"Child, shouldn’t you be happy to see your grandpa?Why the tears?"

Grandpa Rodriguez gently patted Camilla’s back, forcing a lighthearted tone, yet his own tears flowed uncontrollably.

Uncle Carlos, witnessing the scene, couldn’t help but feel deeply moved.

He had learned most of the details about the young madam from Grandpa Rodriguez.

The old man had endured so long in prison, all for her sake.

Though they weren’t bound by blood, their bond ran deeper than many true familial ties.

Camilla, usually the picture of composure, now wept without restraint.

Sinclair had never seen his wife shed so many tears before, and a dull ache spread through his chest.

He offered a helpless smile.

Had he known, he should have told her directly.

If she’d had time to process it along the way, perhaps her emotions wouldn’t have overflowed like this.

"Camilla, don’t cry," he murmured, his voice tender and patient, laced with unmistakable gentleness.

If she kept crying like this, his heart would shatter—not just metaphorically, but quite literally.

Due to the Heart-Linking poison, his heart was now unilaterally controlled by Camilla.

Yet Camilla remained completely oblivious to Sinclair’s words, her face still buried against Grandpa Rodriguez as she continued to sob.

This was the first time Sinclair had ever been so thoroughly ignored by his own wife.

He pressed his lips together.

But remembering that the one holding her attention was grandpa Rodriguez, a trace of resignation flickered in his eyes as he suppressed all his emotions.

The expression on his face carried an inexplicable hint of grievance.

Uncle Carlos observed Sinclair’s reaction with quiet amusement, unable to suppress a knowing smile.

Only when it came to Mrs. Camilla did Mr. Sinclair never reveals even a sliver of genuine emotion.

"Camilla, Grandpa is back safe and sound," grandpa Rodriguez steadied his own emotions first, his voice warm yet firm as he patted her back affectionately.

"Don’t cry now, be good."

"Mhm, mhm..."

Camilla nodded obediently, her sobs softening—though the occasional hiccup still escaped, just like the day she had learned of her grandfather’s disappearance.

Sinclair "Alright, he wasn’t jealous.

"Grandpa told you before—emotional ups and downs directly affect your health," grandpa Rodriguez said, patting the back of his granddaughter’s hand reassuringly when he saw she was listening.

"You have to think not just about yourself, but also the little one inside you."

The baby.

Camilla finally snapped out of her tearful joy, wiping her eyes before placing a hand over her belly in a tender, almost theatrical gesture.

Her voice was muffled with emotion as she murmured, "I’m sorry, baby.

Mommy got so excited seeing Grandpa that she forgot about you for a second.

Don’t be mad at me."

Forgotten, indeed—and not just the baby.

A wry smile tugged at Sinclair’s lips.

Now he knows exactly where he stood in Camilla’s eyes—below the old man, above the unborn child.

For now, at least. Grandpa Rodriguez turned his gaze toward Sinclair, his eyes warm with affectionate amusement.

"Sinclair, come take your wife to sit down before she drowns us all in tears.

If she keeps this up, my old bones might just catch rheumatism."

"My fault," Sinclair replied, his smile deepening into one of gentle humility.

Now that’s a rare expression.

Camilla hadn’t expected her grandfather to tease her at a time like this.

She feigned annoyance, knitting her brows together.

"Grandpa!"

"Sir, you’re still weak.

Let’s sit down and have some tea first before we continue talking."

Uncle Carlos stepped forward at just the right moment, supporting grandpa Rodriguez as he settled back into his seat.

Sinclair walked over to Camilla, wrapping an arm around her waist before guiding her to sit beside him on the sofa next to her grandfather.

"You heard grandpa.

Sit down and talk properly."

Camilla had already calmed down.

She nodded, giving Sinclair’s hand a tight squeeze.

In an instant, she understood everything—why Sinclair hadn’t arrived at the hotel at their agreed time while gathering intel, and why he had returned injured.

Turns out, he had completely altered the plan and rescued her grandfather himself.

But that was the royal palace’s side hall.

The risks involved went without saying.

The reason he hadn’t told her was undoubtedly to spare her the worry.

All her emotions swirled together, then shattered into countless fragments, flooding through her veins.

"Sweetheart.. thank you."

