Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 191: Before we act

"It was you at the old house, not me," Tyler snapped, his face darkening like a brewing storm.

His voice dripped with barely contained fury. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

"How the hell was I supposed to know whether Camilla noticed anything?"

"But—but," the man on the other end stammered, panic creeping into his voice.

"Before we acted, didn’t you and Madam assure us the poison wouldn’t be detectable before it took effect?"

That was the only reason they dared to move so boldly.

"Logically, that should’ve been the case.

Otherwise, we wouldn’t have taken the risk of letting you proceed,"

Tyler muttered through gritted teeth, his brows furrowing into deep creases.

His expression was icy, his entire demeanor radiating menace.

"Whatever the situation, you need to keep your cool.

Don’t give yourselves away before anything’s confirmed.

As for the rest..."

His voice dropped to a near whisper.

"Wait for my instructions."

Without another word, he ended the call.

Tyler strode to the window, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with sharp, deliberate movements.

His eyes narrowed to slits as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his mind churning with unspoken schemes.

Tomorrow was the day of his engagement to Sandra—the day his fortunes would officially turn around.

Absolutely nothing could go wrong!

With that thought, he flicked the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his shoe before turning back toward the dressing room lounge.

"Tell Miss Sandra I had urgent business and had to leave early," he instructed.

"I’ll pick her up later."

Grabbing his coat, he strode out without another word.

"Drive me to Madam’s place."

When Sandra emerged and realized Tyler had left, she immediately called him, unleashing another furious tirade.

Then, with a dismissive flick of her wrist, she tossed the fitted gown at one of the bodyguards.

"Wait for me downstairs.

I want to browse alone."

"But..." The bodyguards exchanged uneasy glances.

Grandpa Porter had explicitly ordered them not to let the troublemaking young mistress out of their sight.

"What?"

Sandra’s temper flared at their hesitation.

"Since when do you ignore my orders?"

Without warning, she lashed out, the sharp heel of her stiletto striking one guard’s leg.

"Get the hell out of here right now!

One more word in front of me, and none of you will live to see tomorrow!"

"Yes, sir."

The bodyguards had no choice but to leave.

Sandra watched them go, her gaze icy.

What she hated most these days were these people her grandfather had sent to "protect" her.

Protection?

More like surveillance.

It left her with no freedom at all.

Once she was sure the bodyguards were gone, Sandra turned and stepped into the elevator, pulling out her phone.

"Be there in five."

—— Meanwhile, deep in the Mileage region.

"WHOOOOSH—"

A helicopter slowly descended onto a vast open field.

The rapidly spinning rotors kicked up a fierce whirlwind of dust.

Yet the group waiting nearby stood their ground, not daring to move an inch.

Behind them stood a fleet of Rolls-Royces with consecutive license plates.

Soon, the aircraft door swung open.

Four mercenaries clad in tactical gear emerged first, taking positions on either side like sentinels.

Then, a tall, imposing figure stepped out with deliberate grace.

His strikingly handsome face was an impassive mask, betraying no emotion.

But a closer look would reveal the glacial coldness lurking in those dark, narrowed eyes.

An aura of overwhelming dominance radiated from him, making others instinctively avert their gaze.

The waiting entourage immediately approached.

The middle-aged man at the forefront—Louis—bowed his head slightly, his voice dripping with deference.

Boss, the cars are ready for you."

Sinclair’s expression remained indifferent as he strode forward without pause.

"And the person?"

"We’ve already dispatched a team.

They’ll arrive tomorrow evening."

"Hmm."

Without another word, Sinclair continued walking, his long legs carrying him forward with effortless authority.

"Boss," Louis stepped forward and opened the rear car door for Sinclair.

"I’ll take you to the hotel."

Sinclair lifted his gaze, giving Louis a cool glance before settling into the seat.

The convoy of cars set off toward the hotel.

"President Luther, this—*smack*!"

The assistant barely got a word out before Louis silenced him with a sharp slap.

"How many times have I told you?

Calling me ’President Luther’—are you trying to get me killed?"

Wherever Sinclair was present, no one in the Luther Family dared claim that title for themselves.

"Y-yes, I’ll remember, I won’t do it again," the assistant stammered, nodding repeatedly.

"Sir, I don’t understand—why has he suddenly come here?

And why did he specifically ask us to find Mileage tribesmen skilled in breaking curses?"

"Who knows?"

Louis narrowed his eyes, watching the car ahead, his expression darkening.

"But I have a feeling... something big is about to happen in the capital.

We’d better tread carefully."

He was from a distant branch of the Luther Family, never daring to covet the power center in the capital.

All he wanted was to protect the modest empire he’d painstakingly built over the years. At least, that’s what he thought for now.

As for what the future held—who could say?

Inside the hotel room, Sinclair stood by the window, finishing a cigarette before pulling out his phone.

He dialed the number he knew by heart, the digits etched into his memory.

Yet the call rang until it disconnected on its own—unanswered.

A slight frown creased his brow.

Where was Camilla? ---

The same moment, a different place, an entirely different story unfolding.

At that very instant, inside an international luxury boutique under the Calvin Corporation’s umbrella—

"President Calvin—"

The manager bowed his head deferentially, his expression brimming with respect.

But Calvin’s gaze didn’t linger on him. Instead, he turned toward Tiffany, his voice softening.

"Does the style here meet your requirements?

If not, we can look elsewhere."

Tiffany glanced around and nodded softly.

"This place will do."

What she wanted was simplicity—the simpler, the better.

The design style here was refreshingly minimalist.

The manager, overhearing their conversation, couldn’t help but look up at Tiffany.

Mr. Calvin had never lacked women by his side.

They were either A-list celebrities or international supermodels—each more stunning than the last.

Yet, despite that, no one had ever seen Calvin patiently accompany any of them on a shopping trip.

And today, he was making an exception for this sweet-faced, fair-skinned young woman?

Had his taste... changed?

Calvin turned his gaze toward the manager, his peach-blossom eyes devoid of any warmth.

"Seen enough?"

Though his tone was flat and emotionless, the manager shuddered.

"I—I’m sorry, Mr. Calvin,"

The manager immediately bowed his head in apology.

"Have someone assist this young lady in selecting a suitable gown," Calvin said coolly, casting him a brief glance before turning his attention back to Tiffany, the chill in his voice now gone.

"Let’s go inside."

Tiffany nodded.

The two walked together toward the private lounge at the back.

Meanwhile, not far away—

"Vicente!"

Melissa frowned deeply, glaring at the tall figure trailing behind her.

"Seriously?

You’re following me even when I’m just shopping?

That’s way too much!!"