Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire
Chapter 331: Camilla is awake

Chapter 331: Camilla is awake

Luther Family Manor.

Though Camilla remained unconscious, her rest was far from peaceful.

Her body alternated between burning fever and icy chills.

"Sweetheart, I’m so hot..."

"Sweetheart, I’m freezing..."

Her delirious murmurs tore at Sinclair’s heart, each word like a knife twisting in his chest.

But Iris had been clear—these were unavoidable aftereffects of the parasite transfer.

There was no remedy, no shortcut.

With a damp towel in hand, Sinclair patiently wiped her sweat-drenched skin, his movements gentle yet relentless.

His dark eyes held nothing but tenderness, devoid of even a trace of desire.

When the chills seized her, he shed his own clothes and gathered her close, letting his body warmth seep into her trembling form.

Seven or eight exhausting hours later, as noon sunlight filtered through the curtains, Camilla finally stirred.

Her lashes fluttered open—only to meet the abyssal darkness of Sinclair’s gaze.

Those obsidian eyes, deep enough to drown in, fixed on her with an intensity that threatened to swallow her whole.

"Sweetheart—"

Camilla spoke slowly, her voice hoarse and brittle, a far cry from its usual sweetness.

"We did it, didn’t we?"

"Yes."

Sinclair reached out, gently stroking her hair with a tenderness that spoke of deep care.

"We did."

His voice, usually sharp and cold, softened to its warmest note.

"Are you still feeling unwell anywhere, Camilla?"

"No."

She could feel the crisp cleanliness of her body, knowing he had taken meticulous care of her.

To reassure him, she added,

"Not at all."

"Camilla—"

Sinclair pulled her tightly into his arms, his dark eyes brimming with affection as they locked onto hers.

"Mmm."

Nestled against the broad expanse of his chest, Camilla inhaled his familiar, cool scent, the corners of her lips curling into a faint smile.

The complete absence of pain made her feel as if she’d been reborn.

"Camilla."

Sinclair’s arms tightened around Camilla, his voice deepening with emotion.

"I’m here, sweetheart."

Sensing his turmoil, Camilla wrapped her arms around him in return.

"It’s over now.

Everything’s alright."

Sinclair remained silent, holding her for what felt like an eternity before finally speaking in a low voice.

"You mean more to me than my own life.

Next time—"

Camilla’s beautiful eyes trembled, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

She quickly pressed her fingers against his lips to stop him.

"Sweetheart, we’ll be fine.

There won’t be a next time."

Even if there were, she would make the same choice without hesitation.

Sinclair gazed down at the woman in his arms, his dark eyes growing even more unfathomable.

Afraid he might continue, Camilla looped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

The tender warmth of her kiss finally eased the tension in his heart.

His hand cradled the back of her head as he deepened the kiss.

The wound over her heart had healed seamlessly, as if their souls had become one.

A tender affection flowed between them, wrapping them in their own private world.

Everything else faded into the background—there was only each other.

Mindful of Camilla’s fragile condition, Sinclair restrained himself, holding her close without pushing further.

Half an hour later, they descended the stairs—or rather, Sinclair carried Camilla down in his arms.

When Grandpa Luther and Uncle Carlos caught sight of her, the tension in their shoulders visibly eased.

"Grandfather..."

Still cradled in Sinclair’s embrace, Camilla was gently settled onto the sofa.

Though weak, a faint flush had returned to her lips.

Sinclair sat beside her, his arm securely around her waist.

Leaning into his chest, she met the old man’s gaze.

"I’m sorry for making you worry."

She had kept it from him precisely to spare his health—only for him to find out anyway.

"You poor child, after suffering so much, you’re still thinking about this old man," Grandpa Luther’s voice was thick with emotion, his tone heavy with remorse.

"Camilla, this was all my fault and Sinclair’s.

Our Luther Family has wronged you."

If only he hadn’t been soft-hearted and allowed Michael into the ancestral home for the birthday celebration, none of this would have happened.

As for Sinclair, his mistake lay in not seeing through the deception.

Sinclair’s dark eyes glinted with icy resolve.