Sinclair’s expression remained calm and tender, his tone light and effortless.

"Grandpa Rodriguez is family to me as well."

A single sentence that spoke volumes.

Camilla understood Sinclair’s meaning perfectly, her fingers tightening around in silent gratitude.

From his seat where he sipped tea, grandpa Rodriguez observed their exchange with keen eyes, the deep wrinkles around his weathered face softening with unmistakable approval.

The Luther Family represented the strongest sanctuary he could secure for Camilla.

Initially, he’d thought that even without affection between them, Grandpa Luther’s presence alone would guarantee his granddaughter a stable future.

But reality had surpassed his expectations.

Perhaps fate was just after all.

As Camilla’s emotions settled, her gaze lingered on her grandfather’s gaunt frame and pallid complexion, a shadow of concern darkening her eyes.

"By the way, Grandpa," she tilted her head playfully, forcing a lighthearted tone, "it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.

Let me check your pulse—see if my diagnostic skills have improved, okay?"

The carefully crafted request left no room for refusal.

For the briefest moment, Mr. Rodriguez’s lowered eyelids stilled before he raised them again, warmth flooding his expression.

"You’re my granddaughter.

No one knows your pulse-reading skills better than I do," he chuckled, waving a dismissive hand.

"No need for tests—"

With that, he turned his gaze to Sinclair and chuckled.

"You reckless boy, you’ve got some nerve—sending people to break into the side palace of E Kingdom’s royal court just to rescue me?"

When he first saw the newcomers, he had almost suspected it was one of Luna’s schemes.

Sinclair and Camilla were both sharp enough to recognize that the old man was deliberately changing the subject.

Camilla’s eyes flickered slightly, a sudden pang of unease tightening in her chest.

Could something be wrong with Grandpa’s health?*

"They’ll soon uncover Camilla’s identity, and once they do, your safety will be compromised," Sinclair said, sensing her worry.

He gave her hand a reassuring pat before answering grandpa Rodriguez with his usual composure.

"Better to strike first while they’re still unprepared."

Of course, his boldness wasn’t without reason.

Luna had kept grandpa Rodriguez’s imprisonment under wraps—she, more than anyone, feared the truth getting out.

So whether it was Sinclair’s rescue mission or any retaliation afterward, she wouldn’t dare escalate the situation.

"Just like your old man—brave and cunning," grandpa Rodriguez nodded, admiration gleaming in his eyes.

"Camilla is lucky to have a husband like you."

Sinclair’s fingers brushed lightly over her belly as he murmured tenderly, "No, the luck is all mine."

Something flickered briefly in Camilla’s gaze.

Just as Grandpa Rodriguez was about to speak, Camilla suddenly winced, her brows knitting together as she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Ah—"Camilla clutched her stomach, her brows furrowing deeply as she sucked in a sharp breath.

"What’s wrong, Camilla?"

Sinclair’s heart lurched despite already knowing the answer.

He immediately reached out to steady her, his voice laced with concern.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

"Yeah, probably just too worked up earlier." "Don’t worry, Camilla. Let Grandpa take a look."

Grandpa Rodriguez had already risen from his seat, hurrying toward her as fast as his legs could carry him.

Camilla watched his limping gait, her heart aching at the sight.

The crease between her brows deepened.

Sinclair had noticed it too when he rescued grandpa.

As grandpa Rodriguez reached her, his thin, aged fingers pressed gently against her wrist, his own brow furrowed in concentration as he checked her pulse.

"The pulse is a bit rapid, but it shouldn’t affect the baby. There shouldn’t be any abdominal discomfort..."

He lifted his head, about to ask her to extend her other hand, but she had already turned the tables—her cold fingertips now resting on his bony wrist.

"Grandpa, let me check on you instead. I won’t be at ease otherwise."

At this point, Grandpa Rodriguez understood everything.

He let out a relieved sigh, his face breaking into a helpless yet amused smile.

"You little rascal—"

Then, as if remembering something, he turned his gaze to Sinclair.

"Sinclair, I never expected you’d indulge her like this."

There wasn’t a hint of reproach in his tone—only warmth and approval.

The corners of Sinclair’s lips curved slightly as he replied with effortless composure,

"My apologies, Grandfather. I’ve always been a bit of a henpecked husband."

