Chapter 80: Micheal and Sinclair’s encounter

Words : 2515 Updated : Sep 24th, 2025

Chapter 80 of "Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire" begins with suspenseful moments: Chapter 80: Micheal and Sinclair’s encounter The Luther Family ancestral home. The atmosphere in the living room... Don’t miss it!

Chapter 80: Micheal and Sinclair’s encounter The Luther Family ancestral home. The atmosphere in the living room was suffocatingly tense. "Cough... cough—" A sharp pain in his chest sent Micheal into a fit of coughing, streaks of crimson blood seeping from the corners of his lips. His already pallid face grew even more ashen, his frail frame trembling. Sinclair watched coldly, the pressure of his foot increasing mercilessly. His narrow, obsidian-dark eyes brimmed with a predatory cruelty, a storm of violence swirling within. Grandpa Luther opened his mouth as if to speak but ultimately turned his gaze away, remaining silent.. Though he didn’t know the full extent of Micheal’s transgressions, the sheer fury in Sinclair’s reaction told him they were unforgivable. Besides. The chance had been given. Whether Micheal lived or died now was the fate he had chosen for himself. "Camilla," Grandpa Luther softened his expression, turning to Camilla. "Come, keep this old man company in the back for a while." Camilla understood that Grandpa Luther was worried the upcoming scene might frighten her. "Grandpa," She glanced at Sinclair, whose entire demeanor radiated hostility, then shook her head. "I want to stay here with my Sweetheart." "Very well." Grandpa Luther could see the determination in Camilla’s expression and had no choice but to nod in agreement. "Carlos, let’s go." With Camilla here, Sinclair wouldn’t completely lose control. "Yes, grandpa." Uncle Carlos accompanied Grandpa Luther as they walked out. As he passed his own son, he subtly shot him a meaningful look—clearly instructing Ramsey to keep a close eye on Sinclair’s mood. Ramsey caught the hint, pressing his lips together in a silent nod. "Sweetheart?" Micheal murmured the name under his breath before turning his gaze to Camilla, his lips curling into an inscrutable smile. "So is this your wife?" Her face was breathtakingly beautiful, her demeanor cool and aloof. Yet the delicate dimples at the corners of her lips added a touch of sweetness and charm. These contrasting qualities blended seamlessly in her, creating an aura so radiant that even standing still, she shone like the brightest beam of light—impossible to look away from. Camilla met Micheal’s scrutinizing gaze with calm indifference, her long, thick lashes fluttering slightly, her eyes icy. A woman’s intuition was always sharp. She could clearly sense the unspoken hostility in Micheal’s stare. But... why? "So, Sinclair, this is your type," Micheal remarked, her attention shifting back to the strikingly handsome man beside her. The smile on his lips deepened, though his tone carried an unsettling chill. "Not bad taste—she is indeed a rare beauty." A pause, then he added, his voice laced with mockery, "Pity, though. A woman like her, bathed in sunlight, was never meant for you. You two won’t be happy." Apology? This was anything but. Taylor’s gaze darkened as he turned to Calvin. Camilla pressed her lips together, his expression grim. Who was this man to claim that she and Sinclair wouldn’t be happy?! Camilla’s beautiful eyes instantly sharpened, a frosty glint flashing in their depths. "You’re asking for death." Sinclair’s features twisted with ruthless brutality. In one swift motion, he lifted his long leg and delivered a vicious kick straight into Micheal’s abdomen. ** "BAM!"** A dull thud echoed as Micheal’s body was sent flying backward, crashing against the wall before sliding to the ground. **"Cough—"** Crimson blood trickled from the corner of Micheal’s lips, forming a thin scarlet line. His entire figure looked pitiful and disheveled. Yet, despite it all, a faint smile still lingered on his face—as if none of it mattered. But Sinclair wasn’t done. His expression icy, he hauled Micheal up by the collar and slammed him against the wall, fingers tightening around his throat. "Sir!!" Uncle Joe’s face paled with horror as he rushed forward in panic. This man—Sinclair—was far more terrifying than he had imagined. Sir’s plan... was far too Dangerous. "Don’t... come any closer." Micheal wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, his voice strained, yet his gaze never left Sinclair standing before him. "Remember what I said—no matter what happens, don’t interfere." "But—" Uncle Joe, recalling Micheal’s plan, could only stand helplessly, frustration etched across his face. "...Understood!" "Sinclair..." Micheal looked at Sinclair, the corner of his lips curling slightly. His bloodshot eyes burned with suppressed, unspoken emotions. "You—" * BAM!