Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire
Chapter 332: The End of Michael: "Throw him into the Spider’s Web."

Chapter 332: The End of Michael: "Throw him into the Spider’s Web."

The living room was silent as Sinclair descended the stairs with measured steps.

The warmth in his eyes had vanished the moment he left Camilla’s side, replaced by an icy ruthlessness that sharpened his striking features into something terrifying.

Ramsey and Luke, who had been waiting downstairs, immediately rose to their feet and bowed their heads in deference.

"President Luther—"

Sinclair didn’t acknowledge them.

Instead, he strode toward the elevator leading to the basement.

The man imprisoned down there wouldn’t live to see another day.

Exchanging a knowing glance, Ramsey and Luke fell into step behind him, flanking him on either side.

Deep within the basement, in a dimly lit cell, Micheal lay on a narrow cot, his face ashen, his hollow eyes brimming with despair.

Time had lost all meaning in this place. Michael had no idea how long he’d been trapped here.

Now, his only hope was that Camilla would fail in transferring the parasitic curse.

If he could die alongside Sinclair, he’d have no regrets.

Just as his thoughts spiraled into darkness, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from beyond the door.

Michael’s pupils trembled slightly.

The moment had come.

With a mechanical beep confirming the correct passcode, the heavy vault door slid open with a creak.

Michael narrowed his eyes against the dim light.

A tall, imposing figure stepped through the doorway, backlit by the faint glow from the corridor.

Shadows draped over his striking features, obscuring his expression—but those fathomless dark eyes were impossible to ignore.

Michael’s breath hitched.

His pupils dilated, then contracted sharply as he choked out a hoarse, disbelieving whisper: "Sinclair—"

Words failed him, swallowed by the tidal wave of emotion crashing through his chest. Sinclair halted.

His obsidian gaze bore down on Michael from above, swirling with something dark and dangerous.

"Everyone out," he commanded, his voice flat yet carrying the chill of an Arctic wind.

"Close the door."

The order, of course, was directed at Ramsey and Luke standing behind him.

"Yes."

The two men didn’t dare delay, immediately bowing their heads and retreating outside the door.

In the dimly lit room, Michael narrowed his eyes, staring fixedly at the man before him.

For a fleeting moment, it was as if he saw the salvation that had once pulled him out of the orphanage all those years ago.

But if it was salvation, why hadn’t it saved him completely?

"Sinclair, Camilla is only after your—"

Before he could finish, his words were cut off by the man’s hoarse, icy voice.

"You don’t deserve to say her name."

Sinclair grabbed Michael by the throat and yanked him off the bed.

In the next instant, he drove his knee hard into Michael’s abdomen.

A searing pain exploded through Michael’s body, as if his organs had been shattered.

"Sinclair—"

His voice was cut short.

Sinclair tightened his grip on Michael’s neck, his knuckles whitening as his fist smashed straight into Michael’s jaw.

"Guh—" Micheal’s face twisted grotesquely from the brutal punch, crimson blood spurting violently onto Sinclair’s sleeve.

Sinclair’s dark eyes narrowed dangerously, his movements not faltering for even a second—instead, they grew more savage.

Blow after blow.

Punch after punch.

Thud.

Thud. ...

Blood gushed from Micheal’s mouth in thick, frothy spurts, the metallic stench of it thickening the air.

His already hideous face was now completely unrecognizable, battered beyond repair.

The scene was nothing short of barbaric. Outside the door, Ramsey and Luke listened to the muffled sounds of violence, their expressions utterly indifferent.

After what Micheal had done to the CEO and his wife, they wouldn’t have batted an eye even if Sinclair had flayed him alive.

Time slipped by unnoticed—how long had passed, none could say.

Finally, Sinclair emerged from the dimly lit chamber.

"Boss—"

Ramsey and Luke immediately bowed their heads in deference.

"Hmm."

The man’s godlike features were partially obscured in shadow, but the blood staining his long, pale fingers stood out starkly against his skin.

Ramsey immediately handed over the prepared handkerchief without hesitation.

Sinclair accepted it with deliberate grace, meticulously wiping each bloodied finger with the unhurried precision of a concert pianist.

His movements carried an eerie elegance that belied the gruesome scene.

"Throw him into the Spider’s Web."

The Spider’s Web—Luther Corporation’s most sophisticated and brutal instrument of punishment.

Woven from filaments finer than hair yet sharper than surgical steel, the deceptively delicate mesh embodied calculated horror.

Once activated, the web would contract with glacial inevitability, methodically separating flesh from bone in a grotesque mosaic of carnage.

Even seasoned enforcers couldn’t suppress a shudder witnessing its work, which was precisely why it remained a seldom-used deterrent.

A glacial silence settled as Ramsey and Luke exchanged glances, their eyes hardening like frosted steel.

"Understood."

Sinclair tossed the bloodstained handkerchief onto the nearby table and strode out with his long legs.

The sound of leather shoes scraping against the concrete floor echoed unnervingly loud in the deathly silent basement.

"Ramsey,"

Luke called out, watching Sinclair’s figure disappear around the corner. Luke flashed an ingratiating smile.

"You’ve been by the boss’s side the longest and know the ropes better than anyone.

I’ll leave the matter of dumping that guy onto the dark web to you—I’ll go assist the boss with other business."

It was clear he wasn’t giving Ramsey any room to refuse.

Still grinning obsequiously, he hurried off before another word could be said.

"I’ll treat you to dinner another day!"

Ramsey: "..." That little bastard was getting slicker by the day.

Seemed like he needed to find an opportunity to teach him a proper lesson. ---

In the grand living room of the Luther Estate, Sinclair sat at the head of the table while Uncle Carlos took a seat to the side.

"Mr. Sinclair, what’s your plan?"

"Find excuses to move all suspicious personnel away from their posts," Sinclair said, his thin lips barely parting as he spoke.

His gaze was inscrutable, dark and calculating.

"Then search the rooms—one by one."

"Leave no stone unturned."

That was his ironclad principle.

Those with divided loyalties must be eliminated.

Uncle Carlos could tell Sinclair meant business this time, his expression turning grave in response.

"Understood.

You can count on me."

Luke’s eyes also reflected clear comprehension.

All electronic devices used by the Luther Family’s staff during working hours were issued by the household, each bearing unique identification numbers.

Every call and message fell under the surveillance of the Luther Family’s system.

Nothing could escape their watchful eyes if they chose to look.

These informants weren’t foolish enough to use their personal devices for external communications, making this thorough search absolutely necessary. ———

Meanwhile, in the western district villa.

Tiffany’s eyes fluttered open slowly.

She pressed her fingers against her temples.

Last night... she must have dreamed. About... Calvin?!

At the memory of her dream’s content, Tiffany bit her lower lip, the drowsiness in her eyes gradually dissipating.

Just then.

A man’s languid, deep voice sounded by her ear.