"Hahaha!" Grandpa Rodriguez burst into hearty laughter.

The more he looked at this grandson-in-law he’d personally chosen, the more pleased he became.

This might just be the second-best decision he’d ever made in his life.

As for the first?

His eyes shifted back to Camilla.

But her face showed no trace of amusement—only deep concern.

Outwardly, her grandfather’s health seemed fine, but beneath the surface, his body was riddled with hidden injuries.

It didn’t take much imagination to guess what kind of torment he must have endured all these years.

Her heart ached, and tears spilled like broken strings of pearls, falling onto Grandpa Rodriguez’s weathered palm.

"Grandpa—"

Looking up at his face—still kind but now gaunt and haggard—she barely managed those two words before her voice failed her.

"Camilla, I know," grandpa Rodriguez sighed, withdrawing his hand gently as his warm gaze rested on her.

"You want to ask what they did to me."

Camilla nodded slowly.

Only then could she repay them tenfold in the future.

"There’s nothing worth saying. For origınal chapters go to It’s all in the past now," the old man reassured her with a patient, soothing tone.

"Just being able to stand here, whole and well, is more than enough for me."

After all, until today, he hadn’t dared hope he would live to see Camilla again.

Understanding both his meaning and his temperament, she didn’t press further—only tightened her grip around his frail hand.

"Don’t worry, Grandpa. My medical skills have improved a lot since before," At this point, she paused briefly.

"Of course, I could never compare to you, Grandpa. But as they say, physicians can’t heal themselves," Camilla said, wrapping her arms around the old man’s arm and resting her head against him.

Her voice was soft yet resolute.

"I promise I’ll take good care of your health and make sure you live a long, long life."

A long, long life.

Something flickered deep in the old man’s eyes, but his expression remained unchanged.

"Good."

"Grandfather, Boss, Madam," Aunt Naomi entered from outside with a warm smile.

"Supper is ready."

"Camilla," Sinclair spoke up at just the right moment.

"It’s getting late. Let’s have something to eat so Grandpa can rest early."

Of course, his suggestion was also because he wanted Camilla to get some rest sooner rather than later.

"You’re right, I completely forgot how late it is," Camilla swallowed back the rest of her words, remembering her grandfather’s current health condition.

"Grandpa, let’s grab a bite to eat and then turn in early."

Grandpa Rodriguez could only nod in agreement, indulging her every whim.

Sinclair’s expression softened with affection, though he showed no other emotions.

After all, grandpa had just been rescued and was still physically weak.

By the time he finished the meal with Sinclair and Camilla, his energy was visibly flagging.

Camilla escorted her grandfather back to his room, fussing over him with repeated reminders—until Grandpa Rodriguez feigned impatience, at which point she reluctantly took her leave.

As she opened the door, she found Sinclair waiting for her outside.

"Sweetheart—"

Camilla closed the door and immediately melted into Sinclair’s embrace.

Sinclair’s strong arms wrapped around her securely, his well-defined fingers gently stroking her back.

They stayed like that for a long, quiet moment.

"I’m so happy—so, so happy. Really!"

"I know."

Your sorrows are mine, your joys are mine.

Finally relaxed, Camilla felt exhaustion settle over her.

After washing up, she nestled against Sinclair’s chest and drifted into sleep.

His soothing touch never ceased as his dark, intense eyes lingered on her with quiet tenderness.

Her delicate, porcelain-like face was faintly flushed from slumber, the soft glow of the lamplight casting a dreamlike radiance over her.

Everything felt perfect.

Sinclair lost track of how long he simply watched her before reluctantly deciding to move.

But the moment he shifted slightly, he realized the hem of his shirt was still clutched tightly in Camilla’s small hand.

The corner of Sinclair’s lips curved imperceptibly, a flicker of helplessness passing through his deep, obsidian eyes.

After a brief pause, he settled back down, closing his eyes and resting his face against the curve of her neck.

Breathing in her familiar scent, he let it steady his restless heart.

As if sensing something in her sleep, Camilla instinctively snuggled closer to Sinclair’s side.

Night faded as dawn broke.

With the return of Grandpa Rodriguez, Camilla made a special effort to rise early and prepare a lavish breakfast spread—nutritious yet delicious.

