Chapter 180: Who paid you to sent this photos to my husband?

Words : 1343 Updated : Oct 4th, 2025

Chapter 180: Who paid you to sent this photos to my husband? --- Inside a spacious, soundproofed hotel room, Sinclair and Camilla—whom everyone assumed had left—sat in quiet conversation. Camilla studied the photos before her, deliberately angled to fabricate the illusion of an intimate chat between her and Antonio. Her beautiful eyes glinted with icy fury. "To think they followed us to the gathering." She turned her gaze to Sinclair. "Sinclair, did you catch them?" "I asked the wrong question," Camilla murmured softly, nestling against Sinclair’s chest, her beautiful eyes narrowing with quiet amusement. "The real question should be—where are those people?" Once they had caught Sinclair’s attention, there was no way those men could escape. "Ramsey," Sinclair said, pulling out his phone. "Bring them in." Understanding flickered in Camilla’s eyes. So that was why Ramsey hadn’t been by Sinclair’s side—he’d been handling this all along. Still, some people truly were relentless. Even a last-minute class reunion like this—they still managed to send spies after her. "Sinclair" she mused, tilting her head slightly, "how did you manage to root them out so quickly?" Sinclair glanced down at her, the corner of his lips curling into a faint smirk. "What do you think, Camilla?" Camilla narrowed her beautiful eyes slightly, then spoke slowly after a moment. "You had our teachers brought to the banquet hall on the top floor to lure out the spies hiding in the hotel, didn’t you?" Come to think of it, it made sense. Once these people knew Sinclair had arrived, they’d surely try to flee immediately. And as long as Ramsey and his team guarded every possible exit in the hotel, they could effortlessly catch them like sitting ducks. "Mhm," Sinclair lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the soft, fluffy crown of Camilla’s hair. "Good girl, so clever." "As the saying goes, one takes on the color of their company," Camilla nuzzled closer into Sinclair’s embrace, her voice warm with laughter. "And in my case, proximity to brilliance breeds wisdom." A moment later, when she spoke again, her tone had cooled noticeably. "Sweetheart, let me handle them—including whoever’s pulling the strings behind the scenes. Okay?" The woman who had been reborn was no longer just a delicate flower hiding in her husband’s arms, waiting for his protection. "Alright," Sinclair agreed without hesitation. His dark, slightly narrowed eyes gleamed with an air of absolute control. *Let Camilla handle it however she wants.* After all, he was here. Just then— Knock, knock, knock. * Ramsey’s voice sounded from outside. "President Luther, Madam, we’ve brought them." Camilla straightened up, about to pull away from the man’s embrace. "Stay put," Sinclair murmured, his arm tightening around her waist instead of loosening. "Come in." The door swung open the moment he spoke. Ramsey stepped inside, then glanced back. "Bring them in." Behind him, several mercenaries dragged four men dressed as waiters and threw them at the feet of Sinclair and Camilla. The four men were utterly ordinary in appearance, with nothing particularly distinctive about them. Their hands and feet were bound, their mouths gagged, and their eyes darted between Sinclair and Camilla, brimming with panic. Though neither of them had spoken a word, the suffocating weight of fear was already crushing the captives. As the woman in his arms studied the men at their feet, Sinclair lifted his gaze slightly, his cold eyes settling on Ramsey. Ramsey understood instantly, giving an almost imperceptible nod in response. Sinclair looked away, picking up his coffee and taking a slow sip, his chilling gaze sharpening. This was nothing more than a warning to that bastard Antonio. If he dared to covet Camilla again, the consequences would extend far beyond just a hospital. "Remove the gags," Camilla commanded coolly, her crimson lips parting as she stared down at them. "Now, tell me—who sent you to spy on me?" The four men exchanged frantic glances. "Mrs. Luther," the slightly overweight man at the front swallowed hard, forcing an ingratiating smile as he spoke first. "We’re just new hires at this hotel—ordinary waiters. We