The living room was heavy with tension.
"Madam," Ramsey’s face was graver than ever before.
"How credible is Michael’s information?"
"Highly credible," Camilla’s delicate features had paled noticeably, her beautiful eyes glinting with icy resolve.
"When I examined his condition earlier, I suspected parasitic poisoning might be involved—though whether it’s a Life-Linked
The parasite remained uncertain."
Ramsey’s fists clenched tightly at his sides. He wished he could storm back to that basement and beat Michael to a pulp.
"Gather every available document on Life-Linked Parasites immediately—the sooner, the better."
Camilla lifted her gaze to meet Ramsey’s, her voice low and steely. "I need to thoroughly understand this poison’s mechanisms and effects."
Ramsey gave a stiff nod, his voice taut with urgency.
"This matter is far too grave. If President Luther were to find out—"
Camilla clutched the teacup in her hands, her fingers tightening around the scorching porcelain as if she couldn’t feel the heat at all.
"We both know Sinclair’s temperament," she said, her voice steady, as much to Ramsey as to herself.
"He would never allow his life to be held in someone else’s hands."
"Every poison has an antidote—even that type of poison.
Even if this truly is life-bound, I *will* find a way to break it."
Ramsey nodded, though the weight in his chest didn’t lighten.
"If we’re keeping this from President Luther, we’ll need to move Micheal out of the basement first.
I’ll arrange it immediately."
"This is too critical—only those we trust with our lives," Camilla added, her delicate features sharp with frost.
"Until we’re certain, no one outside this room can know.
" Her tone carried a severity he’d never heard before.
Ramsey understood the stakes. His nod was solemn.
After Ramsey left, Camilla remained seated in the living room for a long time.
Micheal had chosen to reveal the truth about the life-bound poison to her for one reason only—to blackmail her into doing something.
And whatever it was, it undoubtedly involved Sinclair.
Unless absolutely necessary, she couldn’t let Micheal make his move.
A faint, bitter smile tugged at the corner of Camilla’s lips.
Just when she thought the troubles before her were nearly resolved, when everything seemed to be moving in the right direction—suddenly, things had spiraled to this point.
It seemed fate simply refused to cut her any slack.
Time slipped away unnoticed.
When Sinclair walked into the living room, having shed his suit jacket, he found Camilla sitting motionless, clutching a teacup, her gaze fixed blankly on the coffee table.
Even in profile, the weight of her thoughts was unmistakable.
His brow furrowed slightly as he draped his jacket over his arm and approached.
"What’s on your mind?"
His deep, husky voice pulled her from her reverie.
Before she could respond, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and lifted her effortlessly into a lap that carried the crisp scent of sandalwood.
Sinclair’s strikingly handsome face came into view, his sharp features inches from Camilla’s.
Camilla quickly masked the turmoil in her eyes and looped her arms around his neck.
"I was thinking of you."
Sinclair arched a brow, his long fingers tracing slow circles along the nape of her neck.
"You always look this gloomy when you miss me?"
His dark, penetrating gaze held a hint of quiet scrutiny.
"Of course not usually," Camilla tightened her hold, pressing her nose playfully against his to distract him.
"But today you were so busy at the office, you didn’t even call me once.
Clearly, work matters more than your wife—how could I not be upset?"
Though he knew her words weren’t entirely truthful, Sinclair let the matter drop, the probing look in his eyes fading.
If Camilla didn’t want to talk, he’d find out on his own.
Her unhappiness never came without reason.
Sinclair reached out, his fingers tangling in Camilla’s hair as he pulled her closer, capturing her crimson lips with his own.
The sweetness of her breath only fueled his hunger, making him crave more.
The kiss deepened, igniting a fire within him that refused to be ignored.
The servants, who had been standing discreetly in the distance, bowed their heads and quietly retreated, accustomed to such scenes.
It wasn’t until over ten minutes later that the intoxicating kiss finally broke.
"Camilla," Sinclair murmured, one hand supporting his delicate wife’s waist as he rose from the couch.
"Wait, Sinclair," Camilla protested, a mix of shyness and exasperation in her voice.
"You haven’t even eaten yet!" His dark eyes smoldered, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. *
Camilla opened her mouth to argue—
But the thought of the potential poison lurking in Sinclair’s body made her heart ache, and she swallowed her protests.
Their playful antics lasted well into the night. Every corner of the room seemed to pulse with affection.
Exhausted, Camilla was carried downstairs by Sinclair for a late supper, then scooped up again to be washed in the bath.
Finally, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
The world around them settled into quiet. Some time later, Camilla slowly opened her eyes.
In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, her gaze softened as she studied the striking face so close to hers—starting from his brow, tracing every inch with tender devotion, her eyes brimming with unspoken love.
She watched him for a long while before finally reaching out, her touch feather-light as she rested her fingers against his wrist.
Only after confirming, again and again, that aside from his existing condition, there were no new symptoms did she exhale in quiet relief.
At least the poison hadn’t begun to harm him yet.
She nestled back into his embrace, breathing in the comforting scent of the wood, and gradually drifted into deep sleep.
What Camilla didn’t know was this: The moment she fully succumbed to slumber, the man beside her opened his eyes—dark, unreadable.
Had something else gone wrong with his body?