Chapter 203: Madam please rest while I take care of grandpa

Words : 1232 Updated : Oct 6th, 2025

Chapter 203: Madam please rest while I take care of grandpa " Madam," Uncle Carlos noticed the exhaustion on Camilla’s face and immediately spoke up. "Let me take care of grandpa," he said gently. "You’ve had a long day. Go get something to eat and rest early." After dealing with all sorts of people throughout the day, Camilla was truly drained, both physically and mentally. Not to mention, there was still so much to prepare for tomorrow’s engagement banquet. "Alright," she nodded, giving a few last reminders about things to watch out for. "Then I’ll leave Grandfather in your hands." After such a hectic day, Camilla had little appetite. She took a few bites before setting down her Spoon and retreating to her room. During the day, she hadn’t noticed it, but now, in the quiet of the night, the emptiness felt overwhelming. Sinclair... what are you doing right now? Meanwhile, at the top floor of the hotel. The lights in the room had gone out for some unknown reason, plunging the space into darkness. Only faint traces of light from outside the window outlined the vague shapes within. Three twisted figures lay motionless on the floor, the carpet beneath them soaked dawn Sinclair’s tall, imposing figure stood among them, as if he had merged completely with the shadows. The chilling, indifferent aura around him had transformed into something far more sinister—reeking of blood and brutality. "Your turn." His voice was icy and low, laced with a cruel amusement that twisted into something terrifying in the dark. "N-no... please..." A man slumped on the floor nearby sensed death creeping toward him. He scrambled backward with desperate, jerky movements, his limbs contorted in panic. Sinclair smirked, taking slow, deliberate steps forward. Each footfall was unhurried, yet every one seemed to crush the man’s will a little more. "Stay back... stay away!" The man writhed backward, his limbs twisting unnaturally, his blood running cold with terror. All he wanted was a quick death, anything to escape the madman standing before him. But that was nothing more than a futile hope. Sinclair hauled the man up from the ground with one hand and drove his fist into him. The man felt as though his insides had exploded, a bone-deep agony tearing through his body. Crimson blood gushed from his mouth in an instant. The thick, metallic scent of blood only deepened the savagery in Sinclair’s eyes, his lips curling into a faint, chilling smirk. Thud! *Thud!* ... Sinclair didn’t stop. The man coughed up more and more blood, flecks of it spraying into the air. The scene was nothing short of a bloodbath. *Beep—* The moment Gerald stepped inside with his men, the pungent stench of blood hit them like a wall. The room resembled an abyss of nightmares, a hellscape so horrifying it defied comprehension. Even battle-hardened mercenaries like Gerald, who had crawled through fields of corpses, couldn’t help but feel a chill run down their spines. "President Luther." At the intersection of light and shadow, Sinclair’s movements hesitated for a split second. But only for a moment—before his fists continued their relentless assault. The man before him was already motionless. The stench of blood in the air was so thick it turned the stomach. Gerald’s pupils constricted sharply. Though he couldn’t see President Luther’s expression, he knew things were spiraling out of control. If President Luther lost himself to one of his episodes, none of them would last more than a few minutes. They needed backup—just in case. Without hesitation, Gerald shot a meaningful glance at one of the mercenaries behind him. The man understood instantly and swiftly slipped away. Time seemed to stretch endlessly until, with a brutal motion, Sinclair drove his knee upward—snapping the man’s spine with a sickening crack. *Snap!* The sharp sound of shattering bone echoed through the air as the man’s body slumped at an unnatural angle, limp and twisted like a puppet with its strings cut. Sinclair threw the man heavily to the ground, then lifted his gaze toward the doorway. "Come in." His voice was icy yet hoarse, carrying a dangerous edge that sent chills down the spine. "Yes, sir!" With no other choice, Gerald and the others switched on the lights and stepped inside. Sinclair stood in the center of the room, his white dress shirt soaked through with sweat and blood, clinging tightly to his skin. His powerfully built physique was unmistakable, every muscle defined beneath the damp fabric. Under the harsh lighting, his sharply chiseled features appeared even more striking—handsome, almost ethereal. It would have been a breathtaking sight—if not for the grotesquely twisted corpses sprawled at his feet. Sinclair’s crimson-tinged eyes locked onto the newcomers. His dark, narrowed gaze was like an unfathomable abyss, as if he might tear them apart at any moment. Even in normal circumstances, his presence alone was enough to unnerve anyone. But now, shrouded in this aura of ruthless brutality, he was downright terrifying. Gerald and the others tensed instantly, their muscles coiled tight, every nerve on edge. He looked ready to throw punches at any moment. The tension in the room peaked as Sinclair strode toward them. *Damn it!* *We might walk in on our feet today, but we’ll be carried out flat.* Just then— *Ring-ring—* *Ring-ring—* The sharp chime of a phone shattered the silence. But Sinclair didn’t even flinch. As if he hadn’t heard a thing, he kept advancing, his entire being radiating a bloodthirsty, ruthless aura that sent chills down their spines. Then, Gerald suddenly remembered Ramsey’s advice— *If anything goes wrong with President Luther, bring up Madam.* *Right—Madam!* "President Luther," Gerald blurted out urgently. "It must be Madam calling. She needs to speak with you!" Camilla? Sinclair’s footsteps faltered slightly, and a trace of warmth returned to his strikingly handsome face. Gerald immediately strode to the table where the phone lay. The screen flashed with the caller ID—"Wife"—and it might as well have been a divine sign. Thank heavens, it really is her! He swallowed hard, carefully holding out the phone with both hands to Sinclair before pressing the answer button. "Sweetheart—" A woman’s sweet, gentle voice drifted through the receiver. Sinclair’s tightly furrowed brows twitched, then gradually relaxed. The suffocating aura of violence around him slowly dissipated. He took the phone and sank it into the sofa. His bloodstained hand lifted the device to his ear. "Camilla." His voice was still hoarse, but the tone had softened considerably. Only then did Gerald and the others exhale in relief, knowing the crisis had finally passed. San Francisco. "They said Mr. Porter’s health had been failing for years. How could he possibly have a love child?" "Who knows? Maybe there was still some life left in the old dog." "The Porter family is in for some drama now. I wonder how grandpa Porter will react." "In families like ours, illegitimate children popping up is nothing new. Grandpa probably won’t bat an eye. It’s Sandra who’ll be losing sleep over it." "Exactly. If this love child’s claim holds up, the Porter family’s inheritance won’t belong to just one heir anymore." "First the Luther Family, now the Porter. These are turbulent times indeed. We’d all better stay sharp." Meanwhile, at the Porter residence—the epicenter of the storm. "Grandfather," Sandra stared at her grandpa, her face a mask of shock. "What did you just say?!"

Chapter 203: Madam please rest while I take care of grandpa

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