As usual, Sinclair took care of every little detail to ensure the meal went smoothly for her.

Grandpa Rodriguez watched it all with quiet delight.

"Camilla, look what you’ve done to poor Sinclair," he teased, feigning disapproval.

"People might think I married you off to repay a debt, but at this rate, they’ll assume it was for revenge!"

Sinclair smirked but didn’t pause in his tasks.

"Revenge?"

Camilla pretended to be indignant.

"Grandpa, that’s just mean!"

From a distance, Sonia—who had been absorbed in studying something—along with the servants present, couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

Uncle Carlos and Aunt Naomi were among them.

Just like in the old days, Grandpa Rodriguez hadn’t lost his humor or his easygoing charm.

The atmosphere was warm and cheerful.

After breakfast, grandpa Rodriguez excused himself to take a leisurely stroll in the backyard, claiming it would aid digestion.

The others soon followed suit, tactfully leaving Sinclair and Camilla alone.

"Camilla," Sinclair pulled her into his arms, his deep voice laced with quiet affection.

"I have some business to take care of. Stay here and keep Grandpa company. If you want to go out, take Luke with you."

Camilla wrapped her arms around his neck, her clear, expressive eyes filled with understanding. "You’re going to deal with the Harrison family, aren’t you?"

She knew all too well that Sinclair didn’t even spare a thought for Andrea, so she didn’t bother mentioning the Alger family.

"Mhm," Sinclair replied casually, making no effort to hide the truth.

"The royal family is the real target. I don’t have the patience to play games with them."

"Will it be dangerous?"Camilla understood Sinclair’s implication.

She nodded, her luminous eyes locking onto his.

"Don’t lie to me."

"I won’t," Sinclair replied, his expression tender though the sharp edges of his features remained undiminished.

"With you here, I wouldn’t dare throw myself into harm’s way."

"And the baby," Camilla pressed, placing Sinclair’s slender, pale hand against her abdomen, her tone solemn.

"Don’t you dare lie to us."

"Never," Sinclair murmured, his touch gentle as he caressed the warmth beneath his palm, his striking features softening further.

"Not ever."

"That’s more like it," Camilla finally relented, leaning in to brush a kiss against his lips.

Sinclair held Camilla in his embrace a while longer before finally leaving with Ramsey.

Camilla waited until Sinclair’s car had disappeared into the distance before heading to the backyard, where she found Grandpa chatting with Uncle Carlos.

She joined their casual conversation for a bit before her phone rang.

After taking the call, she announced that she needed to visit the Mega residence—specifically, where Stephen was staying.

His legs still required ongoing acupuncture treatment.

Grandpa, intrigued by the case and Camilla’s current techniques, decided to accompany her.

Camilla was more than happy to have him along—not only would it keep him entertained, but she might also benefit from his wisdom.

Perhaps he could suggest a more effective or faster treatment method.

Luke discreetly arranged for a team to escort Grandpa and Camilla to the Mega residence.

At the edge of the City,

Inside a presidential suite of a luxurious seaside hotel, floor-to-ceiling windows framed an endless expanse of deep blue ocean.

Sunlight glinted off the water, casting a shimmering halo that enhanced the breathtaking grandeur of the view.

Anyone who witnessed this scene would instantly understand why this hotel was considered the epitome of luxury.

By the floor-to-ceiling window stood a man in a tailored dark suit, exuding an air of aristocratic elegance.

Between his slender fingers, a cigar burned steadily, its pale smoke curling from his lips before dissipating into the air like delicate silk threads.

The haze veiled his striking features—sharp, almost sculpted—casting a faint, ethereal glow over his face.

His deep, fathomless eyes gazed down at the world beyond the glass, though whether he was truly admiring the view or lost in thought was impossible to tell.

An icy aura radiated from him, so suffocating it seemed to freeze the very air around him.

"Ah—!"

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the room, mingling with the rhythmic crash of waves outside, forming a grotesque yet strangely harmonious symphony.

Sinclair’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile—so subtle it might have been imagined—as if the sound pleased him.

"Last chance," Ramsey growled in fluent English, his voice tight with controlled fury. Calvin drove his fist into the man’s abdomen with brutal force.