His grandfather was right.

"Grandfather," Camilla’s beautiful eyes softened, her entire demeanor radiating warmth and sincerity.

"Please don’t say that.

None of us had ill intentions—we just couldn’t foresee the malice of others."

She tightened her grip on Sinclair’s hand and continued, "The only one who should bear responsibility in this matter is the instigator."

And of course, that instigator was Michael.

Both generations of the Luther Family knew Camilla was trying to comfort them, their expressions equally somber.

Uncle Carlos, sensing the chill in the air, quickly interjected with a lighthearted laugh.

"Grandpa, Mr. Sinclair and his wife must be hungry by now.

Perhaps we should serve dinner first."

Grandpa Luther suddenly realized how long it had been since the young couple had eaten, his heart aching with concern for them.

"My fault entirely," he said immediately, slapping his forehead in self-reproach.

"Carlos, tell the kitchen to bring out all the prepared dishes at once."

The kitchen staff had been keeping everything warm in anticipation of their return.

Camilla had little appetite, but knew she needed to eat to keep up her strength.

At the dining table, Grandpa Luther kept piling food onto her plate with grandfatherly enthusiasm—only to have Sinclair calmly intercept each portion, transferring them to his own plate before eating them with deliberate slowness.

The only food Camilla ate came exclusively from Sinclair’s own Spoon.

His territorial possessiveness couldn’t have been more obvious.

Hiding a smile, Camilla kept her head bowed and obediently ate what was given to her, pretending not to notice the silent power play.

After all these years, she knew her husband all too well.

"That rascal!"

Grandpa Luther huffed, torn between exasperation and amusement.

Having just escaped danger, he couldn’t be bothered to talk about his grandson.

Because Camilla had awakened.

The long-suppressed atmosphere in the Luther Family estate finally began to ease.

After dinner, Sinclair carefully carried Camilla back to their room.

Sinclair even personally cut up some fruit for her, feeding her bite by bite with his own hands.

"Are Iris and Carrie Ann still resting?"

Camilla asked between accepting her husband’s attentive care.

Sinclair didn’t pause his movements, his tone indifferent.

"Carrie Ann was taken out by Aunt Naomi to play.

Iris and the others went to the Taylor family."

Apart from Camilla, he treated everyone with detached aloofness.

Camilla nodded in understanding.

Grandma. Porter had been invited by Taylor, and given their connection, it was only natural for Iris to visit the Taylor household.

"Sweetheart," Camilla said softly, nibbling on the fruit held in his slender, well-defined fingers.

"Don’t forget to send word to Calvin about the successful transfer of the poison worm."

Loyalty isn’t a bad thing, and he never imagined that Michael would manipulate his goodwill with ulterior motives.

Now that the poison worm had been successfully transferred, it was time to let go of that lingering guilt.

Hearing his wife mention another man, Sinclair’s handsome face darkened with displeasure.

"Mhm."

Camilla caught the faint whiff of jealousy in the air and immediately dropped the subject.

After obediently finishing her fruit, another thought crossed her mind.

"Sweetheart, Jonathan almost never comes here.

Why did he show up right when the poison transfer was happening?"

Her clear, piercing eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Does he know something?"

"Sweetheart, all you need to worry about right now is your own health," Sinclair murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his deep voice smooth as velvet.

"I’ll handle everything else."

Yet Camilla caught an undercurrent of something dark and ruthless beneath his words.

When she tilted her head up to study him, his expression had softened back into tenderness—as if that fleeting edge had been nothing but her imagination.

"Sweetheart," Sinclair murmured, his obsidian eyes tightening slightly as he noticed the exhaustion in her gaze.

"Close your eyes, and let me read you a story, alright?"

Camilla was indeed still weak, her eyelids heavy with drowsiness.

"Okay."

Sinclair casually picked up the book resting by her bedside, his deep, magnetic voice filling the room—impossibly soothing.

Lulled by that voice, Camilla soon drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Once she was soundly asleep, Sinclair set the book aside.

Calvin pressed a tender kiss to her rosy lips before quietly stepping out of the room.