* Sinclair’s striking face was icy, devoid of warmth. Without giving Micheal a chance to speak, he swung his fist. The gold-rimmed glasses flew off Micheal’s face, his nose twisting unnaturally from the impact. Blood gushed instantly, splattering onto his clothes and Sinclair’s hand, which was clamped around his throat like a vise. Crimson droplets bloomed like macabre flowers. Gasping, Micheal clawed at Sinclair’s grip, struggling violently. Yet the man’s grip was like a vise. No matter how hard he struggled, it was futile. Unnoticed by anyone, Michael seized the moment to plunge the object hidden between his fingers into Sinclair’s wrist. Sinclair, consumed by rage, didn’t even register the faint, almost imperceptible sting. A flash of triumphant madness flickered in Michael’s downcast eyes. Thud. Thud. Sinclair’s fists never relented, each brutal strike landing with bone-crushing force. The bloodthirsty aura around him grew even more suffocating. Michael could feel his organs shifting inside him, waves of excruciating pain surging through his body. Soon, blood began trickling from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. The metallic stench of blood hung thick in the air, choking and oppressive. Witnessing this, Uncle Joe turned to Calvin with frantic desperation, his face etched with pleading. "Calvin—" "This was Michael’s own choice. There’s nothing I can do." Calvin glanced at the two of them before looking away, clearly having no intention of intervening. Taylor and Camilla watched with detached expressions, their inscrutable eyes revealing nothing. "Hahahaha—" Micheal suddenly stopped struggling. His eyes locked onto Sinclair as a sinister, almost deranged smile twisted his bloodstained, once-elegant face. Despite his frail, barely-alive voice, his laughter was laced with madness. "Sinclair, don’t you find this hilarious?" he rasped. "Back then, you were the one who pulled me out of the abyss. And now—you’re the one sending me straight to hell." Taylor and Calvin knew the full story, understood exactly what Micheal meant. But Camilla’s brows furrowed in confusion. "Saving you," Sinclair’s voice was icy, his lips barely moving as his frigid glare seemed to freeze the very air around them, "was the only mistake I’ve made in the past twenty years." His eyes narrowed. "Now, it’s time to correct that mistake." As he spoke, Sinclair swung his fist toward Micheal’s temple. "No!" Uncle Joe’s pupils contracted in terror. Camilla and Calvin both flinched, then averted their gazes in silent understanding, their expressions heavy. Camilla, however, noticed the icy smirk curling at the corner of Micheal’s lips, and her brows furrowed. Something told her this man still had an ace up his sleeve. Sure enough. "Sinclair, you can’t kill me yet," Micheal murmured, his bloodied lips twisting into a grin just as Sinclair’s fist was about to connect. His voice was low, meant only for the other man’s ears. "I’m the only one in this world who knows where that nurse you’re looking for is." **BANG!** The fist meant for Micheal’s temple instead slammed into the wall with brutal force. Sinclair’s eyes darkened as he glared at Micheal, his voice frigid. "What did you say?" "What did you just say?" Sinclair’s obsidian eyes darkened like a gathering storm, his gaze so intense it seemed to suck the air from the room. His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper, cold enough to freeze blood—as if dredged from the depths of hell itself. "Say it again." Micheal coughed violently, his already weakened body struggling under Sinclair’s iron grip. His face flushed crimson as his breath came in ragged gasps. Yet despite the suffocating pressure, the corner of his chapped lips curled into a strained smirk. "You heard me... didn’t you?" Each word was a labor, but he forced them out with deliberate slowness. "I know... where the nurse who disappeared after your mother’s death... has been hiding." This was his trump card—the lifeline he’d painstakingly secured. And judging by the dangerous glint in Sinclair’s eyes, it was working exactly as intended. A flicker of triumph flashed through Micheal’s bloodshot gaze. The sudden revelation sent ripples through the room, painting varied reactions across the faces of those present. So this man named Micheal had indeed come prepared with an ace up his sleeve. No wonder he dared to take the risk and come to the Luther residence. Camilla’s delicate face was etched with icy disdain. But what exactly did he say that could make Sinclair change his mind? And more importantly... Her brows furrowed, her eyes clouded with deep contemplation. If Micheal had a trump card up his sleeve, why hadn’t he played it from the start? Why wait until he was beaten half to death by Sinclair? Something about this didn’t sit right with her. Yet she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what—after all, everything had unfolded right before their eyes. Taylor and Calvin shared the same doubts. They knew Sinclair all too well. When he decided to kill someone, nothing they said could sway him. Especially not someone like Micheal, who had betrayed and schemed against him. Their initial shock gradually gave way to wary suspicion as they studied Micheal with narrowed eyes. What was his real motive for coming back? This former friend of theirs was becoming more and more incomprehensible. In the entire hall, only Uncle Joe breathed a genuine sigh of relief. That was far too reckless of Michael Had he been just a few seconds slower, he would have truly met his end under Sinclair’s fists! "You should know the consequences of deceiving me." Sinclair’s gaze at Micheal was like a storm of razor-sharp blades, as if he wanted to tear him apart piece by piece. "I know better than anyone," Micheal replied, the corner of his lips