Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 253: Mrs. Porter finally found out about the death of her daughter Sandra Porter
Chapter 253: Mrs. Porter finally found out about the death of her daughter Sandra Porter
"Samson," grandpa Porter’s eyes narrowed, dark and icy.
"Are you threatening me?"
Back then, he had chosen Samson as his puppet to manipulate the Luther Family’s main lineage precisely because of the man’s cowardice and stupidity.
Had he misjudged him after all?
"If that’s how you see it, I can’t help it,"
Samson swallowed hard, his jaw clenched tight.
"After all, I can’t shoulder all the risks alone while you reap the rewards, can I?"
He stole a glance at Grandpa Luther before hurriedly looking away, gritting his teeth as he pressed on.
"Besides, don’t you want to see that old bastard take his last breath with your own eyes?"
Of course, those words had been carefully rehearsed under Grandpa Luther’s instructions.
Otherwise, Samson wouldn’t have dared to speak so recklessly even with ten extra lives.
The words hung in the air, leaving Grandpa Porter silent.
For decades, he had always been overshadowed by grandpa Luther.
After years of patient scheming and bidding his time, all for the sake of crushing Samson and the entire Luther Family beneath his feet.
Now that the moment had arrived, it would indeed be a shame not to witness with his own eyes the sight of grandpa Luther’s defeat—his lifeless gaze frozen in unwilling despair.
At this thought, a flicker of something dark and icy passed through the aged depths of Grandpa Porter’s eyes. His voice was frigid as he spoke.
"I’ll take my men there now."
Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.
Grandpa Luther’s expression remained unchanged, his fingers moving unhurriedly over the sandalwood prayer beads in his hand.
Clearly, he had already anticipated this outcome.
Samson exhaled in quiet relief, though regret gnawed at him even more fiercely.
Meanwhile, at the Porter residence—
"Father,"
Mr. Porter looked at Grandpa Porter, unable to suppress the excitement in his eyes.
"Let me go with you."
He, too, wanted to see how the mighty grandpa Luther—the man whose mere step could make the entire capital tremble—would meet his pitiful end.
"No.
You stay here," Grandpa Porter’s tone was cold and unyielding.
"If anything unexpected happens, take Zamile and leave town immediately."
"Unexpected?"
Mr. Porter was startled.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Better safe than sorry," grandpa Porter replied with a cold, somber expression as he settled into the open car door.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he added calmly,
"It never hurts to be cautious and keep an escape route open."
Withdrawing his gaze from Mr. Porter, leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.
"Drive."
The rising car window separated their faces as the convoy of vehicles started their engines and sped toward the Luther Family’s ancestral home.
Neither grandpa Porter nor Mr. Porter knew it then, but this would be the last time father and son would ever see each other.
Meanwhile, in the Porter residence, on the second floor...
Drenched and disheveled, Mrs. Porter sat slumped in Sandra’s room, her spirit utterly broken.
Seizing the moment when that old fool of the Porter family and Mr. Porter wasn’t paying attention, she had braved the pouring rain to search every possible hiding place where Mr. Porter might have stashed Sandra—yet found not a single clue.
Mrs. Porter’s eyes were glazed over, her face a picture of utter disarray.
Where on earth could she be hiding?!
Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from outside the door.
Who would come to Sandra’s room at a time like this?!
Her pupils trembled slightly before she swiftly rose and ducked into the wardrobe, holding her breath as she strained to hear the intruder’s intentions.
The door creaked open, then clicked shut moments later.
Inside the room, the rustling of disturbed objects mingled with the hushed murmurs of two men.
"Even a vicious tiger wouldn’t eat its own cub. Boss’s gone too far—killing his own flesh and blood..."
In the Porter household, only one man was addressed as "boss"—Mr. Porter.
And his own flesh and blood... could only mean Sandra.
Mrs. Porter’s eyes widened as if struck by lightning, her body frozen in place, her mind struggling to process the words.
Killed... What did they mean,
*killed*?!
"Tell me about it," another man chimed in quietly.
"Tell me about it," he continued, his voice hushed.
"Last night, the moment I closed my eyes, all I could see was the agony on Ms Sandra’s face as she was burned alive.
I barely slept a wink."
"You barely slept?
