Chapter 82: He is just a Bastard

Chapter 82: He is just a Bastard "Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?" Sinclair’s words landed like an invisible slap across Tyler’s face—singing, searing. "You—" Tyler’s face paled, then darkened, humiliated and resentment swirling in his eyes. Nothing infuriated him more than Sinclair’s condescending demeanor, as though he were nothing but dirt beneath his feet. They were both part of the Luther Family. So why—?! "Whether you admit it or not," he ground out through clenched teeth, forcing his voice steady, "this is the Luther estate. And like it or not, we share the same surname." A low, mocking chuckle escaped Sinclair as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily around Camilla. "Just a bastard who doesn’t belong," he drawled, though his dark, piercing eyes held no trace of amusement—only a bottomless abyss of ice. "A few years with the Luther name, and you’ve already forgotten your place?" "Don’t forget, I can strip you of the Luther name anytime I wish." Sinclair was a natural-born ruler, his overwhelming presence suffocating everyone in the room. A bastard?! Humiliation surged through Tyler, his expression darkening like a storm. Margaret pressed her lips tightly together, her usual gentle and fragile demeanor barely holding. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging deep into her palms without her even realizing it. Jonathan was so furious he could barely breathe, his finger trembling as he pointed at Sinclair. "Sinclair, you—" Before he could finish, a sweet voice cut him off. "What?" Camilla feigned shock, covering her lips with delicate fingers, her beautiful face and the picture of astonishment. "Sweetheart, are you saying that your so-called younger brother is actually a bastard?" She had seen their reactions clearly—those three words were their deepest wound. Well then, she couldn’t just let the matter drop. Where it hurts most, that’s where the knife had to twist. "Hmm," Sinclair noticed the playful glint in his wife’s eyes and allowed a faint smirk to curl his lips. "Seems I forgot to mention this to Camilla," he said, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Then, with a cold, dismissive glance at Sinclair’s ashen face, he continued in a slow, deliberate tone. "He’s nothing more than a bastard Jonathan sired behind his wife’s back—didn’t even have a surname before crawling into the Luther Family." His deep, icy voice delivered the cruelest words with unsettling calm. "Oh," Camilla murmured, realization dawning as she regarded Tyler and the others with a complicated expression. "So that’s how it is." Every syllable from Sinclair’s lips was like a dagger, plunging straight into Tyler’s heart. "Sinclair!!" His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, rage boiling in his veins as he fought the urge to lunge forward and tear the man apart. But Margaret subtly yanked him back. This was the Luther estate, and grandpa always played favorites. Picking a fight with Sinclair here would only end badly for them. "Tyler" she interjected, her voice smooth but laced with warning. Margaret trembled slightly, her tear-streaked face turned toward Jonathan as her lips quivered. "It doesn’t matter if I suffer the injustice, but Tyler is innocent." Her glistening eyes brimmed with suppressed anguish and humiliation. "Are you just going to stand there and watch Sinclair humiliate our son like this?" *Clap.* *Clap.* Before Margaret could finish, crisp applause rang through the air. Her expression froze as she looked up to see Camilla’s smiling face, her own features stiffening instantly. "Sorry, it was just too entertaining—I couldn’t help myself," Camilla said, nestled comfortably in Sinclair’s arms, her eyes curved in amusement, the picture of innocent charm. "Please, do go on." "Enjoying the show?" "Shall we continue?" That damned little bitch—did she think this was some kind of theatrical performance?! Margaret could no longer maintain her pitiful, delicate facade. Her face darkened as she glared at Camilla. "Camilla, what exactly do you mean by this?" "Can’t you tell?" Camilla curled her lips into a smirk, her beautiful face icy with disdain. "I just find your whole ’holier-than-thou’ act absolutely hilarious." A classic case of a sanctimonious hypocrite. The moment Camilla’s words landed, the spacious living room plunged into dead silence. Sinclair, watching his feisty little wife bristle like a hedgehog in his arms, let a faint smile tug at his lips as he leaned back in his chair, thoroughly entertained. His dark eyes, half-lidded with amusement, brimmed with nothing but adoration. Jonathan and Tyler, meanwhile, were stunned. They had never expected the seemingly gentle and harmless Camilla to deliver such a razor-sharp remark. Their faces paled, then flushed with anger, eyes widening in shock. "Playing the victim while being the perpetrator?!" Margaret’s perfectly maintained face twisted with fury, her beautiful eyes widening in disbelief. "How dare you accuse me of that?" No one—not before she married into the Luther Family, nor after—had ever dared to say such a thing to her face. And to think she had once assumed this woman, with no background or connections, would be easy to control. Camilla’s smile remained sweet, but her gaze turned icy as she studied Margy, her voice laced with venom. "You’re the one who caused all this, yet you keep playing the fragile, helpless victim, shifting the blame onto others." Her red lips curved into a mocking smirk, her bright eyes brimming with undisguised scorn. "If that isn’t playing on both sides, then..." She tilted her head slightly, her tone dripping with condescension. "You must just have a very poor understanding of yourself." Every word was a razor-sharp strike, cutting straight to the heart. Behind her, Sinclair idly traced circles on the small of his wife’s back, his smirk deepening with amusement. "You—you—" Margaret stammered, her face draining of color as if she’d been slapped. Her hands trembled with the effort of restraining herself from lunging at Camilla. A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes as a cunning idea took shape. Margaret’s body trembled slightly, her steps faltering as she staggered backward, putting on a convincing act of someone about to faint at any moment. After all, she was still Camilla’s mother-in-law in name. If word got out that Camilla had driven her to faint, the reputation of being an unofficial and rebellious daughter-in-law would stick to her like glue. "Mom!" Tyler rushed forward in a flash, steadying Margaret. "Camilla—" Jonathan also gathered around with visible concern etched across his face. Sinclair watched coldly from the sidelines, his expression unreadable, as if he were merely an indifferent spectator. Seeing this, Camilla couldn’t help but feel a pang of heartache for him. "My, my, what a touching display of family affection," she remarked with a sly smile, retrieving a silver needle from her pocket. "But don’t worry, everyone—I’m a doctor, after all." The needle, as long as a finger, gleamed ominously under the light. "If she faints, I can wake her up in an instant. Though, it might sting a little." That damn little bitch!! Margaret was so furious she felt the world spinning before her eyes, darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision. But after Camilla’s earlier remark, she didn’t dare faint—who knew what underhanded tricks this little vixen might pull while she was unconscious? "I—I’m fine," Margaret gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay alert. "Just help me to the chair for a moment." "Sweetheart," Camilla tilted her head up to look at Sinclair, her clear, beautiful eyes gleaming with a hint of pride. "Don’t you think my medical skills are getting better? Just one sentence, and I cured Mrs. Margaret’s fainting spell!" "Mmm," Sinclair’s handsome, refined face remained as composed and aloof as ever, but his dark eyes glimmered with unmistakable amusement. "My Camilla is, of course, the best." Just then, a low, furious roar cut through the air. "Camilla!!"