Chapter 103: Tyler and Sandra Scandal

Chapter 103: Tyler and Sandra Scandal "That illegitimate son Jonathan brought along is utterly disgraceful." "Grandpa Luther’s birthday banquet hasn’t even ended, and he’s already fooling around with a woman in one of the rooms." "That woman certainly knows how to seduce men, but she clearly didn’t raise her son with any decency." Several society matrons returned to the main hall and immediately huddled together, dissecting the scandal that had unfolded in the lounge. They spoke without lowering their voices, making no effort to conceal their gossip. After all, nothing spreads faster than secrets and scandals. In no time, the entire banquet hall had caught wind of Tyler’s misbehavior. To be fair, every prominent family had its share of reckless playboys. At that age—full of restless energy and lacking nothing—it wasn’t unusual for young men to indulge in some mischief. But someone like Tyler, who couldn’t even be bothered to wait for an appropriate time and place? That was rare. Whispers rippled through the crowd, expressions ranging from amusement to disdain. "Who knew the real entertainment would come at the very end? A Luther Family banquet never disappoints." "I wonder who the woman was. Every family here tonight is well-connected." "Just see which young lady is missing from the crowd—that should tell you everything." "How could we possibly keep track of so many people? All I know is that Miss Sandra left quite a while ago. Surely it couldn’t be her?" "Exactly. That Miss Sandra has impossibly high standards. Apart from that one person, she doesn’t give anyone else a second glance—let alone some illegitimate child who can’t even show his face in decent company." Meanwhile. The door to the room where Tyler and the others were gathered swung open from the outside. "Who gave you permission to come in?" Jonathan, his mind in turmoil, turned toward the intruder with a sharp rebuke. "Get the hell—" The last word died on his lips as his gaze landed on the man’s striking, aristocratic features. "What are you doing here?!" After what had happened at the old mansion that afternoon, Jonathan had come to a stark realization—Sinclair truly wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. Now, facing his son again, he couldn’t help but feel a prickle of unease. *That little bastard—how did he get here so fast?* Margaret stared at Sinclair, an inexplicable sense of dread creeping over her. Her hands, hanging at her sides, clenched involuntarily. Sinclair ignored Jonathan’s question. Without a word, he strode past him and stepped into the room. Behind him followed several mercenaries with cold, stern expressions. Sandra strode to the bedside, his dark, narrow eyes sweeping over Tyler and Sandra with icy detachment. "In such a hurry that you couldn’t even wait for the banquet to end?" His voice was sharp as a blade, dripping with frost, sending chills down the spine of anyone who heard it. Tyler glared back at him, his expression dark and venomous, yet laced with an undercurrent of fear. The plan he and his mother had devised was airtight. Only a handful of trusted confidants knew about it—people who would never betray them. So how the hell did Sinclair and Camilla find out? And why didn’t they expose him? Why help him instead?! "N-no, it’s not like that, Sinclair!" Sandra trembled under the weight of his undisguised scorn and disgust, humiliation and fury making her voice shake. "It was Tyler! He set me up—they all plotted against me! You have to believe me!" "Set you up?" Jonathan’s brow furrowed deeply. "Sandra, what exactly are you saying?" "Tyler," Sandra ignored Jonathan’s words, struggling to sit up as she reached desperately for Sinclair. Tears and snot streaked her face, her voice raw with hysteria. "Kill them for me—kill them now!!" The blanket covering her slipped away with her frantic movements, revealing unmistakable marks of passion scattered across her skin. Margaret’s temple twitched. Jonathan frowned deeply, shooting Tyler a sharp, accusatory glare—clearly demanding an explanation for how things had gotten to this state. Tyler’s expression darkened, but he remained silent. None of those marks on Sandra had anything to do with him. Yet this was exactly the scene they had intended to create. For now, he had no choice but to swallow his words and bear the blame—at least until later. "If you don’t plan on keeping those hands," Sinclair’s gaze was glacial as it fell on Sandra’s outstretched fingers, as if she were something filthy. "Then by all means, keep reaching." If not for his desire to prolong her suffering, he would have sent this woman straight to hell long ago. The chilling aura radiating from Sinclair seemed to freeze the entire room. Jonathan and the others couldn’t help but shudder involuntarily. "Sinclair—" Sandra stood frozen in place, her face twisted with hurt as she stared at him. She couldn’t believe it—even in her most pitiful state, this man still showed not an ounce of tenderness toward her. "The two elders are waiting in the council hall," Sinclair said, ignoring Sandra entirely as he glanced at the mercenaries behind him. "Take them there immediately." As he spoke, his piercing gaze lingered on Tyler for a brief moment before he turned and walked away. From start to finish, he didn’t spare Sandra so much as a second glance. Her lips pressed into a tight, trembling line, her face flushing crimson with humiliation. "Yes, sir." Several mercenaries, their expressions cold and unyielding, stepped forward toward Tyler and Sandra—clearly intending to escort them just as they were. "President Luther." "Stop right there!" Margaret hurried forward, her face pale with panic as she blocked the path of several mercenaries. "All of you, stay back! They—they’re not even dressed yet!" She wanted the news to spread through others’ mouths, but she couldn’t bear the thought of them seeing her son in such a humiliating state. "Apologies," The lead mercenary, a young man, didn’t slow his steps, clearly dismissing Margaret’s words without a second thought. "President Luther’s orders—we take them now." Of course, that was just the official line. President Luther wouldn’t have minded waiting a minute or two. The real reason for their ruthless efficiency? A little nudge from Ramsey. Ramsey’s exact words had been: *"These people crossed Madam. They’re already done for—no need to spare them any courtesy." The mercenaries, their expressions icy, strode to the bedside and reached out to haul Tyler and Sandra out without hesitation. "Ah—!" Sandra had never suffered such indignity in her life. Eyes blazing with fury and humiliation, she glared at the mercenaries. "How dare you lay your filthy hands on me? Have you lost your damn mind?" She was completely exposed, not a stitch of clothing to shield her. The thought of being seen like this by so many men was unbearable. She’d rather die than endure such humiliation! Margaret also fought desperately to stop them. The room instantly descended into chaos, like a henhouse under siege. Tyler remained silent, his jaw clenched tight. He knew words were useless—these men wouldn’t listen to him anyway. In their eyes, only Sinclair mattered. "Stop this right now!!" Jonathan suddenly stepped forward, shoving several of the mercenaries aside with a furious snarl. "Today is the old master’s birthday banquet. The guests outside are all dignitaries. If you drag them out like this, you’ll disgrace both the Luther and Porter families!" His expression darkened with menace. "You may not care about our reputation, but do you dare ignore the face of the two patriarchs?" At the mention of the elders, the leader’s eyes flickered with hesitation. "Stand down," He cast a cold glance at the group and spoke icily. "We’ll wait outside. Three minutes." The ultimatum was clearly directed at Jonathan and the others. Margaret watched their retreating figures, his jaw clenched so tightly that the tendons in his temples stood out like steel cords. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined— That one day, he would stoop so low as to grovel before these lowly underlings. "Jonathan, you should go too," Margaret interjected smoothly. "I’ll stay behind and help out here." Jonathan shot Tyler a glare brimming with fury before storming out without another word. **BANG!* * The door slammed shut with violent finality, sealing away the absurdity within.