"Father," Jonathan’s face darkened, his expression a turbulent mix of emotions.
When his gaze fell on Calvin and Taylor, an unmistakable flicker of discomfort crossed his eyes.
Family scandals shouldn’t be aired in public.
Did Sinclair deliberately keep these outsiders here just to humiliate them?!
"Grandfather, grandpa Porter" Behind Jonathan, Margaret wheeled in Tyler whose pallid face betrayed his unease.
Though they had braced themselves for this moment, facing it now still sent a ripple of panic through them.
Grandpa Luther lifted his heavy-lidded eyes, his silence more oppressive than any words.
Sometimes, silence cut deeper than speech. The trio grew even more visibly unsettled.
The main players of the first act had all arrived.
Calvin leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips as his peach-blossom eyes gleamed with undisguised amusement.
Taylor remained impassive, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever.
Yet upon closer inspection, one could detect a faint glimmer of icy mockery in his gentle eyes.
It was unclear whether it was directed at Jonathan and the other two—or at Sandra.
The moment Sandra spotted the newcomer, her face twisted with agitation.
"It’s that arrogant bastard!"
she spat, jabbing a trembling finger at Tyler in the wheelchair, her voice dripping with venom.
"First, he lured me to the lounge under some pretext, then used some underhanded trick to knock me out cold—that’s why all this happened afterward!"
Her entire body shook with barely contained fury, as if she were seconds away from lunging at Tyler and tearing him apart.
"Now the whole world is laughing at me! You have to make this right for me!"
All her life, Sandra had been the one scheming against others.
Never before had she been the one outmaneuvered.
The few servants still lingering in the room stiffened at her words, their hearts pounding.
They wished they could clamp their hands over their ears—these were the kind of high-society secrets no lowly staff should ever overhear.
Just why the big shots had deliberately kept them here was anyone’s guess.
Tyler wanted to say something, but remembering his mother’s warning, he bit back his words.
Grandpa Luther’s hand holding the teacup paused slightly as he lifted his gaze to Sandra.
His aged yet profound eyes gleamed with icy frost. Noticing this, Calvin and Taylor exchanged a knowing glance.
No matter what, Tyler still bore the Luther Family name.
For Sandra to utter such words in front of the Luther Family wasn’t just slapping one person’s face—it was an insult to the entire household.
Meanwhile, Grandpa Porter, consumed by rage, hadn’t registered his granddaughter’s remark.
His murky eyes remained fixed on Tyler, his entire being radiating an intimidating, razor-sharp aura.
Sandra was his only granddaughter, the sole heir to the Porter family’s direct lineage.
And now, she’d been made a laughingstock across the capital—all because of some illegitimate Luther Family whelp.
Were it not for sparing the Luther Family’s dignity, he’d have ordered this disgraceful creature beaten to death on the spot.
Under grandpa Porter’s withering glare, Tyler felt waves of bone-chilling coldness, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"Sandra," Jonathan clenched his fists tightly, speaking with visible difficulty.
"Tyler isn’t that kind of man.
There must be some misunderstanding here."
Not that kind of man?
Tyler lifted his gaze to meet Jonathan’s, his slender, pale fingers idly toying with the teacup. His strikingly handsome face was a mask of icy detachment.
*Seems like Jonathan doesn’t know his precious son as well as he thinks.*
Grandpa Porter turned to Jonathan, his expression darkening further.
His voice was rigid with barely suppressed fury.
"Then enlighten me—what exactly is this *misunderstanding*?"
"Are you suggesting Sandra threw herself at this brat of her own accord?!"
Jonathan opened his mouth but found himself at a loss for words.
The entire capital knew about Sandra’s feelings for Sinclair.
As a member of the Luther Family, he was even more aware of it.
So he was certain that Sandra would never willingly throw herself at Tyler.
Yet, the idea that Tyler had schemed against her was equally hard to believe.
Jonathan’s brow furrowed deeply.
After all, the young man had only recently returned from studying abroad—his mind was still pure, unlikely to stoop to such deeds.
"Grandpa Luther," grandpa Porter’s icy gaze shifted from Tyler to land on Grandpa Luther.
"What do you think should be done about this?"
Truly, a sly old fox. Calvin and Taylor exchanged a fleeting glance, the same thought reflected in their eyes.
His words sounded deferential, as if yielding the final say to Grandpa Luther out of respect.
In reality, this was an indirect way of pressuring Grandpa Luther for an explanation.
On one side was his own grandson, on the other the granddaughter of a longtime family friend.
The outcome of this matter now rested entirely on Grandpa Luther’s stance.
Sinclair observed the unfolding scene with icy detachment, his strikingly handsome face betraying no emotion whatsoever.
He seemed utterly indifferent to how events might unfold—more of a spectator than even Calvin and Taylor beside him.
Seeing this, Sandra bit her crimson lips, her sense of grievance deepening.
She couldn’t fathom why Sinclair remained so completely unmoved, so chillingly indifferent, even as she was framed right before his eyes.
"Grandpa Porter," Grandpa Luther set down his teacup and turned a composed gaze toward Grandpa Porter.
"With all our years of friendship, you should know my principles better than anyone."
He then shifted his cold, stern eyes toward Tyler and Jonathan, his voice dropping lower.
"If what Sandra says is indeed true, I’ll personally deliver the culprits to the Porter family.
You may deal with them as you see fit—whether to kill or to spare, the choice is yours."
Kill or spare—the choice was his.
A single lighthearted remark, yet no one dared question its validity.
Margaret’s expression remained unchanged.
But upon closer inspection, one could see her fingers tightening around Tyler s wheelchair, knuckles turning white.
Tyler’s heart skipped a beat, his breath growing heavy.
For him, today was nothing short of a high-stakes gamble. Win, and power and status would be his.
Lose, and he might not live to see tomorrow’s sun.
He had to keep his composure, waiting for the perfect moment to speak.
Sandra’s eyes widened the instant she caught the word "if" in Grandpa Luther’s statement.
"Grandpa Luther, you don’t believe me—" "Sandra."
Grandpa Porter cut her off sharply. "Let your Grandpa Luther finish." Sandra fell silent, though her eyes reddened almost instantly.
Taylor’s gaze shifted from Margaret and Tyler to Sandra, whose face was now twisted with barely contained fury.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played at the corners of his lips.
As expected, the wicked would always meet their match.
"Of course," Grandpa Luther spoke slowly, his sharp eyes lingering meaningfully on Sandra.
"If the investigation proves that Tyler bears no responsibility in this matter—if it turns out to be a misunderstanding or some other reason that led to the current situation—"
He paused deliberately before continuing, "Our Luther Family would still be willing to take responsibility for Sandra."
Everyone present was sharp enough to grasp the underlying message in the old man’s words.
Jonathan’s expression darkened with unreadable emotions.
Meanwhile, Tyler and Margaret exchanged a fleeting glance, their lowered eyes glinting with triumph.
This was exactly the response they had been waiting for.