Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 347: A nightmare

"Glad to hear you know your place," Jonathan’s expression darkened as he glared at the men before him, his voice low and icy.

"A starving camel is still bigger than a horse.

Dealing with Sinclair requires careful consideration, but as for you lot—"

Jonathan narrowed his eyes, took a deep drag from his cigarette, and exhaled slowly.

"—I don’t need to hold back."

The men immediately broke into a cold sweat, their breaths shallow as they grasped his meaning.

Knowing that pushing too far could backfire, Jonathan softened his tone after the warning.

"There’s still no concrete news from Sinclair’s side.

The situation remains uncertain,"

His pupils darkened, his voice laced with a chilling edge.

"What we need now is a solid plan to break this deadlock."

"Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right, sir," A gaunt man spoke up first, breaking the tension.

The others nodded eagerly, and one of them ventured, "Sir, the other family heads who

were leaning toward us starting to waver.

Should we mobilize the S Organization?"

The S Organization.

It boasted the most advanced weapons and the most formidable mercenaries.

This was the culmination of Jonathan’s years of covert scheming—his ultimate fallback, carefully nurtured overseas to evade the Luther Family’s detection.

All for the final move.

"Retreat?"

Jonathan sneered, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Dad and Sinclair would never tolerate fence-sitters.

Once they’ve boarded my ship, there’s no getting off."

His sharp gaze narrowed slowly.

"As for the S Organization, recall them.

Better to be prepared."

Jonathan had a feeling they would be needed soon.

At the mention of mobilizing the S Organization, the others in the room visibly steadied themselves.

"You," he said, locking eyes with one of the men, his tone heavy with warning, "take the secret passage from the basement and go rattle those wavering fools.

Make it clear—they act only on my orders."

Then he turned to another.

"And you, keep a close watch on the estate.

Report any unusual activity immediately."

Jonathan was fully prepared to counterattack or even turn defense into offense.

The two men who had been called out nodded solemnly, their expressions grave.

Just as they were about to leave, Jonathan’s voice rang out again.

"Remember, stay on high alert," he said, pausing deliberately before adding with a chilling cruelty in his tone, "If you’re discovered, you know what to do.

As for your families...

I’ll make sure they’re taken care of."

Their eyes flickered briefly, but neither said another word as they turned and headed toward the basement.

Jonathan turned his attention to the remaining men, issuing further orders in a low, commanding voice.

Grandpa’s recent actions were far too unusual—he had to prepare for the worst.

Before long, at the Luther Family estate...

"Boss Sinclair, your foresight is truly remarkable," Ramsey said as he strode briskly into the study.

"Just as you predicted, he has made his move."

Ramsey relayed the latest intel to his employer, who remained seated behind the desk, his expression unreadable.

*Even more impatient than I expected.*

"Don’t interfere," Sinclair replied coolly.

"Just keep an eye on them."

Sinclair’s eyes narrowed slightly, their gaze icy cold.

"As for the other matters, proceed as planned."

Sinclair wanted to see just how many secrets would unravel once they started pulling on the thread connected to Jonathan.

Ramsey understood immediately.

"Understood, sir."

Sinclair was about to say more when his brows suddenly furrowed.

Ramsey pressed a hand to his chest.

"Mr. Sinclair—"

Ramsey, sharp as ever, noticed his discomfort instantly and stepped forward, his face tense with concern.

"What’s wrong?

Are you feeling unwell?"

"It’s nothing."

Sinclair remained silent for several seconds before speaking slowly, his voice deeper than usual.

"Leave."

"But—" Ramsey didn’t move, his face still etched with concern as he stared at his boss.

Sinclair lifted his gaze, his eyes sharp and icy.

"Leave."

His tone was flat, yet carried an undeniable authority.

Knowing his boss’s temperament, Ramsey didn’t dare argue further.

"...Understood."

After Ramsey left, the study was silent except for Sinclair.

Sinclair closed his eyes briefly.

The sharp pain in his chest earlier hadn’t been an illusion.

Without hesitation, he rose from his seat.

Those pitch-black, icy eyes seemed to have been disturbed by a falling pebble, rippling with countless waves.

"Camilla, what’s wrong?"

Inside the room.

"Fanny, be careful—"

Camilla’s eyes were tightly shut, her brows furrowed deeply.

"No, no—let her go!!"

Her tear-dampened lashes fluttered faintly, yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t open her eyes. frёewebηovel.cѳm

"Stop it, all of you—stop!!

I’ll kill you, I swear I’ll kill you!!"

When Sinclair entered the room, he saw Camilla murmuring incoherently, her face twisted in pain and distress.

His dark eyes constricted sharply, his heart plunging into an icy abyss, gripped by a cold, wrenching ache.

In an instant, he strode forward on long legs, gently brushing away the tears at the corner of her eye.

Afraid of startling her, his usually cold and unyielding voice softened to the gentlest whisper.

"Camilla."

"Sweetheart, wake up."

Under the man’s deep, husky voice, Camilla finally opened her eyes slowly.

Her gaze fell upon the handsome face before her, yet the terror from her nightmare still clung to her, leaving her unsettled.

"Sweetheart, I dreamed something terrible happened to Fanny."

In the dream, she had watched from a third-person perspective as Fanny was deliberately run off the road by a group of men with ill intentions, left unconscious.

Those men half-dragged, half-carried Fanny into their car, taking her to a dilapidated house where they took turns...

Fanny woke up in the midst of it, fighting desperately, but she couldn’t escape.

Instead, her resistance only fueled their cruelty.

And Camilla—trapped as a mere observer—could do nothing but watch, her heart burning with helpless rage.

At the very end, she saw Fanny snatch a knife from one of the men and slash it across her own neck, severing an artery.

The vivid crimson of blood, the suffocating despair—it coiled around her like a serpent, impossible to shake off.

"Sweetheart, the dream felt too real. I have a terrible feeling about this."

Camilla choked back a sob as she recounted the fragments of her nightmare.

"Fanny can’t be hurt. I can’t let anything happen to her.

I promised."

Sinclair watched the depth of Camilla’s concern for Tiffany, a shadow flickering in the depths of his eyes.

But considering his wife’s fragile state, he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Shh, don’t be afraid," Sinclair sat behind Camilla, letting her lean against his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"It was just a nightmare," Sinclair picked up Camilla’s phone and placed it in front of her, his deep voice carrying a soothing reassurance.

"If you’re worried, you can call Tiffany now.

Or I can send someone to bring her here directly."

Camilla nodded, taking the phone from Sinclair with trembling fingers as she dialed Tiffany’s number.

"Ring—"

"Ring—"

Every tone stretched unbearably long in her ears.

Fanny.

Please, pick up.

Please.

Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white from the strain.

A shadow flickered in the depths of Sinclair’s dark eyes.

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