Chapter 134: Carrie Ann is not an ordinary child

Chapter 134: Carrie Ann is not an ordinary child Knock knock. Knock knock. Sinclair’s movements froze mid-action, his dark eyes simmering with stormy intensity. His strikingly handsome face was a portrait of barely restrained fury, like thunderclouds gathering before a tempest. Camilla finally caught her breath, her cheeks flushed as she pushed lightly against Sinclair’s chest. "Sweetheart!!" What mortified her even more was— She had nearly lost all reason to desire, almost surrendering to him right then and there! Sinclair held her gaze for a long, silent moment before finally reaching to refasten the button at her collarbone. Then he sat back, his expression unreadable as he loosened his tie with a sharp tug. Several tense minutes passed before the suffocating atmosphere gradually dissipated. Camilla’s breathing steadied, the color returning to her face. "Sweetheart, let them in." "Hmm," Sinclair turned his gaze toward the door, his voice dangerously low and hoarse. "Get in here." *Oh no!* *Did I just interrupt the boss and his wife in the middle of something?!* Ramsey could practically feel the suppressed fury in Sinclair’s tone and wished he could turn around and bolt right then. But the little one in his arms reached out again, knocking lightly on the door. Tap, tap, tap. Sinclair’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening further. "Little troublemaker, you’re gonna get me killed!" Ramsey knew that delaying any longer would only make things worse. Steeling himself, he pushed the door open. "Mr. Luther, Mrs. Luther." "What is it?" Sinclair’s icy stare bore into Ramsey, the chilling darkness in his eyes enough to freeze a man’s soul. That look wasn’t a question—it was a warning. The look in his eyes clearly said: This better be important!! Ramsey groaned inwardly as he raised his head. "This...this little miss was looking for Madam. No matter how I tried to calm her down, nothing worked." Babysitting was harder than he’d ever imagined. At this rate, marriage and kids were the last things on his mind. Sinclair was about to speak when he caught sight of Ramsey’s face plastered with colorful stickers. His brows were instantly furrowed. His icy gaze shifted to the tiny figure in Ramsey’s arms. The little girl was stretching her arms toward Camilla, pleading to be held. Her fair, delicate face was scrunched up in distress, her rosebud lips trembling as if holding back tears. Glistening droplets still clung to her long lashes, making her look utterly pitiful. Sinclair pressed his lips together, the usual sternness in his demeanor softening into resignation. Meanwhile, Camilla had already stepped forward. "You’ve had your hands full," she said, taking Carie Ann into her arms while barely suppressing a laugh at the princess stickers covering Ramsey’s face. "Go get some rest." "Thank you, Madam." This time, Ramsey had the sense not to glance at Sinclair again. Once he received the lady’s permission, he turned and strode out without hesitation. He needed to find a way to wash whatever was smeared on his face—otherwise, he wouldn’t dare show himself in public again. "Carrie Ann..." Camilla gently wiped the little girl’s tears with a handkerchief, her voice soft as a whisper. "What’s wrong? Did that uncle earlier scare you?" For some reason, she felt an inexplicable fondness for this child. Carrie Ann shook her head. Her tiny, fair fingers pointed first at herself, then at Camilla, before she curled up like a little ball, nestling tightly into her arms while stealing timid glances at Sinclair. Camilla’s heart melted, her expression growing even more tender. "Sweetheart, isn’t she adorable?" Sinclair’s gaze remained cool as he studied the small bundle clinging to Camilla, those wary little eyes peeking up at him. "Just okay." No matter how adorable she was, she shouldn’t be monopolizing his Camilla. Camilla found it amusing. For some reason, the little girl in her arms suddenly reached out toward Sinclair. Sinclair frowned but didn’t move. Undeterred, the child leaned halfway out of Camilla’s embrace, stubbornly insisting that Sinclair hold her. Still, he remained motionless, his aloof expression unchanged. "Sweetheart," Camilla chided softly, unable to bear the awkwardness any longer. Without hesitation, she placed