Chapter 121: Where is the maid Sinclair is looking for?

Chapter 121: Where is the maid Sinclair is looking for? "What did you just say?!" Ramsey froze mid-motion, his expression darkening as he stared at the man before him. What did he mean by "If I die, Sinclair won’t live either"? That tone of absolute certainty—had this bastard planted some kind of trap?! "You heard me perfectly well, didn’t you?" Micheal’s face twisted in pain, yet his bloodstained lips curled into a sick, shadowy smirk. "Go ahead, do it," he rasped, his crimson eyes locked onto Ramsey, his voice ragged as if torn from his throat. "Having Sinclair accompany me in death... isn’t such a bad way to go." Ramsey’s brow furrowed deeply, his expression grave. Had anyone else uttered those words, he wouldn’t have believed them for a second. But Micheal was different. This man was insane—a complete and utter madman. "Why would you say that?" Ramsey threw down the leather whip and lunged forward, his fingers closing like a vice around Micheal’s throat. "What dirty tricks have you been pulling this time, Micheal?" The veins in his hands bulged as his voice dripped with venom. "Spit it out—clearly!" "Some things... aren’t worth your ears," Micheal gasped, his face flushing crimson from lack of air. "I’ll only talk... to Camilla. She’s the one I’ll tell everything to." His eyes drifted shut, his entire body radiating an eerie stillness. "Otherwise... just kill me now." "You—!" Ramsey was so furious he could barely speak, his grip tightening as if he wanted nothing more than to snap Micheal’s neck then and there. But he couldn’t gamble with Mr. Luther’s safety—not even the slightest risk was acceptable. A heavy silence stretched between them for several minutes. Finally, Ramsey released his hold. Uncle Joe exhaled in relief, slumping back into his chair like a puppet with its strings cut. At that very moment. "Take him down," Ramsey said coldly, his expression dark as he glared at Uncle Joe. "Put this old bastard up there instead." Rage burned in his eyes. "Beat him hard. Don’t stop until I say so. Let’s see if this one’s got the same tough hide that can take the pain." "Yes, sir!" The mercenary immediately obeyed, roughly hauling Uncle Joe toward the spot where Micheal had been tied. "Mmph! Mmph—!" Uncle Joe’s eyes bulged with terror, his muffled cries desperate as he looked pleadingly at Micheal. Micheal opened his mouth as if to speak, but ultimately remained silent. Ramsey wouldn’t listen to a word he said—not until Camilla arrived. Ramsey strode out of the room, pausing at the doorway to think for a long moment before finally pulling out his phone. Meanwhile... Camilla had just stepped out of the mall, carefully selected groceries in hand, ready to prepare a lavish homemade dinner for Sinclair. Things had been going smoothly lately, with all their troubles resolved and everything moving in the right direction. They really should have been celebrating. So when Camilla saw Ramsey’s name flashing on her phone screen, surprise flickered through her. Ramsey never called her without good reason—unless it was on Sinclair’s orders or something related to him. "Madam." "What is it?" Camilla immediately caught the unusual tension in Ramsey’s voice, her beautiful eyes sharpening with concern. "What happened?" On the other end of the line, Ramsey hesitated for several seconds before speaking. He quickly summarized the incident in the basement and the words Micheal had uttered. "Mr. Sinclair ordered me not to tell you," Ramsey said, his voice heavy. "But Micheal is ruthless, unpredictable, and completely unhinged. I’m afraid—" *Thud.