"Where is Harrison?"

This man was one of the tails they’d caught shadowing Sinclair—snared in a carefully laid trap.

As for the bulk of the forces sent by the Harrison and Alger families, they were still lurking around the estate Sinclair had originally prepared for his wife, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

The captive coughed violently, blood frothing at his lips, his face twisted in agony.

"I told you, I don’t understand what you’re saying. I know nothing..."

Ramsey caught the fleeting flicker of evasion in the man’s eyes and knew he was deliberately hiding something.

A cold smirk curled his lips.

"In that case, you’re of no use to me."

With a sharp kick, he sent the man sprawling to the ground, then planted his foot heavily on the man’s throat.

His handsome face remained expressionless, but the pressure beneath his boot steadily increased.

"Ghk... ghk..."

The man instantly felt the crushing grip of suffocation.

His hands clawed desperately at Ramsey’s leg, trying to wrench it away, but it was futile.

Soon, his grip slackened, and his body went limp, all resistance gone.

"Drag him away," Ramsey said coldly, withdrawing his foot.

"Bring me another."

Sinclair refused to believe he couldn’t pry the truth from these men.

Two mercenaries stepped forward immediately, each moving with purpose.

One hauled the lifeless body away like discarded trash, while the other dragged in a young man with deep brown hair and a fresh scar across the bridge of his nose.

Just as Ramsey was about to begin the interrogation, the man’s icy, detached voice cut through the air.

"Too slow."

Sinclair didn’t turn around. His narrow, profound eyes remained fixed on the boundless sea outside the window as he spoke in an indifferent tone.

"Throw them all into the ocean as bait. Fish them out only when they talk."

His strikingly handsome face, bathed in sunlight, looked almost divine—yet his words sent chills down the spine, as if plunging listeners straight into hell.

Bait?

What did that mean?

The remaining men exchanged terrified glances, confusion mixing with their fear.

"Understood, Mr. Luther," Ramsey glanced at the fathomless sea outside and immediately grasped Sinclair’s meaning.

He turned to the mercenaries behind him.

"Bring them all. Follow me."

"Yes, sir!"

The mercenaries hauled the bound men away.

Soon, two eight-meter-long speedboats raced from the hotel’s shoreline toward the open sea.

The bound men aboard assumed they were being drowned—terrified of death, yet feeling a twisted sense of relief.

But what happened next defied all expectations.

Ramsey didn’t take that approach.

Instead, he ordered the mercenaries to carve multiple wounds into their arms and legs before throwing them into the sea.

The moment saltwater hit their wounds, the men howled in agony.

Their only lifeline was the ropes binding their wrists to the speedboat.

To keep their heads above water and breathe, they had to thrash their legs relentlessly.

Blood seeped from their injuries into the ocean, quickly attracting schools of fish.

One of the captives suddenly realized what was happening.

His face twisted with fury as he glared at Ramsey and spat, "Shit! F*ck you—"

Before he could finish, one of the mercenaries fired a silenced shot, blasting through his shoulder. His scream turned into a shriller, more harrowing wail.

Blood gushed from the bullet wound, flowing faster into the water.

The man beside him widened his eyes in terror, lips trembling as if to speak.

Another shot shattered his shoulder blade, and his screams intensified.

Soon, a vast, indistinct shadow loomed beneath them, drifting into view.

"It’s here," Ramsey said coldly.

"Your chances are running out. If you won’t talk, then stay here and be fish bait."

Death itself might not be terrifying—but knowing it’s coming and waiting for it?

That’s pure horror.

As the shadow beneath the water drew closer, the last shreds of composure among the soaked E-country men dissolved.

Some had already begun to plead for mercy. Ramsey remained unmoved.

"Agh—!"

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air as the man at the edge was suddenly seized by the shadowy figure below.

Razor-sharp teeth clamped onto his leg, dragging him into the abyss.

A crimson bloom of blood surged to the surface before dispersing into the dark waters.

Finally, one of them snapped.

"I’ll talk! I’ll talk! I know where Harrison is—just pull me up, please—!"

"Should’ve spoken sooner," Ramsey sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Help him up."

From the room above, Sinclair observed the scene through a telescope, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his lips.