Chapter 92: Sinclair life is attached with mine

Chapter 92: Sinclair life is attached with mine "Just wait." Micheal stared at the dimly lit room before him, his face deathly pale, eyes icy cold. "The ones guarding outside are all top-tier mercenaries trained by the Luther Family at great expense," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "There’s no way we’re getting out of here." Before the words had fully left his mouth, another violent coughing fit wracked his body. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air, deepening the worry etched across Uncle Joe’s face. "That Sinclair went too far this time." "He’s always been like this," Micheal replied, curling his lips into a faint, indifferent smile. "Never shows mercy to those he hates." He just never expected to become one of those people himself. Uncle Joe pressed his lips together in silence. "But don’t worry—I won’t die," Micheal continued, his tone laced with grim certainty. Michael curled his lips in a cold smirk, his deep voice laced with icy amusement. "Don’t forget, starting today, Sinclair’s life is tied to mine." This was the real reason he had returned to America. He had clung to life until now, just for this moment. "You’re right. Thankfully, sir, you succeeded," Uncle Joe replied, gradually regaining his composure. "But when do you plan to let Sinclair know about this?" He feared that Sinclair, unaware of the truth, might suddenly order someone to kill Michael. If that happened, Sinclair would die too—but Michael wouldn’t come back to life. "Where’s the fun in letting Sinclair know?" Michael’s lips twisted into a cruel, chilling smile. "The one I want to tell is his precious little wife." "I’m curious to see what she’ll do once she finds out." Just the thought of it amused him. Uncle Joe understood Michael’s intentions and nodded in agreement. "I wonder what time it is now," he murmured. Michael leaned against the corner wall, his tone unreadable. "The old man’s birthday banquet must have started by now, right?" Uncle Joe glanced around the dimly lit room, completely disoriented about the time, and remained silent. Not that Michael expected an answer anyway. The image of Sinclair holding Camilla by the waist, the two of them appearing before the crowd like a match made in heaven, flashed through his mind. His slightly bloodshot eyes narrowed, and the corner of his lips curled into a self-deprecating smirk. "That woman’s luck is just too damn good." Dark tendrils coiled around his heart, suffocating him. --- Inside the banquet hall. The man who had saved her outside the bar that night—and spent a passionate evening with her at the hotel— Was actually the Luther Family’s illegitimate son, the one they never acknowledged?! Sandra stared at Tyler her face twisted in displeasure. "How could this be such a coincidence?!" "Miss Porter seems quite taken with Mr. Tyler presents," someone remarked, noticing her odd behavior and following her gaze with a knowing chuckle. "Could it be... you’re interested in him?" Due to Sinclair’s influence, this so-called youngest son of the Luther Family had rarely made public appearances. In recent years, he had even been sent abroad for studies and only recently returned. As a result, very few people had ever laid eyes on him. Among the many curious glances directed his way, Sandra’s gaze stood out—unmistakably different. "A bastard," Sandra replied coolly, her beautiful eyes glinting with frost as she met the other person’s stare. Her expression had regained its composure. "What possible interest could I have in him?" "Seems I misunderstood," the other person muttered awkwardly, rubbing their nose under Sandra’s icy glare before retreating. Without another glance at Tyler, Sandra walked away, her grip steady on her wine glass, her demeanor unreadable. No one noticed the flicker of panic in her eyes—or the way her fingertips had begun to pale from how tightly she was holding the glass. If anyone found out what had happened between her and Tyler that night... she could kiss her dreams of becoming Sinclair’s wife goodbye. No. Absolutely not. A shadow passed over Sandra’s eyes. She needed to find a way to warn that man—to make sure he kept his mouth shut. Otherwise... she wouldn’t let him off so easily. A slap on the face, then a sweet date to soothe it? A trace of mockery flickered in Ramsey’s eyes. This woman—was she naive or just plain stupid? When Mr. Sinclair decided to deal with someone, he never bothered with half-measures. Slaps came in succession, with no need for sweeteners. Though that’s what he thought, appearances still had to be maintained. "You misunderstand, Madam," Ramsey replied, his polite smile unwavering. "Mr. Sinclair’s principles have always been about actions, not individuals." Before Jonathan and the others could respond, Ramsey continued, his tone smooth as silk. "To be honest, not even Sinclair expected—no, not even grandpa himself anticipated—" His gaze settled on Tyler, and his voice took on a deceptively warm lilt. "...that you and Madam would go so far as to drag the Mr. Tyler straight from the hospital, fresh from a life-threatening injury this afternoon, just to celebrate grandpa’s birthday." The words dripped with feigned respect, yet to Jonathan and his companions, they carried nothing but biting sarcasm. Their faces darkened completely, eyes smoldering with barely contained fury. The banquet hall was filled with shrewd individuals. From Ramsey’s few carefully chosen words, they had gleaned layers of hidden meaning. Everyone loves juicy gossip, especially when it involves the Luther Family. "Tsk, tsk. To think they’d stoop so low just for a moment in the spotlight." "Jonathan really does play favorites—causing a scene right before his eldest son’s banquet, all for the sake of his younger son." "Anyone who didn’t know better would think Margaret was deliberately making things difficult for them." ... Amid the murmurs, Calvin took a sip of his wine and chuckled. "That Ramsey really knows how to handle things—far better than anyone I’ve got around me." "Quite impressive," Taylor remarked, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever, his tone casual. "Why not offer him a fortune to poach him, then?" "Here I thought we were brothers, and you’re just looking to swindle me," Calvin shot back, his peach-blossom eyes crinkling with faint amusement as he threw Taylor an exasperated glance. "If Ramsey worked for you, I might’ve considered it. But with that temper of Sinclair’s..." He tugged at the corner of his lips, his refined and handsome features exuding a lazy sensuality. "If I dared to poach from him, he’d tear down my entire wall." "Try it, if you think he’s yours." Taylor arched an eyebrow, the smile at his lips deepening slightly. "Seems I’ve been too easygoing." "Don’t forget, that’s only in comparison to Sinclair," Calvin smirked, his striking face wearing an indifferent grin. "You really shouldn’t misunderstand your own temper." Taylor chuckled but didn’t respond further. His eyes, aloof yet amused, shifted toward Melissa in the distance. That girl... something’s off. Meanwhile. "Ramsey," Jonathan stared coldly at the composed young man before him, his voice low and stern. "You need to understand one thing—you and your father serve the Luther Family, not Sinclair alone." "Don’t worry, sir," Ramsey met Jonathan’s gaze, his smile unwavering. "We know exactly where our loyalties lie—and who truly deserves them." How dare this mere lapdog of Sinclair openly mock them?! Tyler glared at Ramsey, his fingers digging into the armrests of his wheelchair with such force they nearly splintered. "Sir, Madam, Mr. Tyler" Ramsey continued, ignoring their dark expressions as he calmly checked his watch. "The birthday banquet is about to begin. Will you be joining, or...?" "Hmph." Jonathan let out a cold snort, his face stormy, before leading Margaret and Tyler toward the banquet hall. Tyler shot Ramsey a sidelong glance, his eyes brimming with venom. * You arrogant piece of trash.* *If you ever fall into my hands, I’ll make sure you beg for death.* Once the three had entered, Ramsey turned and gave the bodyguard beside him an approving pat on the shoulder. "Good job."