* The carefully selected groceries in Camilla’s hands hit the floor. Her gaze turned to ice. "Understood. I’ll be home immediately." The basement. "Madam," Ramsey kicked Micheal, but the man remained completely unresponsive. "He’s passed out again." "Use ice water," Camilla said, her gaze fixed on Micheal with bone-chilling coldness. "No—douse him with saltwater instead." "Yes!" Ramsey nodded and glanced to the side. Moments later. * *Splash—** A bucket of concentrated ice-cold saltwater poured over Micheal’s head, jolting his entire body into an instinctive, rigid tension. Wounds that had begun to clot tore open again, leaving him drenched in fresh blood—a gruesome sight. Yet Camilla didn’t even flinch. Everyone who hurts Sinclair bears responsibility for what he has become. No matter what happens to these people, she’ll always feel their suffering isn’t enough. "Tch—" A low groan escaped Micheal as he jolted awake from the searing pain. His eyelids felt like lead as he struggled to open them. Above him stood a woman with porcelain skin and breathtaking beauty, her icy gaze fixed on him as if he were nothing more than an insect beneath her feet. "Even though it’s not the first time I’ve seen you," Micheal’s thoughts stuttered for a split second at the sight of her face before he managed a slow, mocking smirk, "this face of yours... No wonder even a man like Sinclair couldn’t resist." His words dragged, each syllable strained, fresh blood trickling from the corner of his lips. "You went through all this trouble—surely not just to flatter me to my face?" Camilla arched a delicate brow, her voice frosty. "If you have something to say, spit it out. No point wasting each other’s time." "Cough... cough—" Instead of answering, Micheal was wracked by violent coughs, his already pallid face turning ghostly white, as though he might draw his last breath any second. "I hear your medical skills are quite impressive. Why don’t you examine me first?" The corners of his lips curled slightly deeper, but his eyes remained devoid of warmth—cold and calculating, like a venomous snake lying in wait. "Sinclair’s men... they don’t hold back when they strike." "Micheal!" Ramsey’s face flushed with fury. "Don’t push your luck!" "This isn’t about pushing luck," Micheal replied, his chilling gaze fixed on Camilla, deliberately ignoring Ramsey. "I just don’t want to choke on my last breath before saying what really matters." The veiled threat in Micheal’s words only stoked Ramsey’s rage. "You—" "Ramsey, it’s fine." Camilla shook her head, her cool eyes locking onto Micheal with quiet intensity. "I’ll examine you. But—" She spoke slowly, deliberately. "I need to know the whereabouts of that maid first." The reason Camilla didn’t directly ask about Sinclair was because she harbored deep suspicions about the whole matter. Even if—just hypothetically—there was any truth to it, this man would never reveal it easily. "Hmph." Micheal studied Camilla intently, a cold chuckle escaping his throat. "Seems you’re not one to make losing deals," he remarked, coughing twice before casually wiping away the crimson stain at the corner of his lips. "That person is in the capital of Country A—Calaba City." Calaba City—the farthest possible place from America?! Ramsey pressed his lips together, his eyes glinting with icy intensity. No wonder the Luther Family had exhausted countless resources and manpower over the years without ever finding that woman. But the more elusive she was, the more it proved her guilt. "I’ve told you what you wanted to know," Micheal said, his gaze inscrutable. "Now, shall we take a look at your condition?" Camilla remained silent, simply rising from the couch and moving to Micheal’s side. Her pale, slender fingers rested lightly on his wrist as she focused on taking his pulse. From the moment she’d first laid eyes on him, Camilla had sensed something peculiar—his eyes carried a faint shadow of death, the kind usually seen only in terminally ill patients beyond medical help. Yet Micheal’s vitality seemed to contradict this impression. This medical anomaly intrigued her. With her expertise, she would undoubtedly detect the abnormality within him. Micheal said nothing, the sickly curve of his lips deepening slightly as his crimson, chilling gaze fixed intently on Camilla. This way, she wouldn’t question his forthcoming words. Some truths could only be shared with those who could comprehend them. Ramsey stood rigid, his entire body tense as he watched Micheal warily, ready to intervene should the man suddenly lash out and harm Madam. Fortunately, Micheal remained perfectly still throughout. Camilla’s fingers paused imperceptibly on Micheal’s pulse point. She looked up, her eyes filled with complex emotions as they met the man’s gaze. How could this be?