the man beside her, her gaze lingering on his coldly aristocratic features.

"Sweetheart, have you eaten?"

Sinclair scooped another spoonful of soup and brought it to Camilla’s lips, his expression calm and composed.

"I’m not hungry."

Sinclair had never been one to indulge in culinary pleasures.

Years of disciplined eating habits had dulled his sense of hunger.

So when he said he wasn’t hungry, he ant it.

"I know," Camilla replied, taking the bowl from his hands with a bright smile.

"But eating alone is boring.

I want you to keep company.

You wouldn’t say no to , would you, sweetheart?"

Sinclair’s deep-set eyes fixed on her with unwavering focus, the corners of his lips curling into an indulgent smile.

Of course he wouldn’t refuse. Sinclair could never deny Camilla anything.

"Alright."

Under her expectant gaze, he picked up his

utensils and began eating at a leisurely pace.

Naturally, most of his attention remained on her throughout the al.

So people brought happiness just by being near.

Neither spoke, yet the air between them was warm and sweet.

At that mont, in the hospital corridor outside the ward.

Ramsey let out a sigh of relief.

Working under President Luther and his wife was making him feel more and more like he was treading on thin ice.

Another day missing Luke.

anwhile, far away in San Francisco, Luke was leisurely sipping his coffee when he suddenly sneezed three tis in a row.

Who’s talking about him behind his back?

Definitely nothing good!

Ramsey turned to leave, but just then, the elevator doors behind him slid open.

A familiar voice rang out.

"Assistant Ramsey—"

That voice—Stephen?

Ramsey frowned deeply and turned to look.

The man speaking sat in a wheelchair, his amber eyes obscured behind fraless silver glasses.

His pale, handso face wore a composed and gentle smile, though it carried little warmth.

Just as expected.

Ramsey was inwardly startled, but his expression remained perfectly composed.

"President ga, what brings you here?"

"Just an old leg injury acting up," replied Stephen as he was wheeled closer, his deanor gentle.

"Coincidentally noticed President Luther and his wife were also here, so I thought I’d say hello."

What a coincidence?

Ramsey doubted it but maintained a perfectly polite smile.

"I see," he said, narrowing his eyes slightly, his tone impeccably courteous.

"Please wait a mont.

I’ll inform President Luther right away."

Stephen’s pale lips faintly curved.

"Much obliged."

Ramsey gave a slight nod before turning and striding toward the hospital room door, where he raised his hand to knock.

Stephen’s gaze followed Ramsey, lingering on the door.

This Mrs. Luther—he was quite intrigued by her.