Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 297: Miss Violet is here to see you Mr. Taylor

"Sinclair?"

Hearing only silence from the other end of the line, Melissa spoke again, her voice tentative and cautious.

"Did you hear what I said?"

Vicente smirked.

Adorably clueless, wasn’t she?

"Sinclair?"

The prolonged silence finally tipped her off.

Pulling the phone away, she realized the call had ended long ago.

"Vicente!!"

Her head snapped up, fiery eyes locking onto the culprit.

"You played me?"

"Obviously," Vicente’s ruggedly handsome face broke into an unapologetic grin.

"I did."

"Damn it, absolutely infuriating!!"

Melissa clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white, then dashed toward Vicente with fire in her eyes.

"Today, I’m gonna show you what a fist the size of a sandbag feels like!"

Vicente glanced at her tiny, unthreatening fist—barely bigger than his palm—and smirked even wider.

"Sure, if you can catch me first."

Vicente turned and strode forward.

His steps seemed unhurried, but he moved with surprising speed.

Melissa, dressed in sleek stilettos she rarely wore just for the sake of photos, stumbled awkwardly as she tried to keep up.

Vicente didn’t look back, but his peripheral vision never left her. Then, deliberately, he slowed his pace.

"Got you now! I’ll—ah!"

Her triumphant shout turned into a startled yelp as her ankle twisted, sending her tumbling sideways.

Before she could hit the ground, a strong arm wrapped firmly around her waist, steadying her in one smooth motion.

The comforting scent of masculinity enveloped Melissa completely.

She knew she wouldn’t fall now.

A deep, husky chuckle rumbled from the man’s throat, his breath warm against her ear. "Always so clumsy, aren’t you?"

His voice, rich and teasing, sent her heart racing—wild, erratic beats that threatened to burst from her chest.

A delicate flush crept across her fair cheeks.

Vicente’s gaze lingered on her flustered face, and for a moment, he was transported back to that day—the way she had clung to him, trembling and tearful.

His dark eyes darkened further, unreadable.

Snapping back to reality,

Melissa shoved him away in a fluster.

"I don’t need your help," she huffed, limping toward a nearby bench.

Vicente arched a brow but followed anyway.

"This is all your fault," she grumbled, sinking onto the seat and gingerly peeling off her shoe to inspect her swollen ankle.

Her porcelain skin flushed with frustration, lips pursed in a mix of annoyance and helplessness.

"There are so many sights left to see—what am I supposed to do now with a sprained ankle?"

Vicente’s gaze swept over Melissa’s slightly swollen ankle before he stepped forward and crouched down in front of her.

"Where do you want to go?

I’ll carry you."

Carry her?

That was undoubtedly the best solution right now.

Staring at the broad expanse of his back, Melissa felt her heart flutter.

But she resisted the urge to climb on immediately, instead lifting her chin with feigned haughtiness.

"Since when are you this nice?"

"Consider it an apology for earlier," Vicente replied, his deep voice laced with indulgence as he effortlessly read her tone.

"So?

Want a ride?

I’ll give you three seconds to decide.

Three—"

Before he could even finish counting, the soft warmth of her body pressed against his back, her fair, delicate arms looping around his neck.

"I’m just giving you a chance to make up for your mistakes.

Doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you yet."

"Alright,"

Vicente murmured, his eyes crinkling with amusement as his smile deepened.

"Whatever you say."

The sleek black limited-edition Rolls-Royce came to a smooth stop at the gates of the Taylor family estate.

Sinclair was just about to carry Camilla out of the car when his phone suddenly buzzed.

"Camilla," he said, glancing at the screen before turning his gaze to her.

"There’s an urgent matter at the company.

I need to head back for a bit."

Camilla knew he wouldn’t be this concerned if it were something trivial.

"Alright."

Sinclair leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before escorting her inside the estate.

Leaving both the car and Luke behind, he departed in a vehicle arranged by the Taylor family.

Once inside the car, he dialed Ramsey’s number.

"Well?

Any answers yet?"

His voice was cool, but beneath the calm lay an undercurrent of chilling intensity.

"Not yet," Ramsey replied gravely.

"These men are from overseas organizations.

Their lips are sealed tight."

"Oh?"

Sinclair’s dark, almond-shaped eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Let’s see just how tight they can keep them."

An aura of terrifying brutality radiated from his entire being, as chilling as it was unrestrained.

The Taylor Family Manor, living room.

"Please, have a seat."

Taylor poured a cup of tea and handed it to Camilla, his voice as smooth as polished jade.

"Mr. Taylor still has a few things to prepare. It’ll be a while before he arrives."

Dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, he exuded an effortless air of refined elegance.

"No rush," Camilla replied with a smile, accepting the teacup. She took a small sip before setting it down on the coffee table.

"Let me check on your recovery first."

"Much obliged."

Taylor curled his lips slightly, offering no resistance as he slowly rolled up his shirt sleeves.

Even such a simple motion carried an inexplicable scholarly grace when performed by him.

Compared to a businessman, Taylor seemed more like a gentle, erudite professor.

The thought crossed Camilla’s mind as she reached out to take his pulse.

Just as she began to focus, the Taylor family’s steward hurried into the room.

"Sir—"

Taylor lifted his gaze, his voice calm and measured.

"What is it?"

Taylor knew perfectly well.

Unless it was something urgent, the butler wouldn’t disturb him at this moment.

The Taylor family butler glanced at Camilla, understanding that Taylor saw no need for secrecy, and spoke directly.

"Miss Violet is outside, asking to see you."

Taylor’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.

"Ask her what she wants."

But Camilla could tell—Taylor’s inner turmoil was far from the composed facade he presented.

His pulse was racing far too violently.

She withdrew her fingers from his wrist and picked up her tea, taking a slow sip to mask her curiosity.

A restless heart made for an unreliable diagnosis.

Still, just who was this Miss Violet?

To provoke such a reaction from a man who was never so much flinched—what kind of woman could she be?

Camilla’s lowered lashes concealed a glimmer of gossipy curiosity in her beautiful eyes.

"I did ask,"

the butler continued hesitantly, "but Miss Violet refused to explain.

She insists on seeing you personally."

Taylor paused, then added in a hushed tone,

"Though I must say, Miss Violet appears... rather upset."

Taylor’s expression remained unreadable as he lifted his steaming teacup, taking a slow sip.

The rising vapor softened his sharp features into a hazy silhouette.

Only after a deliberate moment did he set the cup down, addressing the butler with detached calm.

"Show her in."

"Very well."

The butler turned to leave.

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