Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 371: Does that mean Antonio will die?

"Every divination points to doom?"

Does this mean his son is destined to die?!

Mr. Mega’s face darkened with fury, his eyes blazing with anger as he glared at Stephen.

"Stephen, how could you say something so cruel?!"

"You misunderstand me, brother," Stephen replied with a faint smirk, raising an eyebrow.

"These are the priest’s words, not mine."

Stephen paused, his gaze shifting subtly toward Grandma Mega, a shadow of something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

"Grandmother has always been devout.

If you doubt it, you can always visit the temple and consult the priest yourself."

The priest was a revered monk, a figure of immense authority in E Country’s Church affairs.

Stephen met people based solely on fate.

If destiny willed it, even a beggar would receive his warm welcome.

But without that connection, no amount of wealth or power could secure an audience.

Stephen, naturally, belonged to the former.

As for whether the grandma Mega would get to see it, that remained to be seen.

"Priest," grandma paused in her absent-minded fiddling with the bodhi beads, her sharp, deep-set eyes narrowing slightly, "is something you can’t dismiss entirely, but neither should you take it as absolute truth."

"Grandmother is absolutely right," Antonio remarked, crossing his legs as he cast an amused glance at Stephen.

"Rather than divination, I believe our circumstances are shaped by our minds, and our fate is forged by our own hands."

His eyes flickered with a hint of pity as they lingered—almost deliberately casual—on Stephen’s lower body.

"Compared to worrying about me, Uncle, you should be more concerned about yourself."

"I only came to give you a warning.

Whether you believe it or not is up to you." Stephen met his gaze steadily, his expression unreadable.

"As for me, I’ve already walked through the gates of hell once.

All that’s left for me in this life is to drag those who’ve wronged me down with me.

The rest—"

His voice was low, deliberate, each word weighted.

"I stopped caring about it long ago."

To drag those who had harmed him straight into hell.

The gazes of grandma. Mega and the others froze for a moment.

"The meal is finished, and the words have been spoken," Stephen took in their expressions with a glance, the smile in his eyes growing icier by the second.

"It’s time for me to leave."

Stephen cast them a detached look, then maneuvered his electric wheelchair around and prepared to exit.

Antonio rose to his feet, his smooth voice devoid of any warmth.

"Let me see you out."

Stephen arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

The two stepped out of the villa.

"Uncle," Antonio gazed at the man in the wheelchair, his tone deceptively light yet laced with unspoken meaning.

"Why do you think Grandfather named you ’Stephen?"

Stephen’s pallid face remained impassive, his frigid eyes fixed on the empty distance ahead.

"What do *you* think?"

’’—it naturally means ’to go with the flow and be content,’" Antonio’s icy voice carried an unmistakable edge of mockery.

"What a shame. Grandfather will be disappointed."

"Your grandfather won’t be disappointed," Stephen halted his wheelchair, turning his head slightly to meet Antonio’s gaze.

"Because the ’Stephen in my name doesn’t mean ’going with the flow.’"

Stephen paused, the curve of his lips deepening into a knowing smile.

"It means he expects me to take control—to steer the fate of the entire Mega family as I see fit."

Their eyes locked in a silent clash, tension crackling between them.

Though seated, though forced to look up, the aura of dominance radiating from Stephen was no less formidable than that of the standing Antonio.

Before the latter could respond, Stephen maneuvered his wheelchair away, leaving behind only a lean, retreating figure.

Inside the car, a stern-faced young man regarded Stephen with concern.

"Boss Stephen," he said cautiously, "burning bridges with them so openly now might complicate things later..."

"The bridge was already ashes," Stephen replied with a light chuckle.

"Tearing it down now just gives the Luther Family a reason to favor us.

Why not take the opportunity?"

With today’s confrontation, Antonio’s hostility would undoubtedly focus on him—buying the Luther Family precious time.

The Luther family Villa.

"Goliath,"

Jonathan stared at the frail man before him, his brows furrowing into deep creases.

"Still no movement from my father?"

"Our people are keeping watch," Goliath replied, shaking his head under Jonathan’s piercing gaze.

"Nothing."

"Hmph."

Jonathan let out a cold laugh, his eyes—bearing an uncanny resemblance to Grandpa Luther’s—glinting with icy malice.

"So he doesn’t even care about his own son’s life now?"

Goliath and the others kept their heads bowed, not daring to respond.

Silently, they wondered whether their employer would postpone the plan or proceed as scheduled.

Deep down, they prayed for the former.

The sheer terror of going up against *that* man filled them with unease—no, outright dread.

After a prolonged silence, Jonathan finally spoke again.

"Keep calling.

Make the situation sound more serious."

Jonathan couldn’t bear to wait any longer.

"Understood."

Goliath didn’t dare to argue.

Jonathan immediately bowed and retreated from the room.

Jonathan stared at the internal documents of the Luther Corporation spread out before him, his eyes dark and unreadable.

The curling steam from his tea obscured the shadowed expression on his face.

Luther Family Estate.

"Grandpa" Uncle Carlos entered the study with a grim expression, nodding respectfully at the elderly man engrossed in a game of chess.

"Another call came in from Mr. Jonathan."

Uncle Carlos hesitated before continuing.

"Goliath says the situation has worsened."

It was clear Mr. Jonathan still hadn’t grasped Grandpa’s warning.

Or perhaps he understood but simply refused to turn back.

Grandpa Luther’s hand, holding a chess piece, paused ever so slightly before lowering it with deliberate slowness.

"This is the second time," he murmured, picking up another piece between his fingers.

"Three strikes and you’re out.

There’s only one chance left."

His aged voice carried an indescribable weight, thick with the weariness of years.

Uncle Carlos immediately grasped Grandpa’s meaning and gave a solemn nod.

"Understood."

Deep down, he could only hope that Mr. Jonathan would seize this final opportunity and step back in time—otherwise, the consequences would be unthinkable.

Yet, to everyone’s dismay, it wasn’t long before Jonathan’s third call came through.

This time, Grandpa Luther said nothing.

Grandpa placed his last chess piece in a decisive checkmate, then rose slowly from his seat.

"Prepare the car.

We’re going to the outskirts."

Grandpa wanted to see for himself just how his beloved son intended to treat him.

Uncle Carlos knew better than to argue—once Grandpa had made up his mind, there was no changing it.

Resigned, he made no further attempt to dissuade him.

"Got it, I’m on my way."

Ramsey received the message and sped over in his car, intercepting Grandpa Luther and Uncle Carlos’s vehicle.

"Sir, you can’t go," Ramsey said urgently, then quickly added, "President Luther has a plan to handle this.

There’s no need for you to take the risk."

"Sinclair’s methods are his own, and I don’t agree with them," Grandpa Luther replied, his expression calm but his tone leaving no room for argument.

"This is something I must do."

After all, that man was Sinclair’s biological father.

Acting rashly would inevitably invite criticism.

Sinclair might not care, but Grandpa Luther couldn’t bear the thought.

If *he* were the one to confront Jonathan again, it would be different.

This trip was about giving Sinclair a justifiable reason.

Ramsey met Grandpa Luther’s unwavering gaze and immediately faltered. Yet, bound by his boss’s orders, he couldn’t simply step aside.

Ramsey frowned at his father, his expression conveying a clear message: Why aren’t you backing me up?

Uncle Carlos narrowed his eyes in response.

And why should I?

Besides, is that any way to talk to Grandpa Luther?

Catching the icy glare from his dad, Ramsey’s breath hitched, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips.

Great.

Another one I can’t mess with.

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