Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire
Chapter 365: Fear of Sinclair

Chapter 365: Fear of Sinclair

"President Luther,"

Ramsey spoke first at Luke’s prompting, breaking the silence in the study.

"Once the news is out, not just Jonathan—the other branches of the family won’t be able to sit still either."

"Exactly,"

Luke nodded solemnly. When that time came, the Luther Family would undoubtedly face unprecedented turmoil.

"What I want,"

Sinclair’s long, elegant fingers tapped rhythmically against the desk, his dark, narrow eyes narrowing further, their expression unreadable.

"is precisely for them to lose their composure."

A faint smirk curled his lips, yet his strikingly handsome face remained chillingly aloof.

"The more people are dragged into this whirlpool, the more interesting it becomes."

Ramsey and Luke exchanged a glance, their eyes flickering in unison as they instantly grasped their boss’s implication.

The Luther Family had too many hidden parasites.

Clearly, the president intended to use this opportunity to wipe them all out in one fell swoop.

But this—this went far beyond anything they had anticipated or imagined.

"Yes," Ramsey nodded respectfully.

"I’ll make the arrangements immediately."

"Hmm."

Sinclair turned his gaze toward Luke, his expression unreadable.

"Prepare the stock transfer documents. We’ll proceed tomorrow."

What?!

That single sentence left both Ramsey and Luke stunned.

"Transfer the shares... tomorrow?"

Were they talking about the remaining shares held by the chairman, or... Sinclair’s own?

"Mine."

Sinclair, clearly discerning their unspoken questions, idly twisted the obsidian ring on his finger before responding coolly.

"All of it." All of it?!

The weight behind those two words nearly made Ramsey and Luke’s knees buckle.

Is President Luther not using some tactical ploy, but genuinely planning to hand over the Luther Corporation to his wife?

This is practically turning the entire Luther Family upside down!

Ramsey swallowed hard before speaking cautiously.

"President Luther, shouldn’t we discuss such a major decision with Grandpa first—"

"No need."

Sinclair’s refined face showed no trace of emotion.

"Proceed as I’ve instructed."

His voice was flat, leaving no room for argument.

Grandpa would agree.

And even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t change a thing.

"Yes, sir."

"Understood—"

Seeing Sinclair’s unwavering tone, Ramsey and Luke didn’t dare say another word.

They nodded in unison and quietly withdrew.

Sinclair glanced at the time, then stood and made his way toward the kitchen.

"Mr. Sinclair, allow me."

Aunt Naomi tried to stop Sinclair.

"No need," Sinclair slowly rolled up his sleeves and began preparing his wife’s favorite dishes with practice ease.

Watching his tall figure that seemed so out of place in the kitchen, Aunt Naomi couldn’t help but sigh with emotion.

Before meeting the young madam, the young master would never have imagined he could reach this point.

If only the master and mistress back then had been this loving.

The bedroom door opened quietly.

Sinclair’s tall, imposing frame stepped inside with deliberately softened footsteps.

The sharp edges of his handsome features melted into something impossibly tender as his gaze settled on the figure in bed.

Having been awake all night, she opened her eyes the moment she heard movement, watching the man approach against the backlight.

"Sweetheart, it’s just me."

Sinclair walked to the bedside and turned on the soft, warm glow of the lamp.

"Don’t be afraid."

His refined features, cast in the gentle light, looked almost too perfect to be real.

Camilla sat up against the headboard, watching him in silence.

"Sweetheart,"

Sinclair arranged the dishes one by one in front of Camilla, then sat on the edge of the bed, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Eat something."

She hadn’t had a single bite all day, and exhaustion was written all over her face.

Sinclair noticed it all too well—his dark, narrow eyes brimming with tenderness and concern.

"Sinclair..."

Camilla shook her head weakly, pressing herself against his chest like a docile kitten.

"I can’t eat."

Not only could she not eat, but sleep eluded her too.

She had hoped to find some clues in her dreams, but despite her exhaustion, the rest wouldn’t come.

Holding her close, Sinclair felt his heart melt.

Sinclair stroked her back soothingly, his gaze soft and adoring as he looked down at her.

"Baby—"

Under his gentle coaxing, Camilla finally managed to eat a little.

Sinclair didn’t push her further. Instead, he carried her to freshen up, his touch ever tender.

Before long, the two lay in bed together.

Sinclair wrapped his arms tightly around Camilla from behind, his warmth seeping through their clothes.

"Just sleep, darling.

I’ve got you," he murmured. Camilla suddenly felt her eyes grow hot—this sense of security was something she had longed for.

Breathing in the rich, woody scent of agarwood that clung to him, she finally drifted into a light slumber.

Only when she had fallen deeply asleep did Sinclair press a soft kiss to the side of her ear before carefully rising and stepping out of the room.

"President Luther!"

"President Luther—"

The moment Sinclair stepped into the basement, all movement ceased.