the little girl directly into Sinclair’s arms. In that fleeting moment, Camilla thought she saw the collar around the child’s neck vibrate rapidly—but when she looked again, there was nothing. Must have been her imagination. Sinclair stiffened slightly as the tiny figure settled into his embrace. "Camilla, take her back," he said, his voice tight. Camilla had never seen her husband so visibly uncomfortable. Leaning against the sofa, she couldn’t help but laugh softly. The little girl, however, showed no fear of Sinclair—or perhaps she simply didn’t recognize the resistance in his expression. Her chubby little fingers curled around his much larger hand, and her big, grape-like eyes darted around as if searching for something. Then, suddenly, they lit up. "Ah... ah!" The little girl pointed excitedly at a spot on Sinclair’s wrist, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What did Carie Ann find?" Camilla followed the child’s chubby finger and smiled, but her expression faltered slightly when she noticed the small brownish-red dot on his skin. "Does Uncle have something fun on his hand?" Her mind raced. Could this be where Michael implanted the poisonous worm into Sinclair’s body? But how did Carie Ann even notice it? She had searched deliberately before and found nothing. Camilla quickly masked her surprise. It must just be a coincidence. Sinclair remained composed, his handsome face betraying no concern over the insignificant mark. The little girl waved her plump hands animatedly, babbling as if trying to explain something to them. Sinclair glanced at Camilla, a faint question in his eyes. "What does this mean?" "I don’t get it either," Camilla shook her head, then reached out to the little girl with a gentle coaxing tone. "Carie Ann, if there’s something you want to tell us, is there any word you know how to write?" Though she asked, she didn’t hold much hope—the child was far too young. Write? The little girl tilted her head in thought before nodding excitedly. Her chubby fingers traced a single character stroke by stroke in Camilla’s palm. Just one word, yet it sent a tremor through Camilla’s pupils. Bug?! Could she really have sensed the parasitic insect inside Sinclair?! From Sinclair’s position, all he could see was the little girl’s fluffy head—her writing remained hidden. His gaze softened as he turned to Camilla. "What did the little bun say?" "Probably just scribbles," Camilla clenched her fist nervously, steadying herself before forcing a smile at Sinclair. "I didn’t understand it either." Sinclair leaned back against the sofa with a smirk curling his lips. "Take her away." No! She hadn’t been scribbling nonsense. Fearing that Sinclair and Camilla might misunderstand, the little girl shook her head frantically. Then, with a tiny frown creasing her forehead, she picked up her collar and gave it a gentle shake. *Jingle-jangle.* *Jingle-jangle.* The delicate silver bells on the collar chimed with a crisp, melodious sound. Suddenly, a small golden silkworm emerged from the girl’s ear, its tiny wings fluttering rapidly. Plump and glistening, it looked almost... adorable. Sinclair’s brows were instantly furrowed. Camilla’s pupils constricted sharply. A flash of realization pierced through the tension that had clouded their minds these past two days. Could this be... The poison?! The little girl pointed at the red dot on Sinclair’s wrist. There seemed to be some unspoken connection between her and the golden silkworm. The insect immediately obeyed her command, fluttering over to land on Sinclair’s wrist. It lowered its head, sniffing intently. After a moment, it raised its gaze to the little girl, its wings fluttering rapidly—almost as if it were excited. Camilla felt an inexplicable unease settled in her chest. It wasn’t that she feared the little girl would harm Sinclair. No, what terrified her was the possibility of discovery. The matter of the poison had to remain hidden from Sweetheart—at least until they found a cure. Softly, she spoke up, hoping to intervene. "Carrie Ann, you—" "Camilla." The warmth had vanished from Sinclair’s face. His dark, narrow eyes fixed on the golden silkworm with unsettling intensity. "Let her continue." Ever since the golden silkworm appeared, he had sensed something stirring within him—something restless, something afraid.