Chapter 168: Blatant Favoritism

Words : 1283 Updated : Oct 4th, 2025

Chapter 168: Blatant Favoritism "Tomorrow is Professor Robert’s sixtieth birthday," Antonio said gently, his voice warm and inviting. "The old man wants to take this opportunity to gather all his former students together. He asked me to invite you." Professor Robert had been her medical school mentor during university, a kind and supportive figure in her life. Fascinated by traditional medicine, he would often pull her aside after class for lengthy discussions. Their relationship had been more like that of friends than merely teacher and student. But after graduation, too much had happened. She’d changed all her contact details and lost touch with everyone from that period. In her previous life, she hadn’t run into Antonio at this time, so she’d missed this medical department reunion altogether. Camilla glanced at Sinclair, hesitating before preparing to decline. "I’m sorry, Senior Mega, I—" "Camilla." Sinclair leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as his deep voice carried an unreadable edge. "Say yes." Camilla’s eyes widened in surprise as she stared at him. She had thought Sweetheart wouldn’t want her to attend. "Sweetheart," Sinclair’s lips curved into a smirk, his voice growing huskier and more strained, laced with an inexplicable allure. "Say you’ll go." His breath brushed against Camilla’s ear, sending a shiver down her spine. Her body stiffened involuntarily from the sudden tension, and she quickly nodded in understanding. The abrupt restraint drew a muffled groan from Sinclair. On the other end of the line, Antonio faintly caught the sound of a man’s voice. His pupils constricted sharply, his grip tightening around the phone until it nearly cracked in his palm. "Camilla, is there someone with you...?" How could there be a man’s voice? Before he could finish his sentence, he was cut off. "I understand. I’ll be there." The moment Camilla spoke those words, she hastily ended the call. The line instantly dissolved into dead silence. So eager to hang up? Had he been right? Was there really a man by Camilla’s side?! Antonio remained rooted to the spot, his grip on the phone unyielding. His dark eyes were fathomless, the veins on the back of his hand bulging ominously. No one—absolutely no one—was allowed. Camilla had been the one occupying his heart for years, and he would never tolerate anyone else laying a finger on her. His gaze turned icy. Only after hanging up did Camilla finally exhale, her body relaxing at last. Her glistening eyes glared at the devastatingly handsome man before her. "Sweetheart!! How could you do that? That was too much!" "Too much?" Sinclair’s dark eyes narrowed, his entire demeanor lethally seductive. "Seems I’ll have to show Camilla what *truly* crossing the line looks like." Another half-day of passion followed. Meanwhile, at the Luther Family villa. "Dad," Tyler’s eyes darkened as he took in the distinct red handprint marring Margaret’s cheek, his brows knitting into a deep frown. "What the hell is this?!" "You’re asking me?" Jonathan slammed his cup onto the table with a sharp clatter, his face twisted in fury as he glared at his son. "Why don’t you ask your dear mother what she’s done first?" Tyler’s gaze sharpened as he turned toward Margaret. " Jonathan.." Margaret avoided her son’s eyes, fixing her tear-filled ones on Jonathan instead. Her voice trembled with restrained sobs, thick with grievances. "How many times must I say it? I had nothing to do with sending anyone after that woman!" Her delicate features were perfectly arranged in that artful, pitiable expression—the very picture of a wronged beauty, tear-stained yet dignified. She knew exactly what worked on Jonathan. Under normal circumstances, the sight of her like this would have melted his resolve instantly, bending him to her will without hesitation. But this time, an unmistakable flicker of impatience crossed his face. The living room of the Luther Family mansion was thick with tension. "I don’t trust anyone—only what I see with my own eyes," Jonathan said coldly, his expression dark as he glared at Margaret. The icy contempt in his gaze was unmistakable. "You sent your people to investigate Tamara, and the very next moment, she was nearly killed in a car crash. Do you really expect me to believe that’s just a coincidence?" Tyler watched his mother silently, his eyes narrowing slightly. Deep down, he suspected she was behind it—after all, he knew she had ordered surveillance on that woman and had even warned her against it. But suspicion was one thing; voicing it was another. "Mom isn’t that kind of person. There must be some misunderstanding here. We should look into this more carefully," he said calmly, reaching for the teapot to pour his father a fresh cup. His voice deepened as he added, "But no matter what, Dad, you shouldn’t have laid a hand on her. She’s your wife, the madam of this house. How do you think this looks to everyone else?" At his words, Margaret lowered her head, dabbing at her tears with a trembling hand. Jonathan, however, said nothing. He merely sipped his tea, his brow furrowed in silent contemplation. Seeing that his words had some effect, Tyler secretly breathed a sigh of relief while continuing to coax her gently. The tension in the air gradually eased. By the time Camilla woke up, the night had already fallen. The space beside her was long and empty. She shifted slightly, her body still sore but at least clean—someone had even dressed her in a nightgown, clearly having freshened her up. Yet the bruises and marks remained, stubborn reminders of the night before. The memory of Sinclair’s earlier frenzy made her flush with a mix of embarrassment and anger. Snatching her phone, she pulled up his chat window and typed sharply: Where are you?" Her tone lacked its usual sweetness, carrying instead a petulant edge. The reply came instantly. "Study." A second later, another message followed. "In a meeting." A meeting? After everything he’d just put her through—the sheer exploitation—Camilla felt a sudden, wicked impulse rise within her. She pulled back the covers and changed into a nightgown that could conceal the bruises on her body before heading toward the study. Inside the study, Sinclair leaned back in his chair, his slightly upturned eyes half-lidded as he regarded the people on the video call with detached indifference. "Is that all?" Three simple words, yet they weighed heavily on the executives on the other end of the call. They averted their eyes, even their breaths unconsciously growing shallow, as if afraid of drawing his attention. Even through the screen, the oppressive aura radiating from the man was palpable. Just then, a sweet, gentle voice suddenly rang out. "Honey—" The executives in the meeting couldn’t help but flinch, exchanging glances. Before the call, they had made sure to clear the room—not a single living soul had been left behind. Who in the world had the nerve to make noise during his video conference?! "Hm." To their utter astonishment, the one who responded was none other than the man in the center of the projection. They exchanged another look through the screen, the unspoken meaning in their eyes unmistakable. Mr. Luther absolutely detests being interrupted during work hours. This rumored wife of his must have nerves of steel. The executives exchanged uneasy glances, bracing themselves for the storm they knew was coming. They could only hope the fallout wouldn’t land on them. "You’re awake?" Sinclair’s gaze settled on the slender figure standing at the study door. His voice, though still cool, carried a gentleness that hadn’t been there moments before. The suffocating pressure in the room dissipated instantly. The executives blinked in disbelief, then exchanged aggrieved looks. Seriously? Talk about blatant favoritism!

Chapter 168: Blatant Favoritism

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