Everyone froze in place, stepping aside to make way.

The men kneeling on the ground looked up at the strikingly handsome figure entering the room.

Their faces, once numb with pain, twisted into expressions of sheer terror.

Especially the two middle-aged men at the front.

Sinclair took a seat on the prepared sofa, crossing his long legs with effortless grace.

Between his slender, well-defined fingers, he held a cigar, bringing it to his lips.

A pale blue flame flickered from the lighter, igniting the cigar.

Sinclair took a deep drag, exhaling a slow stream of bluish-white smoke.

Every movement was smooth, almost mesmerizing—though no one dared to admire it in the current atmosphere.

"Bring them over."

"Yes, sir."

Luke signaled, and several mercenaries stepped forward.

The men on the floor were dragged like lifeless dogs and dumped at Sinclair’s feet.

His thin lips curved slightly as his dark, fathomless eyes swept over them with an air of chilling ruthlessness.

"Besides you, what other arrangements has Jonathan made?"

The men stared at Sinclair with swollen, bruised eyes, their throats constricted as if gripped by an invisible hand.

They wanted to speak but dared not utter a word.

The leader, a tall, gaunt middle-aged man, swallowed hard before tremblingly speaking up.

"Mr. Luther, we... we don’t know what you’re talking about.

It was Mike who sent us, not Jonathan."

This was the story they had agreed upon—one that would drag Mike into the mess while protecting their true boss.

Their lives and families were in the man’s hands; they had no choice.

Daring to lie straight to Sinclair’s face?

That was like holding up a lantern in the bathroom— Looking for death.

Luke’s lips curled into a cold smirk as he stared at the man, his gaze as icy as if he were already looking at a corpse.

"Is that so?"

Sinclair’s thin lips lifted slightly, but his eyes remained piercingly cold.

The man met those terrifyingly oppressive eyes and felt his stomach drop.

Whatever he had planned to say died in his throat, leaving him only able to nod weakly.

"Fine.

Then I’ll send you to see Mike in person."

With a low, humorless chuckle, Sinclair grabbed the black glass bottle beside him and smashed it down on the man’s head.

**Crack.**

A crisp shattering sound was followed by the pungent scent of gasoline flooding the air.

The other men recoiled in terror, their pupils contracting violently as they scrambled backward.

Gasoline?

What the hell was Sinclair planning?!

The man sprawled on the ground could only register blinding pain as warm, crimson blood gushed from his scalp, painting his face scarlet.

Sinclair lacked even the strength to wipe it away.

But Sinclair wasn’t done with him.

His slender, well-defined fingers produced a premium windproof lighter.

*Click.*

The mechanism slid smoothly, releasing a pale blue flame.

A cruel smirk curled at the corners of Sinclair’s lips as he loosened his grip. The lighter dropped.

**WHOOSH!**

Fueled by the gasoline, flames erupted instantly, engulfing the middle-aged man in a roaring inferno.

The remaining men collapsed in horror, scrambling frantically to the sides like terrified insects.

Burning someone alive with gasoline?!

Sinclair wasn’t just ruthless—he was a full-blown, deranged monster!

"Ahhhhhhhh——"

A blood-curdling scream tore from the man’s throat, piercing and shrill.

"Sinclair, you devil!

Even if I die today, I’ll drag you down with me!!"

The man thrashed wildly, summoning his last ounce of strength to lunge at Sinclair.

"Boss Luther, look out!!"

Luke and several nearby mercenaries were startled by the sudden attack, rushing toward Sinclair.

But their reactions were no match for his speed.

With an icy calm, Sinclair watched the charging man and delivered a brutal kick.

"Ah!!"

The force was tremendous.

The man, engulfed in flames, was sent flying like a ragdoll before crashing heavily to the ground with a sickening thud.

"Ahhh—ahhh—"

The agony of the flames and his injuries merged into torment beyond human endurance, leaving only screams to vent his suffering.

Sinclair writhed on the ground, his body twisting like a frenzied serpent of fire—a grotesque, horrifying sight.

Gradually, his struggles ceased. Frozen in a contorted pose—hands clawing the earth, legs bent unnaturally—he died where he lay.

The acrid stench of charred flesh thickened the air.

The remaining men stared at the charred corpse not far away, their already pallid faces turning even ghastlier.

They couldn’t begin to imagine what Sinclair would do to them next.

Sinclair settled back into his chair, his striking features as composed as ever, silhouetted against the light.

It was as though the man who had just died by his hand wasn’t a person at all—just an insignificant insect.

And of course, that was exactly how Sinclair saw it.

His sharp, icy gaze swept over the remaining men as his thin lips parted.

"And you?

Who sent you?"

The men trembled violently, but thoughts of their families—still under Jonathan’s control—kept their jaws clenched tight.

Fear and desperation warred in their minds, each second stretching into an eternity of torment.