Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 342: Grandpa Luther send me, I mean your dad

Ramsey arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable.

"You misunderstand, sir.

That wasn’t my intention at all."

Jonathan wasn’t lying.

This wasn’t a hostage situation—it was house arrest.

Jonathan’s face twisted in disgust as he took in Ramsey’s sly demeanor and tone, so reminiscent of Carlos.

"Enough with the diplomatic nonsense.

Did Sinclair send you?!"

"Of course not.

The CEO is currently unconscious—"

Ramsey cut himself off abruptly, as if realizing he’d slipped up.

A flicker of panic and gloom passed through his eyes. It had to be said that playing the part was a required skill for every top-tier assistant.

Though Ramsey had stopped short, Jonathan had already caught the implication.

A shadow flitted across his gaze.

His piercing eyes studied Ramsey’s expression as he asked in a low, measured voice, "If this isn’t Sinclair’s doing, then what exactly are you up to?"

"There’s been an incident at the estate.

Grandpa has instructed me to escort you and the other branch family heads back for questioning."

Ramsey spoke with a grave expression.

"As for the rest, I have no knowledge whatsoever."

Whether he truly knew nothing or was simply unwilling to divulge, Jonathan understood all too well.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

But what exactly had happened at the estate—was it about Sinclair’s condition, or those three useless fools?

The former had little to do with him.

As for the latter... Jonathan’s gaze darkened, though his expression remained composed.

"Withdraw your men," he said, stepping past Ramsey and settling onto the sofa.

Jonathan picked up the ever-present cup of hot tea from the table and downed half of it in one gulp.

"I’ll head back to the old house now and explain everything to my father myself."

Of course, more importantly, he needed to test the waters.

"I’m sorry, sir,"

Ramsey replied with a respectful bow, his tone polite but firm.

"Grandpa has made it clear—no one is to see him until the matter is fully investigated."

"You insolent brat—"

Jonathan glared at Ramsey, his eyes burning with anger.

"Do you really think I’m the same as those distant relatives?"

"Exactly the same."

Under Jonathan’s piercing gaze, Ramsey remained composed and unshaken.

After all these years by the CEO’s side, he had developed nerves of steel.

"Grandpa made it clear—he won’t see anyone," Ramsey met Jonathan’s eyes without flinching.

"Especially not you."

His tone was so matter-of-fact that Jonathan’s breath hitched with fury.

"You—just like your father," he sneered, his brow furrowed in disdain.

"Stubborn as a mule, impossible to reason with."

The insult to his father didn’t crack Ramsey’s calm expression, but his eyes turned icy.

"You’re right, sir.

I do take after my dad," he replied coolly.

"But thankfully, the CEO is nothing like you.

That’s something to be grateful for."

President Luther is already preparing to make his move.

Jonathan’s days are numbered, and there’s no need for him to swallow his pride like before.

Not like him?

Something to be thankful for?

How dare a mere servant speak to him like this?!

Jonathan never expected Ramsey to have the audacity to talk back.

His palm slammed violently onto the tea table as he rose leisurely from his seat.

"What did you just say?"

"I believe you heard me quite clearly, sir," Ramsey replied with a slight nod, his tone indifferent, as if Jonathan’s fury meant nothing to him.

"Grandpa orders have been delivered. I shall take my leave now to report back."

With that, he turned and strode toward the exit.

"Stop right there!!"

Jonathan felt as though his punch had landed on cotton—his rage flared uncontrollably.

Ramsey paused in his steps.

But only for two seconds.

Then, without so much as a backward glance, he continued walking away.

"You—"

Such blatant disregard only stoked Jonathan’s fury to new heights.

Jonathan grabbed the vase from the coffee table and hurled it at Ramsey’s head.

Without even turning around, Ramsey sidestepped the projectile with uncanny precision, his stride never faltering.

As he reached the doorway, he paused and cast a cold glance at the mercenaries stationed nearby.

"Keep an eye on the gentleman," he said, his tone sharpening noticeably on the words *keep an eye*.

"If anything goes wrong, you’ll answer for it."

"Yes, sir!"

"Understood—"

The mercenaries on either side straightened immediately, nodding in acknowledgment.

"You little bastard!"

Jonathan’s eyes burned with fury, his face flushed crimson.

Jonathan clutched his chest, veins bulging at his temples.

"I swear I won’t let you get away with this!"

Jonathan tried to storm out, but the mercenaries at the door blocked his path.

"Apologies, sir," one said firmly.

"Your permitted area is restricted to this room."

"Fine.

Fine!"

Jonathan spat through gritted teeth.

"Just you wait—all of you!"

Consumed by rage, he stood rooted to the spot for a solid ten minutes before he could finally steady himself.

On the road leading back to the city from the Luther Family Estate.

The sparse traffic allowed Tiffany to focus on planning the evening’s book club discussion as she drove her white Audi.

"Boss," a man lurking nearby pressed the communication device in his ear the moment he spotted her car.

"The woman’s on the move."

"Finally," growled a burly, square-jawed man in the backseat of another vehicle, his eyes snapping open.

"I was getting sick of waiting."

"Move in gradually," came the order.

"Strike as soon as she hits the blind spot ahead!"

"Hey, boss," another voice crackled through the earpiece, laced with crude amusement.

"Mind if I have a little fun with her first once we grab her? Been ages since I had any action—feels like I’m rusting over here."

"Get in line," the leader retorted, prompting a round of raucous laughter through the comms.

The burly man smirked, his expression one of bored arrogance.

Clearly, they saw Tiffany as nothing more than an easy target.

But what they didn’t know was that another force was already watching them from the shadows.

"Sir," an assistant approached the man who had just stepped out of the operating room.

"Miss Tiffany has left the Luther Estate.

The men surveilling her are making their move—it looks like they’re about to strike."

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