At the presidential suite on the top floor of the hotel, Sinclair casually hung his suit jacket by the entrance before gently undoing his cufflinks.
His lowered eyes gleamed with a darkness that sent chills down the spine.
These were a gift from Camilla—he couldn’t bear to dirty them.
He lit a cigar and strode unhurriedly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.
From this prime location in the heart of the city, the most breathtaking and vibrant urban panorama sprawled effortlessly beneath him.
Yet none of the bustling streets or glittering lights below reflected in his narrowed, obsidian eyes.
Pale gray smoke curled upward in delicate wisps before dissolving into the air, veiling his refined, aristocratic features in an elusive haze.
Only the growing shadow in his gaze remained unmistakably sharp.
"After hiding for so long, I’m still not ready to show yourselves?"
His icy, low voice shattered the silence without warning.
Had they been discovered before even making a move?
Or was this man bluffing?
The four foreign assassins lurking in the shadows stiffened momentarily before regaining their composure.
*Hold your positions. We’re not within guaranteed kill range yet.*
The room remained eerily silent.
A faint smirk curled at the corners of Sinclair’s lips, his strikingly handsome face shadowed with icy disdain.
"Seems you’re waiting for me to make the first move," he mused, his voice smooth as velvet yet edged with lethal intent.
With deliberate grace, he rested his cigar in the ashtray.
His long, aristocratic fingers—each joint sharply defined—reached for the fruit knife beside him, twirling it idly between them like a macabre toy.
Then, in a flash of cold steel, the blade shot toward the bay window across the room.
The assassin concealed behind the curtains barely had time to react.
Every muscle in his body locked rigid as instinct hurled him sideways—
But the knife had already anticipated his dodge.
It plunged straight into his eye socket with sickening precision.
A bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence.
A man dressed in hotel staff uniform tumbled into view, clutching his ruined eye as scarlet rivulets seeped through his fingers.
His agonized writhing painted a grotesque tableau on the carpet.
Sinclair watched, the corners of his mouth lifting into a slow, chilling smile.
His dark eyes gleamed with something primal—a terrifying cocktail of carnage and barely restrained exhilaration.
It had been quite some time since he’d last had to fight.
The remaining three assassins stood frozen in shock.
They’d carried out countless missions before, yet this was the first time they’d been detected before even making a move.
No wonder this man commanded such a high price on his head.
"Take him down together!"
Jonathan’s face twisted into an ugly scowl, veins bulging across his smooth forehead.
"If I knew medicine, would I even need you?"
This woman had nothing going for her except her medical skills and that pretty face.
"Since you don’t understand, then keep quiet."
Camilla stared back at Jonathan, her delicate features hardening into icy disdain.
Clearly, she had no intention of sparing his pride
. Of course, there was no need to give it to him.
Jonathan pointed at Camilla, veins bulging on his forehead.
If it weren’t for his fear of Sinclair’s unpredictable temper, he would have taught this insolent woman a lesson she’d never forget.
"Rage without power solves nothing,"
Camilla said coolly, shifting her gaze away before walking back to Grandpa Luther’s side.
"Instead of wasting energy here, you’d be better off figuring out how to cure Grandpa."
Jonathan’s face twitched violently, his vision swimming for a moment.
For the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to be so furious he nearly passed out.
Tyler immediately stepped forward, helping Jonathan settle onto the nearby sofa.
"Please sit here and rest for now. Your health comes first."
Jonathan massaged his temples and nodded weakly, his mind foggy and unresponsive.
He couldn’t process anything being said, nor could he muster a reply.
"Sis-in-law, Dad’s just overly concerned about Grandpa’s condition.
He didn’t mean any harm," Tyler said, lifting his gaze to Camilla.
His expression was far gentler than Jonathan’s.
"Please don’t take it to heart."
Camilla picked up her teacup and took a delicate sip, offering no response.
That title of "Sis-in-law" wasn’t one she could acknowledge.
A flicker of embarrassment flashed through Tyler’s eyes, but he quickly masked it.
"Still, what kind of poison did Grandpa actually ingest?"
He frowned, his gaze shifting to the unconscious figure on the bed, genuine worry etched across his face.
"I’ll send someone to look into it—see if there’s any way to help him recover."
Of course, Tyler said this primarily to gauge just how much Camilla knew.
Camilla lifted her gaze, her eyes holding a profound, knowing glint as they met his.
"What poison Grandfather was given—you don’t know?"
Her words were light, almost casual, yet they sent a tremor through Tyler’s heart. What did she mean by that? Did she already know everything?
If that were true... if that were really the case...
He didn’t dare let the thought finish.
His brows furrowed as he stared at her, forcing his voice to remain steady.
"Why would I know? What are you implying?!"
Camilla’s dark, clear eyes remained fixed on him, unwavering.
Her heavy gaze seemed capable of piercing through any deception.
A chill crawled up Tyler’s spine, tightening the knot of tension in his chest.
Just as his frustration was about to boil over, Camilla abruptly looked away, her tone indifferent..
I thought I’d already mentioned it earlier."
Tyler frowned. But before he could relax, Camilla’s next words sent his heart racing again.
"The poison in Grandpa is called ’Half-Moon Toxin.’
It only flares up at night and subsides during the day," Camilla explained flatly, her expression unreadable.
"Such a unique toxin must be extremely rare.
Tracking down its source shouldn’t be too difficult."
She turned to Tyler, her gaze piercing.
Tyler’s hands, tucked in his pockets, clenched into tight fists, though his face remained carefully composed.
After exchanging a few more perfunctory words, he excused himself and helped Jonathan leave.
However, Jonathan didn’t go far—he was escorted by servants back to his original room to rest..
Inside the room, Camilla took out silver needles, and grandpa’s pallid complexion visibly improved, his cheeks regaining color.
"Grandpa should wake up in about half an hour.
From now on, the estate is closed to all visitors," she declared firmly.
"And one more thing—keep a close eye on Tyler and Jonathan."
Uncle Carlos furrowed his brows, his expression darkening.
"That this has something to do with Mr. Tyler and Mrs. Margaret?"
Camilla recalled the nervous look on Tyler’s face when she had probed earlier and nodded.
"What about Mr. Jonathan, then?"
Uncle Carlos’s frown deepened, his face clouded with unease.
No matter what, the Mr. Jonathan was still the grandpa’s own flesh and blood.
If he had a hand in the poisoning, even an outsider like Uncle Carlos felt a chill in his heart—let alone the old man himself.
"I don’t think so," Camilla shook her head, her voice calm but firm.
"It’s unlikely Jonathan is involved."
The shock and concern on his face hadn’t seemed feigned.
But in matters , one could never be too careful.
Her beautiful eyes narrowed slightly.
"Still, to be thorough, let’s have someone keep an eye on him too."
At a critical moment , there was no room for even the slightest oversight.