Chapter 84: Even if I kill him nothing will happen

Chapter 84: Even if I kill him nothing will happen "Ahhh—!" Tyler suddenly clutched his leg, howling in agony as he collapsed to his knees. His piercing screams echoed through the vast, empty living room. The knife that Sinclair had been idly twirling between his fingers was now embedded deep in Tyler’s thigh. Crimson blood oozed from the wound, staining the gray dress pants in a grotesque, spreading blotch. Camilla narrowed her beautiful eyes, her expression betraying little surprise. "Ahh!!" Margaret’s eyes widened in horror, her face draining of color as she lunged forward. "Sinclair—!" Her hands fluttered helplessly, torn between wanting to stem the bleeding and fearing to touch the wound. "Sinclair, you absolute madman!" she shrieked, her voice raw with fury. "If anything happens to Tyler, I swear I’ll make you pay!" Gone was her usual composure—her face twisted into something feral, all pretense stripped away. Sinclair’s sharp eyes glinted with cold amusement as the corner of his lips curled into a disdainful smirk. "Even if I killed him," he drawled, his voice dripping with icy mockery, "what exactly could you do about it?" Sinclair had already developed murderous intentions toward his father. If he were to kill Tyler here, there would truly be nothing anyone could do about it. Margaret froze, her lips pressed tightly together as she glared at Sinclair with bloodshot eyes. This raw hatred suited her far better than that decades-old facade of hypocritical innocence. Camilla watched with icy detachment. "Sinclair!!" Jonathan’s already pallid face twisted further with terror. "Someone—someone help—!" His legs gave out beneath him, leaving him unable to stand. He could only crawl desperately toward where Tyler lay. "It hurts... it hurts so much..." Tyler’s face contorted in agony, his clothes drenched in cold sweat—proof of unbearable suffering. The wound bled faster from his panicked thrashing. "Tyler, my boy—" Jonathan’s voice trembled with anguish, as if the blade had struck his own flesh. "Hold on just a little longer! I’ll get you a doctor—" Sinclair observed the scene in silence, the corner of his lips curling into a derisive smirk. Camilla sensed the dangerous aura emanating from the man and instinctively grasped his hand. "Sir, what are your orders?" The servant standing guard outside the door rushed in at the sound of commotion. "Th-this..." The servant froze in shock at the scene before them, completely paralyzed with fear. "Have you lost your mind?!" Margaret snapped, whirling around to glare at the servant, her voice sharp as a blade. "Stop gawking and do something!" "Call the family doctor—now!" It was clear she had no intention of relying on Camilla, the doctor standing right in front of her. "M-Madam," the servant stammered, beads of cold sweat forming on their forehead. "Today is grandpa Luther’s birthday... the family doctor is on leave." "Damn it!" Margaret’s expression twisted with fury and panic, her voice rising to a shrill pitch. " Then call an ambulance! Get the nearest one here—immediately!" "Yes... yes," The servant nodded frantically, scrambling toward the exit in a fluster. "I’ll go right now, right now!" "Stop." Sinclair’s icy voice cut through the air, devoid of any warmth. "No one leaves here without my permission." The servant froze in place, paralyzed by the menace in Sinclair’s tone, not daring to move another muscle. It was clear. In their eyes, Sinclair’s authority far outweighed that of his father and the others. Tyler’s face had turned alarmingly pale from blood loss, his body swaying unsteadily as if he might collapse at any moment. "Sinclair—" Margaret trembled, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation. "You can’t do this!!" The Luther Family estate had been built in the quiet outskirts, far from the city center. If they couldn’t call an ambulance in time, Tyler might not make it. "In the Luther household," Sinclair’s dark eyes, cold as forged steel, rested indifferently on Margaret. "There’s nothing I can’t do—only what I won’t." The bone-chilling frost in his gaze made Margaret’s pupils constrict sharply. The fear rising from the depths of her heart swiftly eclipsed her fury. This was the first time she had witnessed firsthand Sinclair’s merciless cruelty—far exceeding the rumors. "Sinclair!!" Jonathan’s heart lurched as he glared at his son, teeth clenched in outrage. "Are you really just going to stand there and watch Tyler bleed to death?!" He couldn’t fathom how the once obedient and gentle boy had turned into this terrifying man. As if on cue, Tyler’s kneeling body collapsed straight backward. Margaret caught him in panic, her face twisted with dread. "Sinclair!!" "Death is just death," Sinclair narrowed his eyes slightly, his expression inscrutable as he stared at Tyler. "Plenty have bled out and died in front of me before. He wouldn’t be the first." Jonathan instantly grasped the deeper meaning behind those words, guilt flickering in his eyes. "What happened back then was all my fault. Hate me, blame me—I deserve it." His brow furrowed tightly, but the guilt in his gaze had already vanished. "But Tyler is innocent! He knew nothing at the time!" Margaret bit down on her lip so hard it drew blood, nodding fervently in agreement. "Innocent? Always innocent," Sinclair replied, his cold, mocking smile never leaving Jonathan’s face. "Every single one of you seems to be innocent. Only I was born guilty." His tone was calm, almost indifferent, yet each word cut like a knife, twisting Camilla’s heart with pain. Her red lips pressed together. She slipped her hand into his, their fingers intertwining tightly. Then she lowered her lashes, her mind already working through a silent plan. "I—" Meeting Sinclair’s gaze, Jonathan felt an inexplicable guilt creeping over him. "That’s not what I meant." "Intentions don’t matter anymore," Sinclair said with a faint smirk, rising to his feet while gently pulling Camilla up with him. "You should be grateful today is Grandfather’s birthday." He paused abruptly as he passed Jonathan and the others, his icy stare pinning them in place. "Otherwise, that knife wouldn’t have just ended up in Tyler’s leg." The dark turbulence in his eyes—a storm of ruthlessness and murderous intent—felt like an invisible hand pressing down on them, suffocating. Jonathan and Margaret both froze, breath hitching in their throats. Camilla, meanwhile, merely studied them with an inscrutable smile, saying nothing. It wasn’t until Sinclair and Camilla had vanished from sight that Jonathan and Margaret finally snapped out of their daze. "Go get grandpa and uncle Carlos—now!!" Margaret shrieked at the nearby servants. "Hurry!!" Only with Grandpa Luther’s approval could Tyler be rushed to the hospital immediately. Any further delay would lead to disastrous consequences. "Stop shouting," came Grandpa Luther’s icy voice from the doorway. "Carlos, called for an ambulance from the nearest hospital." His aged yet piercing eyes burned with fury. "The rest of you—get out!!" "Yes, sir." Uncle Carlos nodded in understanding, gesturing for the others to leave. The servants kept their heads low and hurried after him. In an instant, the living room was empty except for Grandpa Luther and Jonathan. "I told you to stay in the side hall, yet you insisted on coming here to humiliate yourselves!" His booming voice thundered with rage. "Look at the mess you’ve made—are you trying to send this old man to an early grave?!"