I didn’t dare sleep at all.
If the boss hadn’t ordered us to gather her belongings to burn, I wouldn’t have even wanted to walk past this room."
Burned alive?
Mrs. Porter’s mind flashed to the charred remains of that abandoned warehouse by the docks.
Could it be... her Sandra had been inside?!
The thought pierced her heart like a thousand silver needles, the pain so sharp it stole her breath.
The murmurs continued.
"But you have to admit, Ms. Sandra was truly pitiful.
Not only was she killed by her own father, but even her belongings are being destroyed. It’s like they’re erasing every trace of her."
"What can we do?
It’s all to pave the way for the next little boss now."
Pave the way for that bastard—by killing her daughter?!
Mrs. Porter bit down on her lower lip until blood welled, her entire body trembling with fury.
"Oh, right—the car Mr. Porter drove to the countryside is still parked in the far corner of the garage.
Once we’re done here, don’t forget to destroy the dashcam inside. It recorded everything."
"Got it."
With those words, the two men walked out, carrying a few items in their hands.
Once outside, they exchanged a meaningful glance before parting ways.
The room fell silent again. Mrs. Porter tumbled out of the wardrobe, her bloodshot eyes scanning every inch of Sandra’s room.
"Sandra, if it’s true..."
Her body trembled violently, her face twisted with fury as she ground her teeth.
"If that monster really killed you, I swear—I swear in my life—I will make him pay!"
After taking a few minutes to steady herself, Mrs. Porter struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on the floor for support.
Avoiding the prying eyes of the servants, she took the elevator down to the underground garage.
She moved from car to car, searching desperately.
Finally, in a dim corner, she spotted the black Mercedes that had brushed past her earlier.
This was the one.
This was the car! Her legs nearly gave way beneath her, and she braced herself against the wall to keep from collapsing.
With shaking hands, she grabbed the spare key from the wall, unlocked the car, and yanked out the dashcam’s memory card.
Fingers trembling, she inserted it into the laptop she had brought with her.
She found the records from that fateful day.
Every detail was there—how Mr. Porter had his men force Sandra into the car, drag her into the warehouse, and then set the place ablaze.
The agonized screams and curses of Sandra echoed through the footage, raw and harrowing.
The final scene showed Mr. Porter calmly drives away.
Had Mr. Porter been present, he would have noticed the memory card had been meticulously edited.
But Mrs. Porter had no idea.
Her husband... had personally burned their daughter alive?
Her entire body trembled violently, her fingers clawing into the fabric of her dress.
How much pain had Sandra endured in her final moments?
How much despair had she felt?!
The sheer horror of it struck her like a physical blow.
A mouthful of blood surged up, and she collapsed forward onto the steering wheel, her vision swimming.
It took an eternity before she could steady herself again.
"Sandra, just wait," she whispered, wiping the blood from her lips.
Her expression twisted into something dark, venomous—utterly unhinged.
"Mom’s going to kill Mr. Porter.
And that bastard child.
I’ll make them pay for what they did to you."
After leaving the underground garage, she didn’t return to her room.
Instead, she slipped unnoticed into the warehouse, gathering a few things before vanishing into the night.
In the shadows, someone observed her every move with silent intensity.
Inside the car, the dim lighting cast shifting patterns across Sinclair’s chiseled features as he idly traced the delicate contours of Camilla’s slender fingers.
His lashes veiled his inscrutable gaze when he spoke, his voice a low murmur.
"Mrs. Porter has always been... docile," he mused, the words laced with quiet skepticism.
"How can you be so sure she’d dare to kill them?"
Camilla nestled deeper into his embrace, her reply soft but unwavering.
"A child is every mother’s breaking point."
She tilted her head slightly, meeting the shadows in his eyes.
"Sandra is no exception."
Never underestimate a mother’s resolve when vengeance calls.
Sinclair’s fingers stilled.
A humorless smirk tugged at his lips as he countered, "Not every mother thinks that way."
His voice carried the weight of old wounds, the unspoken *—mine certainly didn’t—* hanging between them like a blade.
Camilla caught the bitterness beneath his tone.
Without hesitation, she tightened her arms around him, her touch a silent vow.
"Sinclair—"
Her voice was warmth against the chill of his memories.
