Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 440: Reason why Voilet is hell bent on saving the little boy

Inside the renowned and authoritative children’s hospital in San Francisco, Voilet gently stroked the head of a little boy who had just returned from chemotherapy, her eyes brimming with heartache.

"Aunt Voilet," the boy murmured weakly, forcing a frail smile despite his pale lips.

"It’s okay.

It doesn’t hurt at all."

His tiny face, no bigger than a palm, was etched with reassurance.

The agony of chemotherapy was unbearable even for adults.

Yet here he was, trying to comfort *her*.

A pang of sorrow tightened Voilet’s chest, and her vision blurred with unshed tears.

"Yes,

Ace is the bravest, most wonderful little angel," she whispered, her voice tender as she caressed his cheek.

"Once you’re better, Auntie and your mom will take you to Disneyland, to Journey to the West Park, to Fantawild—any amusement park you want to visit."

Journey to the West Park?

Disneyland?

Due to his illness, he had spent most of his time in the hospital, never getting the chance to go anywhere fun.

The little boy’s eyes lit up at these words, but then, as if remembering something, they dimmed instantly.

Ace pressed his lips tightly together and stayed silent.

Voilet took in every subtle change in Ace’s expression.

She reached out and gently pinched his cheek, forcing a lighthearted tone.

"What’s wrong? Don’t like those places?

Then how about we go to the movie studios instead—"

"But Aunt Voilet..."

Ace blinked his innocent, clear eyes and stared straight at her, his voice tinged with sorrow and defeat.

"Will I... really get better?"

They had sought treatment abroad and back home, yet despite his mother and Aunt Voilet working harder and harder, his condition only worsened.

Ace didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

The cruelest thing about illness isn’t death—it’s despair.

Not even a child could escape it.

Voilet’s heart clenched as if gripped by an invisible hand, aching with a dull, suffocating pain.

"Yes.

Of course you will," she said, swallowing back the sting in her eyes and meeting his gaze with unwavering certainty.

"Auntie wants to pinky promise with you, okay?"

"Okay," Ace looked at the finger extended toward him, then met Voilet’s resolute gaze.

A glimmer of hope reignited in his eyes as he stretched out his small hand, dotted with needle marks.

After lulling Ace to sleep, Voilet stepped out of the hospital room and leaned against the wall, steadying her emotions.

She had watched Ace come into this world and grow up.

It was only because of his presence that she had been able to let go of her past darkness and step back into the light.

Yet now, this little angel had been struck with such a cruel illness.

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of Voilet’s lips.

Over at Taylor’s end, who knew how long it would take to find a matching bone marrow donor?

Just as she sank deeper

into her thoughts, a familiar voice called out.

"Miss Violet—"

Her downcast eyes flickered, and she immediately turned toward the sound. —— Meanwhile.

Louviers, country E.

Inside a sleek, understated yet luxurious business sedan gliding smoothly down the road.

Camilla leaned lazily against the back of her chair, her bright, captivating eyes fixed unwaveringly on her husband, brimming with undisguised admiration.

Even in the most ordinary white lab coat, the man couldn’t conceal his tall, statuesque frame or the innate air of aristocratic elegance that clung to him.

His sharply defined, strikingly handsome features remained impassive as he focused on the notebook before him, his expression devoid of any extraneous emotion.

His narrow, obsidian-dark eyes were unfathomably deep, revealing nothing of his true thoughts.

Sinclair exuded an aura of restrained aloofness, like an untouchable flower atop a distant peak—one that inexplicably stirred a sinful desire in the heart to drag him down from his pedestal and make him succumb.

Leaning forward slightly, Camilla rested her fair wrist against her cheek, her lips curving into a faint smile as her eyes narrowed with quiet amusement.

It was true—a man looked his most attractive when he was serious.

But a serious man in uniform?

Undeniably even more so.

Now she finally understood why some people had such a particular fascination with uniforms.

Her thoughts began to drift, and for some reason, a fleeting trace of bashfulness and self-reproach flickered across her lips.

Sinclair sensed his wife’s gaze and lifted his eyes from the notebook.

Taking a sip of coffee from the cup beside him, he turned to look at her.

"What’s on your mind, Camilla?"

His voice was deep and cool, laced with a magnetic undertone.

Lost in her own musings to avoid disturbing his work, Camilla was caught completely off guard by his sudden question.

"I was just thinking... how incredibly tempting my husband looks in uniform—"

Just as the last word was about to slip out, she caught herself and swallowed it just in time.

Saying it aloud would’ve made it sound like she was thirsting over Sinclair’s body.

And here she was, a pregnant woman who was supposed to be keeping her desires in check.

Sinclair closed his laptop and set it aside, crossing his long legs as he leaned back in his chair.

His deep, dark eyes held a faint trace of indulgence as he watched Camilla.

"Tempting what?"

"Temptation!!"

Camilla’s mind raced, scrambling for a word to salvage the situation.

"It gives people the illusion that they’d look just as handsome wearing it.

Yeah, that’s it."

"Is that so?"

Sinclair’s narrow eyes curved slightly, his voice laced with amusement and something deeper.

"I thought what my baby meant to say was—" Before he could utter the last two words, his wife suddenly sprang up and pressed her hand over his lips.

" I didn’t!

I wasn’t! Don’t talk nonsense!"

Her voice was a mix of indignation and flustered embarrassment, the soft rise of her tone carrying an unintentional hint of a whine.

"Sweetheart, the baby’s listening."

In Sinclair’s presence, she always transformed into a delicate, feminine figure—a stark contrast to the cool detachment she showed outsiders.

With one arm wrapped securely around Camilla’s slender waist, Sinclair settled her comfortably onto his lap.

His other hand gently lifted the fingers she’d pressed against his lips, bringing them to his mouth for a tender kiss.

"Alright, if my darling says it didn’t happen, then it didn’t," he murmured, his voice deliberately lowered into a husky whisper dripping with unconcealed adoration.

"That’s more like it," Camilla muttered under her breath, a faint blush of guilt coloring her cheeks as she obediently nestled deeper into his embrace.

Holding her close, Sinclair inhaled the familiar sweet fragrance that clung to her, the corners of his lips lifting in a subtle yet genuine smile.

Though late autumn’s chill gripped the world outside, the car’s interior remained untouched by the season—a cocoon of warmth and tenderness suspended in time.

Minutes melted away unnoticed until Camilla suddenly broke the comfortable silence.

Resting against Sinclair’s chest, her porcelain face softened with sudden wistfulness.

"Sweetheart," she began, her voice laced with quiet emotion, "We’ll always be this happy, won’t we? No—we’ll grow even happier, right?"

Perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones, but her moods lately shifted as unpredictably as spring weather.

Sinclair’s dark, fathomless eyes stilled momentarily before focusing intently on her.

"Of course," he answered, bending to press a kiss to her forehead with the gentle patience one might use comforting a child.

"Camilla, what’s brought this on suddenly?"