Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire
Chapter 409: I may not be physical fit like Sinclair but I can hold a bowl.

Chapter 409: I may not be physical fit like Sinclair but I can hold a bowl.

Time flew by in the blink of an eye.

When Camilla opened her eyes again, dusk had already settled in.

Her phone showed several missed calls—all from Calvin’s number.

Knowing these were actually from Fanny, she immediately called back.

"Fanny?"

"It’s me," Tiffany replied in a hushed voice, laced with unmistakable amusement.

"Tsk tsk, just how exhausted were you to sleep this late?

Mr. Luther truly lives up to his reputation—his stamina is something else."

Camilla: "..." Not just something else—it was downright overwhelming.

Rubbing her sore lower back, she had no comeback for her friend’s teasing.

That man looked all cold and restrained on the surface, yet when it came to *that*, he was wilder than anyone.

Absolutely... infuriating.

But he was still her husband, after all.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything too harsh.

Hearing the silence on the other end, Tiffany knew she’d hit the mark and laughed openly over the phone.

A mischievous glint flashed in Camilla’s eyes as she sweetly cut off her friend’s laughter.

"Comrade Tiffany, is Calvin with you right now?"

"Calvin?"

Tiffany answered without hesitation.

"Yeah, he’s here.

Do you want to talk to him?

I’ll pass him the phone."

"I’m not looking for him," Camilla’s eyes crinkled with amusement as she spoke slowly, her gentle voice laced with playful meaning.

"As your good friend, I feel obliged to kindly remind you—no man likes hearing his girlfriend praise another guy’s physical fitness.

It’s no different from complimenting another man’s prowess right in front of him."

Having a jealous partner at home, she knew this all too well.

"No way?"

Tiffany instinctively glanced at Calvin, only to meet the man’s dark, teasing gaze.

The smile on her lips froze instantly. Oh, it definitely was a thing.

Smiles don’t disappear—they just transfer.

Hearing the silence on the other end of the line, Camilla’s lips curled in amusement, her tone light and unapologetic.

"Are you two back in San Francisco yet?"

"...Yeah, we are," Tiffany guiltily averted her gaze.

"I called specifically to tell you about this."

A deeper smile played at Camilla’s lips as she effortlessly completed the unspoken thought.

"But you got so caught up teasing me that you forgot?"

Knowing she was no match for her quick-witted friend, Tiffany chose to ignore the remark entirely.

"Alright, alright, I’m done talking to you.

I’ll be recovering in San Francisco—don’t forget to bring me back a gift!"

With that, she promptly ended the call.

If she couldn’t win the argument, retreat was always an option.

"She hung up?"

"Yeah," Tiffany nodded, stealing a glance at the man’s strikingly handsome, almost ethereal face.

Detecting nothing unusual in his expression, she exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

So that earlier look must have been her imagination after all.

Not every man was as petty as the infamous Mr. Luther.

"It’s just the right temperature now."

Holding a bowl of carefully warmed bird’s nest soup with red dates and peach gum, Calvin settled beside Tiffany.

Gently, he brought the spoon to her lips.

Although they had officially become a couple, Tiffany still felt a bit awkward—or perhaps shy—about such intimate gestures.

Her cheeks tinged pink as she reached out to take the bowl from Calvin.

"I can manage on my own," she said.

"You’ve got an injury.

Stay still," Calvin replied, deftly avoiding her hand.

With a gentle press of the spoon against her lips, he fed her, his peach-blossom eyes brimming with amusement as they locked onto hers.

"I may not be as physically fit as Sinclair," he murmured, "but I can certainly hold a bowl."

The irony struck instantly. Tiffany: "..." She immediately retracted her earlier words. "Calvin, I was wrong."

Whatever the case, swallowing her pride over something trivial couldn’t hurt. Calvin arched an eyebrow but didn’t pause in feeding her.

"Oh?

And what exactly were you wrong about?"

Recalling her friend’s advice, Tiffany answered without hesitation.

"I shouldn’t have praised Mr. Luther’s physique right in front of you."

Calvin’s lips curved into a smile, though his expression and tone remained largely unchanged.

"Sinclair is indeed in great shape. You weren’t wrong about that."

Men could be so hard to appease when they get jealous.

Tiffany inwardly sighed, but her hand instinctively reached out to clutch Calvin’s sleeve.

"I was really wrong," she said, her delicate face etched with earnestness.

"No matter how fit Mr. Luther is, he could never compare to you.

Not just him—in my heart, no one comes close to you.

You’re the best."

To emphasize her sincerity, she tacked on two more words.

"Seriously."

If apologies didn’t work, maybe flattery would.

Right now, Tiffany was solely focused on smoothing things over with her boyfriend, completely forgetting the deeper implications behind the phrase "great shape" in this context.

Calvin’s hand stilled.

Watching Tiffany’s exaggerated display of seriousness, the smile at the corner of his lips deepened.

"Is that really what you think, Fanny?" Hadn’t she been sincere enough? Tiffany nodded vigorously.

"Of course."

"I thought my performance last time might have disappointed Fanny."

A lazy smile spread across Calvin’s lips, reaching his captivating peach-blossom eyes that shimmered like blooming flowers in spring—radiant and utterly mesmerizing.

"If that’s not the case, then I’m relieved."

Dazzled by his striking beauty, Tiffany nodded absentmindedly, completely missing the implication behind his words.

"As long as you’re not upset."

Only later did the realization hit her—what she had just said, and how Calvin must have interpreted it.

Her entire body burned with embarrassment, wishing she could vanish into the ground right then and there.

That wasn’t what she meant at all—someone, please save her!!

—— Meanwhile.

After Tiffany hung up, Camilla checked the time.

Perfect—she could still make it for dinner with Vicente and ask about Grandpa’s whereabouts.

But first, she needed to get Vicente’s number from Ramsey.

She pulled up Ramsey’s contact, finger hovering over the call button—then paused.

Same old dilemma—married to a jealous man.

To avoid unnecessary complications, she immediately changed course and called her husband instead.

At that moment, in the solemn, cavernous conference room, a strikingly handsome man with an impassive expression sat composed at the head of the table.

Flanking him were Stephen and several E-country delegates.

Though technically the guests, the E-country representatives carried themselves like hosts— yet no one batted an eye.

Two middle-aged men from E-country took turns voicing their demands in their native tongue, while an interpreter translated in real time.

The others studied Sinclair’s expression, probing for his limits.

Of course, this was a classic negotiation tactic.

But his face remained an unreadable mask from start to finish, leaving them utterly baffled.

*This American guy... why isn’t he playing by the rules?*

The two E-country speakers frowned deeper, their frustration mounting, until they finally shot Stephen a pleading look.

Stephen understood all too well.

On the surface, it seemed like they were testing Sinclair’s boundaries— but in reality, the opposite was true.

With a faint, wry twist of his pale lips, he gave them a look that said, *Don’t count on me.*

Seeing that Stephen showed no intention of intervening, the two men had no choice but to lay all their cards on the table directly.

"Mr. Luther, what do you think?"

The others turned their attention to Sinclair as well.

If this American man agreed, it would prove he knew nothing about the E-country market.

They could easily band together to squeeze his profits down to the bare minimum.

Stephen observed their expressions with quiet amusement, his lowered eyes glinting with faint interest.

If these people knew the man before them was the legendary Sinclair, they wouldn’t dare utter a word—let alone try to pull tricks like this.

Just then, the phone on the head of the table buzzed abruptly.

Spotting the caller ID, Sinclair’s lips curved into an almost imperceptible smile.

"Excuse me, my wife is calling."