"Dad, you’ve got it all wrong—" Margaret’s voice trembled with unshed tears.
"We didn’t do anything! It’s Sinclair who’s being unreasonable—"
Grandpa Luther’s thunderous roar cut her off mid-sentence.
"Unlike that fool standing beside you, I’m not buying your act."
Decades of commanding the Luther Family empire had forged his authority into something unshakable, radiating from his very bones.
Margaret flinched as if struck, pressing her lips into a bloodless line, not daring another word.
"Father—" Jonathan frowned, ready to defend himself.
"Silence, you disgrace!"
The patriarch’s fury burned hotter.
"If not for your reckless choices, Romina would never have taken that path!
And Sinclair—look what’s become of him!"
With a white-knuckled grip on his cane, he swung at his son’s torso.
"It’s a well-known fact that the men of the Luther Family’s direct lineage are all devoted lovers.
How did this gene manage to skip you?"
Perhaps concerned about saving face and keeping the matter private, Jonathan clenched his teeth, enduring the blows with only muffled groans.
"Let me make this clear," Grandpa Luther panted slightly, leaning on his cane as he caught his breath from the exertion.
"As long as I’m alive, that girl Rodriguez will forever be the rightful lady of the Luther household. I won’t tolerate anyone mistreating her!"
His sharp gaze flickered toward Margaret before settling back on Jonathan.
"Others might not know, but how could you forget?
If it weren’t for grandpa Rodriguez pulling Sinclair back from death’s door back then, the Luther Family wouldn’t even exist today!"
"Father, I understand,"
Jonathan replied through gritted teeth, his body slick with cold sweat.
He knew better than to provoke his father further and nodded obediently.
Meanwhile, Margaret’s downcast eyes flickered with a trace of dark resentment.
So, Sinclair’s life had been saved by that grandpa Rodriguez?
On one side, there was the master; on the other, the young heir.
Grandpa Luther had been standing between them all these years—what an impossible position.
Outside the door, Uncle Carlos let out a silent sigh.
If the young master were to actually lay hands on the master today, regardless of the outcome, the only one who’d end up heartbroken and distressed would be grandpa.
Fortunately, there’s the young madam.
At the thought of Camilla, a trace of relief flickered across Uncle Carlos’s face.
From today’s events, it was clear that Sinclair cared far more deeply for Camilla than either he or grandpa had ever imagined.
Even a single word or gesture from her could sway boss Sinclair’s emotions to the greatest extent.
If things continued this way, there was a real chance that Sinclair’s condition could be brought under control in the shortest time possible.
Hearing the commotion in the front courtyard, Uncle Carlos stepped forward and knocked on the door.
"The ambulance is here."
Jonathan and Tyler boarded the ambulance together to have their wounds treated at the hospital.
Margaret, meanwhile, got into her own car and followed closely behind.
Many of the servants who witnessed this couldn’t help but wear expressions of stifled amusement.
The hierarchy between Sinclair and Mr. Jonathan’s trio had never been clearer to them.
Margaret stared grimly at the Luther Family mansion through the rearview mirror.
They had come with one purpose—to convince Grandpa Luther to let them take charge of the evening birthday banquet arrangements, giving Tyler a chance to shine.
But things had spiraled completely out of control.
Those two little bastards, Sinclair and Camilla—they deserved to die!
Inside the Rolls-Royce, Sinclair sat in the back seat, his dark eyes stormy, his striking features frozen in icy displeasure.
His long, elegant fingers twitched unconsciously toward his chest, but the moment he caught sight of the graceful figure beside him, he stilled his hand without a trace.
Camilla noticed the movement, understanding flashing in her eyes.
she murmured, turning to settle into his lap, her arms looping around his neck.
Let me help you, hm?"
Let me help you, okay?"
The woman’s sweet voice shattered the silence inside the car.
The discreet partition had risen at some point, unnoticed, dividing the vehicle into two separate worlds.
Though the words seemed abrupt and out of context, Sinclair understood immediately, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.
His voice was low and husky, laced with unmistakable tenderness.
Seeing that Sinclair didn’t refuse, Camilla’s eyes curved into a smile.
She reached into his embrace and retrieved the hard object that had been resting there all along.
Then, she pulled one out and placed it between her lips.
Sinclair leaned back against the seat, watching her quietly.
The bone-chilling cold in his dark eyes had, without him realizing, softened considerably.
A pale blue flame flickered to life. Camilla took a deep drag, mimicking the way men usually did.
The sudden rush of smoke caught her off guard, clawing at her throat and forcing out a couple of ragged coughs.
Her clear, crystalline eyes shimmered with unshed tears, making them even more luminous and captivating.
Sinclair’s gaze darkened.
"Sweetheart" Camilla suppressed another cough as she brought the lit cigarette to his lips.
She didn’t like smoke, so Sinclair could resist the urge to indulge.
But if he wanted to smoke, she wouldn’t mind in the slightest.
Loving someone meant being willing to change for them.
Besides, the scent of tobacco on Sinclair was different from anyone else’s.
Sinclair glanced at the faint dampness on the cigarette’s filter, then at Camilla’s soft, rosy lips.
His dark eyes narrowed slightly.
Right now, he found the cigarette far less enticing than those lips.
"What’s wrong, Sweetheart?"
Noticing his hesitation, Camilla frowned slightly.
"Are you dissatisfied with my service?"
I’m more than satisfied."
Sinclair lowered his head, catching the cigarette between Camilla’s fingers with his lips.
He took a deep drag, then cracked the car window slightly, letting the smoke curl out through the gap.
Camilla nestled quietly in his arms, watching him without a word.
Yet the warmth radiating from her gradually melted the chill in Sinclair’s heart.
By the time the cigarette burned out, his expression had softened.
He reached out, gently stroking her cheek. "Camilla, thank you."
Camilla gazed at his lips, her eyes crinkling with amusement.
"If you want to thank me, do it verbally."
Of course, "verbally" didn’t mean just words. Sinclair’s gaze darkened.
His hand slid from her cheek to cradle the back of her head as he leaned in closer— Just then, Camilla’s phone rang, shattering the moment.
Displeasure flashed in Sinclair’s eyes. Meanwhile...
At a hospital under the Luther Corporation’s umbrella.
Tiffany said with a soft smile, watching Arlo’s anxious expression as he kept scanning her up and down.
"Just a minor fracture in my calf—really, that’s all. Everything else is fine."
"That’s a relief," Arlo exhaled, settling into the chair beside her hospital bed, his gaze tender as he looked at her.
"You have no idea how terrified I was when I heard about your accident."
"Sorry," Tiffany murmured, her lips curling into a gentle smile.
"Didn’t mean to scare you."
"You’re my girlfriend—the most important person in my life," Arlo countered with a chuckle.
"Who else would I worry about if not you?"
Though his words were light, his mind had already begun weaving other plans.
"Who said I’m your girlfriend?"
Tiffany felt a sweet warmth in her heart, yet recalling Camilla’s advice, she remained firm.
"Don’t forget, I haven’t agreed to get back together yet."
"Fanny!!" Arlo’s expression stiffened for a moment before he let out a sigh, his face etched with helplessness.
"I truly know I was wrong about what happened before," he said, brows furrowed deeply, his eyes brimming with sincerity.
"Just tell me what I need to do for you to forgive me?"