"Madam," Ramsey noticed the peculiar expression on Camilla’s face and furrowed his brow in concern.
"Is something wrong?"
Micheal pressed his lips together as he studied Camilla, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly.
"Pulse erratic, qi and blood congested," Camilla murmured, her red lips parting as she met Micheal’s gaze.
"Severe organ failure," she continued, pausing briefly before her beautiful eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"But one thing is certain—he isn’t sick."
An erratic pulse and failing organs—yet no illness?
Even Ramsey, who knew nothing about medicine, could tell something was off. "How can this be?"
Camilla gazed at Micheal, her crystal-clear eyes now veiled with a frosty chill.
"There’s a peculiar toxin in his system," she said coolly.
"All those symptoms must be caused by it."
"Hahaha, not bad for a doctor," Micheal’s throat emitted a deep, eerie chuckle, his voice grating and hoarse.
"What’s been deteriorating my health is indeed poison—specifically, botulinum poison."
botulinum poison was an ancient and enigmatic form of sorcery in America, mostly practiced by ethnic minorities in remote regions.
The methods of concocting it were as varied as they were countless.
Its insidious toxicity made it nearly impossible to guard against, a truly terrifying existence.
A vague suspicion flickered in Camilla’s mind, but she suppressed it immediately, her expression darkening to the extreme.
"Ah, I almost forgot to mention," Micheal remarked, noticing her reaction, his crimson eyes glinting with a bone-chilling amusement.
"This gu poison in me, nourished by flesh and blood—it’s called the Life Bound poison."
As the name implies—life bound, bound in fate.
Camilla connected the dots with Micheal’s earlier words, her beautiful eyes widening in sudden realization.
She sprang to her feet, grabbed a nearby dagger, and with a vicious thrust, drove it straight through Micheal’s palm, pinning his hand to the table.
"Talk. What did you do to Sinclair?!"
Her voice, though soft and melodic, carried a razor-sharp edge of lethal intent.
"You’ve already figured it out, haven’t you?"
Micheal’s face twisted in agony, his features contorted with pain.
"I transferred the poison worm from my body into his," he rasped, blood staining his lips, his voice thick with terrifying madness.
"The two worms share life and death. In other words, Sinclair and I are now bound by fate—
" His words were cut short by an even more excruciating wave of pain.
"Sinclair never came down to the basement.
He wouldn’t even *bother* to see you," Camilla hissed, yanking the dagger from his palm before plunging it with all her strength into his shoulder blade.
"How the hell did you get the chance to pull this off?"
Ramsey, snapping out of his shock, was practically burning with fury.
Michael was drenched in blood from head to toe, his face contorted into a grotesque mask of fury—like a demon straight from the depths of hell.
"Care to take a guess?"
he sneered through crimson-stained teeth.
"The Luther Family ancestral home," Camilla answered instantly, her mind flashing back to the scene of Sinclair pummeling Michael—the only moment the two had ever crossed paths.
"Michael," she said, her piercing gaze sharp as a blade, "you exploited the last shred of goodwill Calvin and Grandpa Luther had for you just to scheme against Sinclair."
Her voice dripped with venom.
"You’re utterly heartless. Disgusting."
As she spoke, the knife in her hand plunged into another part of Michael’s shoulder blade.
Blood sprayed across her porcelain skin, stark against its pallor.
Michael’s body stiffened, veins bulging as excruciating pain wracked his frame, his voice trembling.
I helped every single one of them, and when things went south, all they did was stand behind Sinclair and blame me!"
His bloodshot eyes burned into Camilla with manic intensity, as if they might burst from sheer rage.
"Not one of them spoke up for me—not one! Hypocrites, every last one of them!!"
His roar was less a retort than a desperate attempt to drown out the agony tearing through his body.
"You messed up, yet instead of reflecting on yourself, you blame others for not speaking up for you?"
Camilla let out a bitter laugh, her fury boiling over. "
Your morals are even more twisted than your face."
Unable to suppress the rage burning in her chest, she raised her hand and struck Micheal across the face. *
For a man, a slap was the ultimate humiliation.
The madness in Micheal’s eyes darkened into venomous hatred.
"You—" Camilla gave him no chance to speak.
Her hand rose again and came down hard.
... The entire basement echoed with the sharp, stinging sound of repeated slaps. Ramsey took a subtle step back.
Though his own methods were far more brutal, watching Madam unleash her fury was oddly satisfying.
"I’ve been wanting to slap you since the very first moment I laid eyes on you."
Only after delivering over twenty resounding slaps did Camilla finally shake out her stinging hand and pause.
"Though I must admit, your face is thick as a brick—my palm’s throbbing from the effort."
"You fucking bitch!!"
Micheal’s cheeks had swollen grotesquely, his eyes glinting with venomous darkness as if he could tear Camilla apart limb from limb.
"How dare you treat me ?"
His words slurred through swollen lips, each syllable dripping with menace.
"Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill myself and take Sinclair with me?"
Camilla arched one delicate brow, her frosty gaze laced with undisguised mockery.
"You’re nothing but a crippled wreck now—a broken, battered shell of a man."
Her voice turned each word into a razor-sharp barb.
"How exactly do you plan to commit suicide?"
A wounded, useless cripple.
This woman wasn’t playing by any rules Micheal recognized.
His pupils contracted into reptilian slits, his entire being radiating lethal hatred as he ground out through clenched teeth: "Broken as I am...
I can still bite off my own tongue.
"You’re right, thanks for the reminder."
Camilla gripped Micheal’s chin with practice ease and gave a sharp downward twist.
A crisp snap echoed through the room as Micheal’s gaping mouth froze in place, unable to close.
Ramsey stared, stunned by Camilla’s ruthless precision.
"Ramsey," she said, her crimson lips curling into a faint smirk as she studied Micheal’s expression—wild, desperate, like a beast ready to tear the world apart.
"Make sure his limbs are tied tight."
She turned to leave, tossing one last command over her shoulder.
"I’ll come back for him in a couple of days."
The key to negotiation was turning the tables—seizing control instead of letting others dictate the game.
Never let them lead you by the nose.