Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire Chapter 442: Treating Stephen’s legs

"Mr. ga,"

Camilla pressed her fingers against the pale, atrophied muscles of Stephen’s calf, which showed no sign of vitality.

"Can you feel anything here?"

A bitter smile tugged at Stephen’s lips as he shook his head.

"It hurt for a while after the accident, but before long, I lost all sensation."

Most of the ti, it felt as though these legs didn’t even belong to him.

Camilla nodded, her expression unchanging.

Just as her fair hand was about to move further up Stephen’s leg, a large, well-defined hand intercepted hers.

Sinclair gazed at Camilla, his handso features calm yet unyielding.

"I have experience. Let handle this."

Experience?

Camilla narrowed her eyes, a realization dawning on her instantly.

The "experience" he was referring to—could it be those people whose legs he’d broken in the basent?

If that counted, then yes, he was certainly... well-versed.

She pursed her lips, a trace of resigned amusent flickering in her eyes.

Stephen remained silent, though the curve of his smile deepened slightly.

"Mrs. Luther, let Mr. Luther handled it."

Of course, even a man like Sinclair would feel awkward touching another man’s leg.

But if he refused any longer, the entire courtyard might drown in vinegar.

"Alright."

Camilla had already intended to agree.

Seeing that Stephen, the person directly involved, didn’t mind, she consented even more readily.

"Sweetheart, press firmly here—"

Before the words fully left her mouth, she quickly corrected herself.

"No, I an, just a little pressure."

Stephen’s bones were fragile, and she worried sweetheart, might accidentally snap them with too much force.

"Got it."

Sinclair’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t hesitate. His slender fingers pressed down precisely where Camilla had indicated.

"How does that feel, President ga?"

Stephen glanced at the spot where Sinclair was pressing, then slowly shook his head again.

Camilla frowned slightly but said nothing, continuing to direct her husband to examine the tendons and bones in Stephen’s legs.

Sinclair complied without protest, his dark eyes lowered, their depths unreadable.

*If I hadn’t co, would Camilla have examined him herself?*

"Sweetheart," Camilla’s voice broke the silence.

"That’s enough."

Sinclair withdrew his hands calmly, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping them ticulously, one finger at a ti, without the slightest hesitation.

Stephen watched, his pale lips curling in a faint, humorless smile.

Camilla remained silent, her gaze fixed on Stephen’s legs, her brow furrowing slightly.

Noticing her expression, Stephen pressed his lips together, a fleeting shadow of disappointnt passing through his dark eyes.

"I’ve long prepared for the worst regarding these legs," he said evenly.

"You can speak plainly, Mrs. Luther."

After a brief pause, Camilla t his gaze and spoke slowly.

"The situation... isn’t very promising."

As expected, this was the outco.

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of Stephen’s lips, though his expression remained unsurprised.

Sinclair opened his mouth to speak, but Camilla’s voice cut in before he could utter a word.

"I’ll do everything in my power to help President ga walk again," she said, carefully selecting needles from her silver acupuncture case.

"Though I can’t guarantee there won’t be any lingering effects, or whether his gait will fully return to normal."

Her casual tone struck Stephen like a thunderbolt.

His dark pupils trembled slightly as he stared at her in disbelief.

"Mrs. Luther," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "what did you just say?"

His usually calm and composed voice had grown hoarse, strained by so unnaable emotion.

"Mrs. Luther,"

Stephen gripped the armrests tightly, as if afraid she hadn’t heard him, and repeated his question with a strained voice.

"Did you just say... I could stand up?"

His tone was hoarse and uneven, his breathing ragged—clear signs of barely contained excitent.

Beside him, Sinclair sat calmly, sipping his tea without so much as a flicker of reaction.

"Yes,"

Camilla t Stephen’s gaze, her delicate, porcelain-like face expressionless yet radiating solemnity.

"When it cos to dicine, I never exaggerate."

Stephen clenched the wheelchair’s armrests even tighter, steadying his breath, his knuckles whitening from the force.

"Good... I’ll leave it to you, then."

"I’ll begin acupuncture now.

But before that," Camilla studied him for a mont.

"Please call soone in to assist."

Without questioning her intentions, Stephen gave a slight nod and tapped twice on a touchscreen embedded in his wheelchair.

The touchscreen vibrated twice before falling silent again.

Huh.

Even wheelchairs are getting high-tech these days.

Camilla watched with wide-eyed fascination.

City folks sure know how to have fun.

Noticing her reaction, Sinclair narrowed his eyes slightly, the corners of his lips curling into an almost imperceptible smirk.

The butler who had earlier escorted Sinclair and Camilla hurried into the room.

"Sir—"

Stephen gave a slight nod, then turned his gaze to Camilla.

"Follow Mrs. Luther’s instructions."

The butler froze for a mont before realization seed to dawn on him. His eyes lit up as he looked at Camilla.

Could it be... that there’s hope for our boss’s legs?

Ignoring the butler’s barely contained excitent, Camilla spoke thodically.

"I’ll be administering acupuncture.

Stand by Mr. ga’s side and make sure he doesn’t move around."

Move around?

Stephen couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

Even if his legs had any sensation left to feel pain—which they didn’t—he wouldn’t have flinched.

Did they think he was so unruly child who couldn’t sit still?

Ridiculous. Noticing Stephen’s expression, Sinclair’s lips curved slightly deeper.

Soon enough, he’d understand why Camilla was doing this. Acupuncture?!

The butler realized his guess had been right, his excitent barely contained as he nodded repeatedly.

"Yes, yes..."

The butler hurried to Stephen’s side, positioning himself close enough to steady the man if needed.

"Mr. ga, I’m about to begin."

Stephen gave a tight nod, his pressed lips betraying his tension.

Camilla located the precise pressure point with practiced ease, sliding the silver needle in with a deft twist of her fingers.

The butler swallowed hard, struggling to suppress his exhilaration. "Sir... do you feel anything?"

"No," Stephen shook his head weakly. Camilla seed oblivious to their exchange—or perhaps she simply didn’t care.

Her focus remained unbroken as she located the second acupoint, then the third... all the way to the thirteenth.

The mont the thirteenth silver needle pierced his skin, Stephen’s body convulsed violently.

His pupils contracted sharply as an excruciating pain erupted from every point where the needles had been inserted.

It was as though invisible blades were thodically flaying his flesh, or as if countless needles were coursing wildly through his veins.

The agony spread like an inescapable net, ensnaring his entire being in a relentless grip.

Painful—yet undeniably real.

For the first ti in years, he could *feel* his legs.

Camilla spared him only a brief glance before turning her attention to his other leg.

The tornt intensified, pushing past the threshold of endurance.

Stephen’s face drained of color. His knuckles whitened as his hands clenched the wheelchair arms, tendons standing out in stark relief.

His fra trembled uncontrollably.

The butler rushed to steady him, his eyes alight with astonished hope as he took in the forest of needles lining Stephen’s legs.

"Sir, your legs—!"

Stephen managed nothing more than a terse, gritted nod. Words were beyond him now.

Every shred of willpower was devoted to enduring the firestorm in his limbs.