have no idea what you mean by ’spying.’" Leaning comfortably against Sinclair, Camilla curved her lips into an amused smirk. "Mrs. Luther?" "Mrs. Luther," Camilla’s striking almond-shaped eyes fixed on the man as she spoke slowly, her voice icy enough to freeze the air. "Even your manager had no idea about me and Sinclair’s identities. So how exactly did a newly hired waiter like you find out?" The slightly overweight man stiffened, realizing too late that he’d slipped up. His face paled as he stammered, "I—I..." "Pathetic," came Sinclair’s languid yet bone-chilling remark, his arm draped protectively around Camilla. His narrow, obsidian eyes gleamed with ruthless menace. "Ramsey, take care of it." The man’s pudgy face twisted in horror. Behind him, the other three staff members exchanged terrified glances, their expressions mirroring sheer disbelief. No one had expected Sinclair to order an execution—without even extracting information first. This was completely different from what they had imagined. "Yes," Ramsey nodded, pulling out a dagger from his person and stepping toward the man, ready to act. "No, no—" The slightly overweight man was so terrified his face drained of color, collapsing to the ground. He could do nothing but shake his head frantically. Just as Ramsey pressed the dagger against the man’s carotid artery, a cool, composed female voice suddenly cut through the tension. "Wait—" Ramsey froze mid-motion, lifting his gaze to Camilla, awaiting her command. Sinclair’s expression remained utterly unchanged. "Mrs. Luther, I swear I know nothing! Please, I beg you—ask President Luther to spare me!" The plump man, seeing an opportunity, immediately turned desperate, hopeful eyes toward Camilla, his face a mask of panic and fear as he pleaded for mercy. "My wife and children—my whole family—they’re waiting for me! Please, I’m begging you!!" Camilla understood. He had mistaken her for some soft-hearted heroine, unwilling to watch Sinclair kill and eager to intervene. Too bad for him—she wasn’t. "Put the knife away. I don’t want to see blood." "Yes," Ramsey immediately sheathed his dagger. Seeing this, the slightly overweight man’s face instantly lit up with the relief of a survivor. But before he could fully exhale that breath he’d been holding, Camilla’s next words froze him in place. "Just throw him straight off the building," she said, the curve of her lips radiating a bone-chilling coldness. "Make sure it’s an empty area. We wouldn’t want falling debris to hurt anyone." Her gaze locked onto the man as she continued, her voice soft, almost casual. "And don’t worry about the family you mentioned. I’ll arrange for someone to take care of them." The gentlest tone, the most indifferent delivery—yet the words sent a shiver straight to hell. This was the 28th floor. The man’s pupils dilated instantly, his ashen face turning the color of death. Never in his wildest nightmares had he imagined that Camilla, with her angelic face, could utter something so merciless. "No, you can’t do this..." "Yes." Ramsey gave a slight nod. Two mercenaries immediately stepped forward, efficiently gagging the slightly overweight man before dragging him out. The shadow of death seeped into his very bones. The man’s narrow eyes turned bloodshot as muffled whimpers escaped his lips. He thrashed desperately, but against these well-trained mercenaries, it was all in vain. With the sound of the door opening, their figures vanished beyond the threshold. Silence reclaimed the room. "Would you prefer to end up like him, or..." Camilla turned her gaze to the remaining three men, her voice cool and measured. "...come clean?" The trio stood pale-faced, their bodies trembling uncontrollably. This husband-and-wife pair were devils in angel’s guise—each more ruthless than the last. They never should have stepped forward to take this job. "My patience is running thin," Camilla raised three slender, porcelain-white fingers, her voice icy as she spoke. "You have three seconds to decide. Two..." Principles mattered. Loyalty mattered. Integrity mattered. But in the face of death—their own or their family’s—none of it meant a thing. "I—I’ll talk!!"

Chapter 180: Who paid you to sent this photos to my husband?

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