He’ll Change It Right Away, Okay?
"Yes," The assistant exhaled in relief, bowing his head as he hurried out of the room.
For some reason, even though Miss Camilla had already arrived in Country E—on the boss’s home turf—he still felt uneasy, as though something terrible was about to happen.
Of course, he wouldn’t dare voice that thought to his employer.
The vast dining room was now empty except for Antonio and Camilla.
Antonio extended a glass of red wine toward Camilla, his voice warm and laced with amusement as he spoke slowly.
"Come to think of it, this is our first time dining alone together.
No matter what, we should celebrate."
Camilla lowered her gaze, staring at the offered glass for several seconds before finally reaching out to take it.
"The first time," she said, her clear, icy eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the crimson liquid in the glass, "and the last."
Her words were deliberate, each syllable measured.
"We really should celebrate."
Without sparing Antonio another glance, she tilted the glass and let the wine slide smoothly down her throat.
Antonio simply dismissed Camilla’s words as angry rhetoric, his smile unwavering—clearly unfazed.
"Drinking so freely—aren’t you afraid I might have spiked your wine?"
Camilla met his gaze calmly, her delicate, exquisite face icy.
"If you had, do you really think I wouldn’t know?"
The fundamentals of traditional medicine were observation, listening, questioning, and diagnosis—the first two could also detect poison.
You’ve always excelled in medicine, junior."
Antonio chuckled softly, downing the red wine in his glass before gesturing to the dishes on the table.
"These are signature dishes from E Country’s most renowned Michelin chefs.
Try them—see if you like them."
His tone was gentle, considerate even, yet it only deepened the disgust in Camilla’s eyes.
But she knew she couldn’t afford to openly clash with Antonio.
Her true purpose flashed darkly in her gaze, fleeting but sharp.
Without a word, she obediently picked up her knife and fork and began eating.
Antonio, however, didn’t touch his food.
Leaning back in his chair, his dark eyes fixed intently on Camilla.
Antonio had imagined this moment—just the two of them—countless times in his mind.
What should have been effortless had turned into such a struggle, all because of that man who appeared out of nowhere.
At the thought of Sinclair, Antonio’s mind involuntarily conjured up those pitch-black eyes he couldn’t bear to meet, a shadow flitting across his face as he slowly parted his lips.
"I heard Sinclair is gravely ill and in a coma?" His smooth voice carried a subtle undertone of probing.
Camilla didn’t look up, but the hand holding her fork froze mid-motion.
After a long silence, she finally spoke, her voice low and measured, as though trying to conceal something.
"Just baseless rumors spread by those people in the capital."
Her lashes remained lowered as she resumed eating, her tone deliberately flat.
"Sweetheart is perfectly fine. Nothing’s wrong."
Antonio took in every nuance of her expression and movement, the skepticism in his gaze easing slightly.
Had Camilla admitted it outright, he would have been suspicious.
But this very attempt to cover up only confirmed that something had indeed happened to Sinclair.
After all, if that man were truly unharmed, Luther Corporation would never have fallen into Camilla’s hands, nor would he have been able to take her away so effortlessly.
The realization brought a smile back to his lips.
"Of course," Camilla seemed to have steadied herself, lifting her gaze to meet Antonio’s.
Her inscrutable eyes were icy cold.
"So I suggest you let Fanny go right now and send us back to San Francisco.
I’ll pretend none of this ever happened."
Her grip on the knife and fork tightened as she continued, her voice firm.
"Otherwise, Sinclair will never let you get away with this!"
Antonio waited patiently for her to finish before curling his lips into a faint, unruffled smile. "Is that so?
Then I’ll just have to wait and see how Sinclair plans to make me pay."
Camilla frowned, her knuckles whitening from the force of her grip on the utensils.
"Antonio, just tell me the truth. What will it take for you to let Fanny go?"
"I’ve already said it—I want you to leave Sinclair and be with me."
Antonio’s lips curved into a smirk, his gaze lingering on her with a knowing, almost mocking glint.
His voice was low and deliberate.
"How could the woman I love stay by another man’s side forever?"
Camilla stared at him, her eyes dark with disgust.
She desperately wanted to ask him—what exactly did he even see in her?
Can’t she change her ways right this instant?!
"About Sinclair now..."
Camilla lowered her head, her words trailing off as she hesitated, clearly torn.
"Grandpa Luther just handed over the Luther Corporation to me.
The situation is still unstable—I can’t possibly leave the Luther Family at this critical moment."
Antonio seemed to have anticipated Camilla’s response, his eyes betraying no surprise.
"The Luther Family still has Grandpa Luther," Antonio said, his gaze fixed on Camilla with an unsettling calmness.
"With him around, why would you need to worry about the Luther Family’s affairs?"
Antonio narrowed his eyes slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Camilla, that excuse of yours isn’t very convincing."
His words carried an underlying intent—he wanted to know whether Camilla truly held power in the Luther Corporation or if it was still under the old man’s control.
"It’s not an excuse," Camilla replied, her brows furrowing as she met his gaze.
"If you know about Sinclair’s critical condition, then you should also know that Grandpa Luther’s health has been failing for a long time.
Antonio can’t afford to strain himself."
She took a deep breath before continuing, her tone laced with helplessness.
"If that weren’t the case, he wouldn’t have handed the Luther Corporation over to me."
Antonio’s dark eyes flickered with something unreadable as he absorbed the answer he had been seeking.
Instead of responding immediately, he leisurely pulled a cigarette from his pocket, placed it between his lips, and lit it.
Thick, ashen smoke curled from his mouth and nostrils, the acrid scent of nicotine quickly filling the air.
"But if you can’t even agree to this one condition, how can I possibly let Tiffany go?"
Threats delivered with such righteous conviction—utterly despicable.
Camilla wrinkled her nose at the smell of smoke, a wave of nausea rising in her throat.
Truth be told, apart from Sinclair’s scent, she detested the stench of cigarettes at any time, in any place.
But there was no point saying that to the man before her.
After all, he wouldn’t be smoking much longer.
A flicker of lethal intent flashed deep in Camilla’s eyes, gone in an instant.