Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 319: Where are my Grandson and daughter-in-law?

"Well..."

The servants exchanged uneasy glances, their lips pressed tight as if biting back words.

How could they possibly say outright that the Mrs. Camilla had knocked out Ramsey?

The events of this evening had made them painfully aware that even a high-paying job like theirs came with its share of difficulties.

Grandpa Luther observed their expressions keenly, his deep-set eyes flickering with understanding.

Resting his clasped hands atop his cane, he didn’t press further.

Instead, he changed the subject, his voice low and grave.

"Where are Sinclair and Camilla?"

What truly worried him was the possibility of Sinclair’s condition flaring up again.

At this, the servants stiffened, their faces paling into utter silence.

They had no idea what Mr. Sinclair and his wife were in the backyard.

But since they hadn’t informed grandpa themselves, it clearly meant they didn’t want him to know.

None of them dared spill a word.

"Is there a problem?"

Grandpa Luther’s cane struck the floor with a resounding thud, his stern face hardening with authority.

"Does no one take this old man seriously anymore?"

The words were spoken lightly, yet carried an oppressive weight that made the air itself feel heavy.

"No, no, of course not!"

"Sir, you’ve misunderstood!"

The servants paled, their faces drained of color.

Just as they fumbled for words, desperate to explain what they knew— Ramsey groaned softly and opened his eyes.

When his gaze landed on the all-too-familiar face before him, confusion flickered in his eyes.

"...Dad?"

The moment the word left his lips, the entire living room fell into stunned silence.

Every pair of eyes turned toward him.

"Hmm." fгeewёbnoѵel_cσm

Uncle Carlos gave a slight nod.

"Still recognizes people.

At least he hasn’t lost his wits."

With that, he rose and returned to Grandpa Luther’s side.

"You can ask freely now, sir."

Ramsey: " His expression gradually cleared as he took in the situation before him, his entire body freezing on the sofa.

Grandpa Luther was here?!

Was it too late to keep pretending to be unconscious?

Clearly, it was.

Grandpa Luther stopped questioning the servants and instead walked over to Ramsey.

"Ramsey, what exactly happened?

Where are Sinclair and Camilla?"

"The CEO and Madam..."

Grandpa rarely spoke to him in such a stern tone, leaving Ramsey momentarily at a loss.

Ramsey rose from the sofa and stood with his head bowed, lips pressed tightly together, saying nothing.

"Ramsey."

Uncle Carlos frowned disapprovingly.

"Grandpa is speaking to you.

Are you deaf?"

Ramsey could only force a helpless smile.

Ramsey’d rather be deaf right now.

"You little brat, think you’re all grown up now, huh?"

Uncle Carlos scowled, grabbing Ramsey’s ear with a grip that held no mercy.

"Ouch—" Ramsey sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

Once again, he questioned whether he had actually been plucked from a random trash can on the street.

Uncle Carlos’s frown deepened.

"Still not talking?"

But even through the pain, Ramsey gritted his teeth and held firm.

"Grandpa, you could beat me to death today, and I still wouldn’t know a thing."

Grandpa might not have the heart to kill him, but President Luther was a different story.

"You little—"

A flicker of pride mingled with the anger in Grandpa Luther’s eyes.

After all, it was he who had taught Ramsey the meaning of loyalty to Sinclair.

"Carlos, let it go."

Grandpa Luther strode purposefully toward the basement as he spoke.

"If no one’s willing to talk, I’ll find out for myself."

The evasive reactions told him everything—Sinclair and Camilla hadn’t left the estate.

The property wasn’t that large.

They couldn’t have vanished into thin air.

Uncle Carlos shot his son a disapproving glare before hurrying after grandpa, his footsteps echoing through the corridor.

Dad really didn’t hold back.

Ramsey rubbed his throbbing ear, his brows knitted tightly in discomfort.

Only after Grandpa Luther and Uncle Carlos had disappeared down the corridor did he turn to the cluster of servants lingering nearby.

"Has President Luther woken up?"

They nodded in unison, recounting the situation in meticulous detail.

Ramsey couldn’t suppress a sigh.

Just as he feared—some things were simply unavoidable.

"What should we do now, Mr. Ramsey?"

one of them ventured hesitantly.

"You all stay with grandpa," Ramsey replied, his voice low and steady.

"I’ll head to the back courtyard first to assess the situation."

The servants bobbed their heads in quick agreement.

A suffocating tension hung over the entire Luther estate, thick enough to choke on.

Meanwhile, not far from the Luther Family manor, inside a sleek black Porsche...

The dim interior of the car concealed the features of the man lounging in the backseat, his face shrouded in shadows.

Only his slightly upturned peach-blossom eyes glimmered with an unsettling brilliance in the darkness.

"Get me another pack," his low voice carried a languid edge.

"But President Calvin, you’ve already gone through a whole pack today," Jey clutched the cigarette box, his expression torn with concern.

"If you keep smoking, your injury might—" Calvin casually crossed his long legs, his relaxed posture against the leather seat cutting Jey’s protest short.

"Now."

The command dripped with his characteristic nonchalance, yet brooked no argument.

"...Yes, sir."

With a resigned nod, Jey handed over the cigarettes.

Selecting a cigarette with deliberate slowness, Calvin placed it between his thin lips.

The flickering blue flame of his lighter cast an icy sheen across those mesmerizing eyes as he took a deep drag.

Pale gray smoke curled from his nostrils like ghostly tendrils in the darkened cabin.

"Has the group tailing Grandpa Luther been apprehended yet?"

"The targets are extremely familiar with the terrain.

They drove straight into the mountains," Jey replied, his brow furrowed with unease.

"But don’t worry, we’ve already deployed additional manpower to block their escape.

There’s no way they’ll slip through."

Jey and his team had been stationed here under Mr. Calvin’s orders to ensure the safety of the Luther Family estate.

At first, he couldn’t fathom who would dare target Mr. Luther.

Yet, something suspicious had indeed surfaced—an unidentified vehicle trailing Grandpa Luther’s car.

"Hmm."

Calvin exhaled a slow stream of smoke, falling silent.

His sharp, narrow eyes narrowed further as they fixed the direction of the estate. Everything had to go smoothly.

For many, this night was destined to be sleepless.

Meanwhile, at the Taylor family estate...

Taylor stood before his desk, brush in hand, practicing calligraphy.

Several sheets of paper lay scattered by his side.

They say handwriting reflects one’s character.

But this adage fell utterly flat when it came to Taylor.

The man himself was gentle and refined, yet his calligraphy was sharp and unyielding.

"Sir,"

The butler entered with a steaming cup of tea, his face etched with concern.

"It’s getting late.

You should rest."

Taylor glanced at his silent phone, his brush never pausing.

"No rush."

With a resigned sigh, the butler set the tea on the desk.

His gaze inadvertently caught a familiar surname on one of the discarded papers.

His hands stilled for a fleeting moment, and a heavy sigh echoed in his heart.

What a cruel twist of fate.

Taylor clearly noticed the butler’s lingering stare.

The tip of his brush hesitated, and a dark blot of ink bloomed across the page.

A perfectly good piece of writing—ruined just like that.

Yet he seemed utterly indifferent as he rested the brush on the inkstone.

Taylor gathered up the crumpled drafts and the untouched sheets beside him, tossing them all into the wastebasket with a careless flick of his wrist.

"Go get some rest.

Don’t worry about me."

His voice was smooth as polished jade, giving away nothing of his mood.

"Understood."

The butler, sharp enough to catch the undercurrent of Taylor’s displeasure, dipped his head in silent acknowledgment and retreated from the study without another word.

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