Chapter 221: Could Sinclair really be dead?

Words : 1252 Updated : Oct 8th, 2025

Chapter 221: Could Sinclair really be dead? As dusk fell, the setting sun blazed crimson across the sky. In an opulent villa on the outskirts of Mileage, Yoland sat on a plush sofa, replaying the footage of the Maybach crash for what felt like the hundredth time. His brow remained furrowed with skepticism. *Could Sinclair really be dead?* Something about this felt too smooth, too convenient. Yet no matter how many times he scrutinized the video, there wasn’t the slightest hint of a chance for survival. That, at least, eased his mind a fraction. With a decisive click, he shut off the screen and lifted his gaze to his assistant. "Have you taken care of Sinclair’s men?" The assistant kept his head bowed. "They’re still putting up resistance." Yoland’s expression darkened. "A measly dozen or so men, and you still haven’t finished them off?" His voice dripped with contempt. "Are the people you sent complete idiots?!" The assistant stayed silent, though inwardly, he was already groaning in frustration. None of the people around Sinclair are easy to deal with. Their so-called last-ditch resistance was merely out of fear of their boss’s wrath. In reality, his men didn’t even manage to breach the hotel entrance. "Have all signals around the hotel been cut off?" Yoland’s eyes narrowed, his tone sharpening. "Under no circumstances can they establish contact with the capital." Though the old man had fallen, the core faction’s power remained intact. If they discovered Sinclair’s death had his fingerprints all over it— Given Porter family father and son’s unwavering loyalty to the Luther Family, they’d undoubtedly rally their forces to settle the score with him. And then, all hell would break loose. "Rest assured, the jamming is absolute," the assistant replied gravely. "Those inside have no choice but to wait for death." "Good," Yoland nodded, a faint breath of relief escaping him. "Now we are just waiting for news from the capital. Oh, one more thing" He picked up the teapot beside him, then suddenly remembered something. "Tell my wife and son the danger has passed. They don’t need to hide anymore." After Sinclair left the dining room, Yolanda couldn’t shake his unease. He immediately contacted his wife and son, who were staying in S City, and warned them to stay indoors. But now that Sinclair was dead, the threat was gone. "Understood!" The assistant nodded and hurried to Yoland’s private phone, dialing a number. *"We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable."* The same automated female voice repeated several times. *Where could Madam be?* The assistant’s brow furrowed as he redirected the call to the Luther Family’s private estate in S City. Yet, strangely, no one answered. A sense of foreboding crept over him. He tried several more numbers—but the result was always the same. Oh no, something might have gone wrong!! "Ramsey," Camilla’s delicate face turned icy as she recalled grandpa Porter’s expression. "Is Sinclair available to talk right now?" "President Luther specifically instructed," Ramsey nodded. "For you, he’s always available." Tsk tsk. Boss Luther is practically the ultimate wife-spoiler!! Tiffany couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. Calvin, on the other hand, gave a faint, complicated smile, the corners of his lips quirking slightly. Before Camilla came along, he’d never have believed Sinclair could turn out like this. Truly, there’s always someone who can tame the untamable. "Madam," Ramsey spoke up. "Shall I call President Luther for you?" "No need," Camilla shook her head lightly. "I’ll contact him myself." As she spoke, she pulled out her phone and dialed the most familiar number by heart. But the call rang until it disconnected—no one answered. This was the first time Sinclair had ever missed her call. An inexplicable unease twisted in Camilla’s chest. Could something really have gone wrong? "President Luther must be busy," Ramsey said quickly, noticing Camilla’s growing concern. "He’ll call back the moment he sees your number." "I know," Camilla replied calmly, though her fingers were already redialing Sinclair’s number. The phone rang once, then twice—each unanswered second deepened the chill in her striking eyes. Her grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles turning pale. Ramsey pressed his lips together, unease creeping into his chest. Just as the call was about to disconnect, a familiar voice finally answered. "Camilla." Sinclair’s deep, slightly rough voice traveled through the line. Camilla’s long lashes fluttered, and the weight in her chest slowly dissolved—her heart, suspended in midair, finally settled back into place. After a brief pause, she finally spoke. "Sweetheart—" Noticing the call had connected, Calvin and Tiffany tactfully stepped away. Ramsey followed suit, even closing the car door for Camilla as he left. Hearing the unusual tremor in Camilla’s voice, Sinclair’s brows knitted together. "What’s wrong?" His narrow, obsidian eyes glinted with a dangerous chill. "Did the Porter family dare to upset you?" "Of course not," Camilla leaned back against the seat, the ice in her gaze melting into warmth. "They wouldn’t dare." A soft smile played on her lips. "I just suddenly wanted to hear your voice." Her fingers absently traced patterns on the car window. "Now that I have, I’m perfectly content." Not a single word about missing him. Yet every syllable whispered longing. Sinclair clearly understood, his dark eyes deepening with intensity. "Camilla—" "Hmm?" Camilla responded softly, waiting quietly for him to continue. "Don’t believe any negative rumors about me," Sinclair’s voice was low and gravelly. "I’ll be back as soon as I can." So, there was danger after all. "Alright," Camilla tightened her grip on the phone, though her voice remained steady. "I’ll hold down the fort at the Luther Family until you return." She paused, then added gently, "Sweetheart, stay safe." "Be good," Sinclair’s eyes softened with warmth. "For you, I won’t let anything happen to me." "Mmm." Camilla’s beautiful eyes shimmered with emotion. "I believe you." The moment the call ended, the tenderness in Sinclair’s eyes vanished, replaced by bone-chilling coldness. "Are we ready?" "The perimeter is secured for miles," Gerald replied with a firm nod. "Not even a fly will slip through." "Sir." An assistant hurried over to Yoland, who was in the middle of brewing tea, his voice tense. "your wife, son, and everyone in the estate—they’ve all gone silent. We can’t reach them." "What?!" Yoland’s hand jerked, scalding himself with the boiling water. He sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth. But Yoland couldn’t be bothered with that now. He rushed to the phone and began dialing frantically. No matter how many times he tried, the result remained the same. "How could this happen? How?!" His legs gave way, and he collapsed into a chair. Suddenly, the image of Sinclair’s strikingly handsome face flashed through his mind. No one else could pull off something like this only him. But wasn’t he already dead? Unless...?! A violent shudder ran through Yoland’s body, a bone-chilling dread creeping up from his heels to the back of his skull. His assistant, face etched with concern, reached out to steady him. "Sir, are you alright?" "Quick—" Yoland shoved him away. "Get the car ready. We need to leave. Now." The fear of Sinclair was ingrained in his blood. Even if there was only the slimmest, most impossible chance, he wouldn’t dare take the risk. "Leave?" The assistant looked puzzled but nodded in response. "Yes." With that, he strode out briskly. Yet barely a few minutes later, he came rushing back, his face pale with panic. "Sir, something terrible has happened!!"

Chapter 221: Could Sinclair really be dead?

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