twitching in self-mockery, his face streaked with blood and cold sweat.. "And I’ve long since realized you wouldn’t believe me," he added calmly, his eyes meeting Sinclair’s. "The proof is in my pocket. Take it yourself." Sinclair stared at him coldly for a long moment before reaching into Micheal’s pocket and retrieving a few photographs. The moment his grip loosened, Micheal’s body crumpled weakly to the ground. "Mr.micheal—" Uncle Joe immediately rushed over and cradled Michael’s upper body against his own. His lowered eyes were unreadable, shadowed with inscrutable emotions.. The photographs depicted a middle-aged woman holding a three or four-year-old child, strolling leisurely through a shopping mall. Though her features had changed considerably, Sinclair recognized her instantly—the faint brown birthmark on her chin and the familiar arch of her brows gave her away. This was the nurse who had visited his mother’s room just before her suicide. The same nurse who had vanished without a trace after his mother’s death. As if staring straight through the photos, Sinclair saw it all again—the white bedsheet soaked in blood, the lifeless woman lying still. His tall frame radiated a chilling aura of rage and gloom, as though he stood alone in the darkness, severed from the world around him. *Exactly.* Michael watched him, his pale lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. People like them belonged in the shadows, licking their wounds in solitude. They had no business reaching for the light. The same scene, yet through different eyes—it told entirely different stories. Camilla gazed at Sinclair, her heart aching with concern. She pressed her lips together and stepped forward, taking his hand in hers. The palm that was usually warm and broad now felt icy cold, devoid of any warmth. "Sweetheart..." A sharp pang shot through her chest. Without hesitation, she pressed his hand against her cheek, as if trying to transfer her own warmth to him. "No matter what it is, I’ll face it with you." Her voice was soft, yet inexplicably soothing. "You’ll never be alone." Sinclair snapped out of his thoughts at her touch. Seeing the worry in her eyes, he tightened his lips and pulled her into his arms. "I know." His voice was still hoarse, but the chilling intensity in his gaze had faded somewhat. Camilla didn’t say another word, simply holding him tightly. She had no intention of asking what Micheal had said to him. Some things were knots in Sinclair’s heart—ones he couldn’t untangle or put into words. Prying might only make things worse. The best time for her to learn about this matter would be when Sinclair voluntarily chooses to speak. Taylor and Calvin observed the scene, suddenly understanding why Sinclair had taken such a keen interest in Camilla. Indeed, the strongest bonds are always mutual. How utterly infuriating!! Micheal’s lips curled into a smirk, but the smile froze as a near-manic frenzy flickered deep within his eyes. "Ugh—" A metallic tang flooded his throat as blood surged upward, and the next moment, darkness swallowed his consciousness. "Sir—" Uncle Joe reached out anxiously, pressing trembling fingers to Micheal’s nose. Only when he detected faint breath did he exhale in quiet relief. "Sir..." He had genuinely feared that his already frail master might not survive the ruthless hands of Sinclair. Sinclair’s heavy gaze swept over them, sharp as a blade of ice. "Sweetheart," Camilla interjected smoothly, her voice steady.. "Didn’t you still have questions for him? I can force him awake if needed." She said coolly, "As for whether it harms the body or not, does it really matter?" Uncle Joe: ?? "Have you no humanity?! " "No need," Sinclair refused to let Camilla touch Michael. "Today is Grandfather’s birthday banquet. There’s no need to rush this," His icy eyes narrowed slightly. "Ramsey, take them back to the manor and lock them in the basement." "President Luther, Sir, Michael’s condition is too fragile to endure any more strain," Uncle Joe’s eyes widened, his face pleading. "If you don’t arrange for a doctor to examine him, I fear he won’t last until your interrogation." "If I don’t allow him to die, he won’t," Sinclair’s expression was cold and severe. "Ramsey, why the delay? Take them away." "Understood," Ramsey promptly escorted Micheal and Uncle Joe away. The farce had finally come to an end. Taylor glanced at the two men, his voice gentle and composed. "We’ll take our leave now. See you at the birthday banquet tonight." Calvin rubbed his nose, almost too sheepish to meet Sinclair’s gaze. Sinclair gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.. Camilla, however, offered them a warm smile. Once everyone had departed, the spacious living room was left with only Sinclair and Camilla.. "Sweetheart..." Camilla wrapped her arms around Sinclair’s waist, pressing her cheek against his chest without another word.. Yet Sinclair could feel the silent comfort in his delicate wife’s embrace, the corner of his lips curling faintly. "I’m fine," he murmured. Settling onto the sofa, he pulled Camilla into his lap, breathing in her familiar scent as his turbulent emotions gradually steadied. "Camilla," he said softly, "do you want to hear about Micheal?"

Chapter 80: Micheal and Sinclair’s encounter

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