Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire
Chapter 386: You can’t kill him

Chapter 386: You can’t kill him

Sinclair remained motionless, allowing Camilla to hold his hand.

His dark eyes bore into hers with an unwavering intensity.

"Sweetheart," Camilla’s crimson lips parted slightly, her voice soft yet cool, carrying a quiet firmness.

"You can’t kill him."

Everyone present—Ramsey, Luke, and the rest—couldn’t hide their shock.

Jonathan, who had already resigned himself to death, strained to lift his head at her words.

The lifeless despair in his eyes flickered, quickly igniting into a glimmer of hope.

As long as he lived, there was still a chance.

Sinclair’s rain-soaked lashes trembled slightly.

His obsidian eyes, fixed on Camilla, darkened like an unfathomable abyss.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable.

"Camilla...are you asking me to let him go?"

Camilla met his gaze steadily, her own eyes locked onto his stormy ones.

"If I am...would you agree?"

Jonathan clenched his teeth against the pain, waiting with bated breath for Sinclair’s answer.

Whether there remained a sliver of hope hinged entirely on this one sentence.

Sinclair gazed at Camilla for a long moment before his thin lips parted.

"Yes," he said, feeling the warmth of her hand covering his own.

Struggling to suppress the violent impulses surging through his veins, he slowly lowered the gun.

"I told you—anything you want, I’ll agree to it."

Not like he could refuse her anyway, could he?

As the barrel no longer pressed against his skull, the terror of imminent death began to fade.

Jonathan collapsed like a sack of bones, slumping back onto the floor.

But just then, Camilla’s cool voice cut through the silence once more.

"Sweetheart, the reason I stopped you isn’t because he deserves mercy," she said, tightening her grip on Sinclair’s hand as she leaned closer.

"It’s because someone this vile isn’t worth staining your hands."

Her voice softened, almost tender.

"Let me handle him.

Please?"

Jonathan’s body twitched before freezing completely, as though he had turned to stone.

Nothing was more agonizing than hope being ripped away.

And he had endured it again and again—until his mind shattered completely.

A mouthful of crimson blood gushed from his lips.

Sinclair paused for a moment before instantly grasping Camilla’s implication.

A faint smile curled at the corners of his lips.

That smile, juxtaposed against the icy darkness in his obsidian eyes, took on an unsettlingly mesmerizing and almost deranged quality.

"Fine."

Having received Sinclair’s approval, Camilla took two deliberate steps forward and crouched down in front of Jonathan.

"Camilla, you and Sinclair are both vile—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Camilla forcefully dislocated his jaw and shoved a pill into his mouth.

"Someone, nail him in a kneeling position before the grave."

This man didn’t deserve to share the same bloodline as sweetheart or Grandpa Luther.

She would make sure he bled out, dying in utter despair and agony.

Nailed to the ground in a kneeling position?

Ramsey and Luke had followed Sinclair for years and had witnessed their fair share of brutal punishments.

Yet even they froze for a moment upon hearing this.

Jonathan, the man at the center of it all, widened his eyes to the point they might burst, his mouth gaping soundlessly.

Sheer, overwhelming terror drowned him completely.

"Yes, sir."

"Understood!"

Snapping back to attention, Ramsey and Luke immediately strode toward Jonathan.

They hauled him up from the ground, forced him into a kneeling posture, and retrieved the necessary tools from the car.

Only then did Jonathan regain his senses—his entire body trembling like a leaf in a storm.

Sinclair merely watched with detached indifference, his dark, narrowed eyes as calm as still water.

As if the scene unfolding before him, the life about to be extinguished, held no connection to him whatsoever.

The mercenaries moved with practiced efficiency.

A long nail was driven straight through the sole of Jonathan’s foot, pinning him to the ground.

"Ahhhhh!!!"

Jonathan’s senses were amplified to an excruciating degree after Camilla forced the pill down his throat.

The pain was unbearable, his eyes bloodshot as he let out a guttural, bone-chilling scream.

"Camilla, you heartless, vicious woman!

You and Sinclair are both soulless monsters!"

His voice was hoarse, his face twisted with hatred like a demon teetering on the edge of hell.

Calvin spat the words through clenched teeth, each syllable dripping with venom.

"I won’t let you go—not even if I become a ghost!

I’ll haunt you forever—!"

"Good.

I’ll be waiting," Camilla replied, her lips curling into a faint, chilling smile as she looked down at him, a broken man writhing in agony.

"Just make sure you don’t mistake someone else for me."

After all, the living were far more terrifying than the dead.

If she didn’t fear him alive, why would she care about him dead?

Jonathan was on the verge of collapse, his ravings meaningless to Camilla.

But Sinclair’s expression darkened.

Insults against him were one thing—but cursing Camilla?

His thin lips parted slightly, his icy gaze swirling with barely restrained violence.

"Sew his mouth shut."

"Understood," Luke immediately stepped forward with a nod, yanking a glove to gag Jonathan’s mouth before swiftly proceeding with his task.

"Mmph... mmph—!"

Jonathan’s eyes bulged with fury, veins nearly bursting from his temples as his crimson gaze burned with venomous hatred.

Yet Sinclair and Camilla remained utterly indifferent.

"Sweetheart," Camilla cast one final glance at Jonathan before slipping her hand into Sinclair’s larger, steady grasp.

"It’s a bit chilly.

Let’s head back."

"Alright," Sinclair held an umbrella in one hand while wrapping the other around Camilla, guiding her toward the car.

From beginning to end, he never spared Jonathan so much as a glance.

Straining his neck, Jonathan watched their retreating figures with frenzied desperation, his wounds bleeding faster as his agitation grew.

The rainwater pooling on the ground gradually darkened with streaks of crimson.

On the tombstone, the elegantly serene face of a woman gazed down at the scene with a gentle, radiant smile.

The bouquet laid before her scattered in the wind, petals drifting aimlessly into the rain.

Inside the car.

Camilla nestled quietly in Sinclair’s embrace, holding him tightly as if trying to warm him with her own body heat.

She had stopped Sinclair from killing Jonathan himself for two reasons.

First, she didn’t want the bloodthirsty impulses in his veins to take control and trigger a relapse of his condition.

Second, she couldn’t bear the thought of his hands being stained with his own father’s blood.

That would have been too cruel for Sinclair.

But if she did it instead—that was different.

Thankfully, she had made it in time.

At the thought, Camilla buried her face deeper into his chest and exhaled softly in relief.

Sensing her movement, Sinclair tightened his arms around her and pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head.

"I’m fine now. Don’t worry."

The sharp, ruthless glint in his dark, narrow eyes had completely softened into calm.

Camilla nodded slowly.

After a moment of silence, she spoke again, her voice gentle—both a promise and a comfort.

"Sweetheart, I’ll always be with you."

Sinclair’s lips curved into a faint smile, his voice low and husky with lingering tenderness.

"I know."

The warmth from the embrace seeped into his heart, slowly mending the fractured scars within.