Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire
Chapter 170: He is not your father

Chapter 170: He is not your father

Tyler raised his head, his cold gaze fixed on Jonathan.

His voice was low and steady.

"Whatever it is, it can wait until after dinner."

Seeing the expressions on his wife and son’s faces, Jonathan hesitated.

Fortunately, the ringing stopped on its own at that moment.

He breathed an inward sigh of relief and sat back down.

But then the phone rang again, its shrill tone piercing the dead silence of the private dining room.

Jonathan reached out, switched the phone to vibrate, and set it aside.

"Let’s eat."

Mechanically, he picked up his knife and fork and resumed eating his food in front of him.

Yet his movements were noticeably hurried.

The name "Tamara" flashing on the screen made Margaret’s face darken further.

The exquisite food tasted like sawdust in her mouth, all its earlier delicacy gone.

The veins on her hand stood out as she gripped her cutlery.

Clearly suppressing something, Margaret finally snapped when Jonathan cast yet another worried glance at his phone screen.

*Clang!*

She slammed her fork and knife onto the plate, snatched the phone from the table, and jabbed the answer button, her voice trembling with fury.

"You little homewrecker! What the hell do you want?

Does ruining someone else’s marriage give you some sick thrill—?"

Tyler’s brow furrowed as he watched Jonathan’s face twist with rage, a flicker of irritation flashing in his eyes.

As a man, he knew exactly what men despised most.

If his mother had endured the meal in silence, his father would have only felt worse.

But now?

This outburst would backfire spectacularly. All the effort he’d spent smoothing things over today—gone to waste.

"Margaret!!"

Jonathan’s face darkened as he sprang up and wrested the phone from her grip.

"Tamara..."

"I’m sorry, Jonathan.

I didn’t mean to cause trouble..."

Tamara’s frail voice drifted weakly from the other end of the line.

"I won’t contact you anymore.

I hope your family of three stays happy and well."

Before the words had fully left her lips, a nurse’s urgent voice suddenly cut through the phone line.

"Ms. Tamara!!

Quick, call the doctor!!"

The next moment was a flurry of chaotic footsteps.

"Tamara?

Tamara!"

Jonathan’s face darkened with worry as he immediately stood up, grabbing his coat and heading for the door.

Margaret was both furious and panicked.

"Jonathan—"

But Jonathan didn’t even pause.

"Jonathan!"

Margaret sprang up after him, blocking his path.

"You are not going!!"

Jonathan stared at her, his expression so stormy it could have rained darkness.

"Move."

"I said it again—" Veins bulged on Margaret’s forehead.

"Get out of my way!"

"Mom—" Tyler spoke up at that moment, trying to stop Margaret.

The way things were going, the situation would only escalate.

But Margaret clearly wasn’t in the mood to listen.

"No," she gritted out, glaring at Jonathan, her entire body trembling with rage.

"If you want to go running after that woman, you’ll have to step over me first."

"Fine.

Fine.

You asked for this."

Jonathan, seething with fury, shoved Margaret hard.

She staggered back several steps before losing her balance, collapsing to the floor in an undignified heap.

"Mom!"

Tyler’s leg wound hadn’t fully healed yet.

To ensure he’d be ready for the upcoming engagement ceremony in two days, he was still confined to a wheelchair for recovery.

There was no way he could reach her in time.

The scene was chaotic and utterly humiliating.

Little did they know, every moment of this spectacle was being broadcast live to Camilla through the surveillance feed.

Leaning back lazily on the sofa, she propped her head up with one hand, her crimson lips curling into a faint smirk as she watched the farce unfold on the screen.

Just then, a deep, cool male voice broke the silence.

"What are you looking at?"

"What are you watching?"

Fresh out of the shower, Sinclair found Camilla holding an iPad, her expression brimming with amusement.

"A domestic family reality show," she said, lifting the iPad toward him, her arched brows dancing with mischief.

"Want to join me?"

"Not interested," Sinclair replied, though a knowing glint flickered in his dark eyes as he glanced at the screen.

"Keep watching.

I’ll dry your hair for you."

"Alright," Camilla agreed, pulling off her shower cap and tilting her head slightly to look at him, her beautiful eyes half-lidded.

"Get to work then, hubby."

Her face was bare of makeup, yet it only accentuated her delicate beauty.

Her damp, dark hair cascaded like seaweed down to her waist, giving her an ethereal allure—innocent yet irresistibly bewitching.

Work?

This wasn’t part of his job description.

A faint smirk played at the corners of Sinclair’s lips as he picked up the hairdryer.

His pale, slender fingers moved with gentle precision through her chestnut-brown hair, each stroke deliberate and tender.

Camilla leaned back comfortably, basking in the man’s undivided attention while slipping on her headphones.

Her eyes remained fixed on the surveillance footage playing across the screen.

Inside the private dining room— "

Jonathan!"

Margaret braced herself against the floor, twisting her body to glare up at him, her face a mask of disbelief.

"You actually laid hands on me—again—for that woman?!"

"Hmph."

Jonathan looked down at her, his expression weary and ice-cold.

"You brought this on yourself."

Without another word, he stepped over her—literally stepping over her—and strode out of the room.

"Jonathan!!"

Margaret’s scream tore through the air as she watched his retreating figure.

Her fingers clawed violently at the carpet beneath her, nails snapping without her even noticing.

"You’ll regret this—you’ll live to regret every second of it!!!"

Before this moment, She had always been the one stealing men away—no one had ever snatched a man from her grasp.

But this Tamara kept doing it, again and again.

She couldn’t accept it!

How could she possibly accept it?!

Yet this time, Jonathan didn’t even pause—his figure vanished into the elevator without a backward glance.

"Mom,"

Tyler maneuvered his wheelchair in front of Margaret, his voice heavy with resignation. "Dad’s already left.

You should get up."

Margaret turned to him, her expression darkening as the words spilled out bitterly: "He’s not your father at all!!"

The moment those words landed, the private room plunged into absolute silence.

On the other end of the surveillance feed, Camilla’s beautiful eyes narrowed sharply at the revelation.

Meanwhile...

"I mean," Realizing what she had just blurted out, Margaret’s expression turned flustered as she hastily added,

"What I meant was... a man who treats us this way over some woman doesn’t deserve to be called your father."

Her eyes darted nervously toward Tyler, watching for his reaction.

On the other end of the surveillance feed, Camilla’s slender fingers glided across the screen, zooming in on Margaret’s face to scrutinize her every micro expression.

That outburst had clearly been a slip of the tongue in the heat of anger—and words spoken without thinking often held the sharpest truth.

"No matter what you say, Dad is already gone,"

Tyler replied calmly, observing his mother’s unraveling composure without taking her words to heart.

"We should focus on what to do next."

He had initially assumed Jonathan’s closeness to that woman—what was her name, Tamara?

was merely an attempt to recapture some long-lost youthful fantasy, nothing serious.

But now, it seemed there was more to it.

"That woman wants to take Dad away, and all she cares about is your position as Mrs. Luther" he continued, his voice steady.

"Are you really going to just stand by and let her steal him from you?"

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