Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire
Chapter 185: Margaret’s Karma

Chapter 185: Margaret’s Karma

*Slap!*

Jonathan’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow.

His face and head were already bruised, and now the fresh pain sent waves of dizziness through him.

His breathing grew ragged, veins bulging at his temples—undeniable signs of his fury.

No one except Grandpa Luther had dared to strike him.

This woman had truly lost her mind!

"Jonathan!"

Tamara’s voice trembled with concern.

"Margaret, you’ve gone too far!"

"Too far?"

Margaret sneered, stepping closer.

"You shameless homewreckers have the nerve to judge *me*?"

Seizing the moment, she snatched the teapot from the table and hurled it straight at Tamara.

"If you won’t spare your own dignity, then let me ruin that pretty face for you!"

"Aah—!"

Scalding water soaked through fabric, searing into skin.

The burning agony spread instantly, wrenching a shrill scream from Tamara.

This time, it was clearly no act.

"Go ahead, scream all you want!!"

Still consumed by rage, Margaret raised her stiletto and viciously kicked the woman on the ground—once, twice, again and again...

Outside the door, the bodyguards turned a deaf ear to the commotion inside.

Some things were better left ignored—getting involved would only bring trouble.

But while they could pretend not to hear, the other patients in the ward couldn’t.

Drawn by the noise, a small crowd gathered outside, whispering and pointing.

Inside the room, by the time Jonathan snapped out of his daze, Tamara had already taken several brutal kicks from Margaret, her face twisted in agony as she curled into a trembling ball.

"Margaret!"

He lunged forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her away from Tamara before slapping her hard across the face.

His jaw clenched as he spat through gritted teeth,

"That’s enough!!"

Margaret was violently flung aside by the force, crashing into a glass coffee table nearby.

The vase toppled to the floor and shattered instantly, sharp porcelain shards embedding themselves deep into her arm.

Her face twisted in agony as she let out a hysterical scream.

Jonathan’s gaze flickered between Tamara—her face deathly pale, frozen in shock—and Margaret, who was still wailing and cursing in pain.

A throbbing ache pulsed at his temples.

"Jonathan... I’m fine,"

Tamara whispered weakly, her forehead glistening with cold sweat.

"You... you should check on Margaret."

She knew this man all too well.

The more she played the weak card, the less likely he was to leave her side for Margaret.

Just as expected.

"She seems perfectly fine to me.

Let’s get you to a doctor first," Jonathan said firmly, scooping Tamara into his arms and striding toward the door.

"Take the madam to the hospital. Now."

As she was carried away, Tamara tilted her head slightly from Jonathan’s embrace, casting a faint, fleeting smile in Margaret’s direction—gone in the blink of an eye.

"AAAAAHHH!!"

Margaret stared at Tamara’s provocative expression, her eyes bloodshot and her body trembling uncontrollably with violent tremors.

Whether from rage or pain, it was impossible to tell.

"Yes!"

The bodyguards outside didn’t dare delay and immediately rushed in, heading straight for Margaret.

With the bodyguards no longer blocking the way, the onlookers quickly closed in.

The scene inside made them gasp in shock, and hushed whispers broke out among the crowd.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"Looks like the wife caught the mistress red-handed."

"Which one’s the wife, and which one’s the mistress?"

"The one being held, pale as a ghost—that’s definitely the wife.

The one with the bleeding arm and that crazy look?

Textbook says mistress material."

"Yeah, no wonder the man walked out without even glancing at her.

Shameless homewrecker!"

"Every word struck Margaret like a knife to the heart. "Are you all blind?!"

She was seething, her face twisted with fury as she glared at the crowd by the door.

"That old woman is the real homewrecker!!"

Yet the crowd remained unconvinced, whispering and pointing at her with skeptical glances.

This was perhaps the most humiliating moment Margaret had experienced in decades.

No one knew. Every move in the hospital was under Camilla’s control.

Watching Margaret’s frenzied, twisted expression, Camilla’s red lips curled into a faint smirk.

This was what they called: karma at its finest.

Just two more days—two days at most.

Everything would be over.

The next morning.

Bright sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains.

Camilla’s arm, exposed outside the silk quilt, was bathed in the golden glow, making her already fair skin appear almost luminous.

Sinclair’s slender fingers traced lightly over her skin, his dark eyes filled with unspoken emotion.

Sensing his touch, Camilla’s long lashes fluttered before she slowly opened her eyes.

Instantly, she met his deep, obsidian gaze.

"Sweetheart."

Her voice, usually soft and sweet, now carried a drowsy, languid tone.

"Why are you up so early?"

Did he even need sleep?

No matter how late he stayed up, he always woke before her.

If she hadn’t experienced it firsthand, she might have suspected the man lying beside her was some kind of machine.

Sinclair leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips, his mouth curling into a faint smile.

"With Camilla by my side, I just want to keep looking at you."

A sweet smile unconsciously spread across Camilla’s lips as she reached up to loop her arms around Sinclair’s neck.

"Honey, I never knew you had such a way with words."

His dark eyes crinkled with amusement.

"What, don’t like it?"

"I love it—absolutely love it!"

She nodded eagerly, as if afraid he might stop if she hesitated even a second.

"You’d better say sweet things like this more often."

The corners of Sinclair’s lips curved deeper.

"Alright, I’ll try my best."

Nuzzling against him like a contented kitten, Camilla shook off the last traces of drowsiness.

"Since we’re up early for once, let’s go down for breakfast.

After that, we can visit Grandpa at the old house."

From Aunt Naomi, she had learned that the knock on the study door yesterday was because Grandpa had arrived.

Yet she and Sinclair had stayed hidden inside, refusing to come out.

What they had been doing—well, Grandpa and Aunt Naomi could probably guess in an instant.

At this thought, Camilla felt a mix of embarrassment and irritation, and couldn’t help but shoot a coquettish glare at the culprit beside her.

"Breakfast is fine," she said. Sinclair chuckled softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss on her forehead.

"But I don’t have enough time to go to the old house."

"Is there something urgent at the company?"

"I have a business trip," he replied gently. "My flight leaves at nine-thirty."

A business trip?

The sudden announcement caught Camilla off guard.

Since her rebirth, she and Sinclair had never been apart.

Now, hearing that he was leaving, an inexplicable reluctance welled up in her heart.

But she also knew— He wasn’t just her husband.

He was also the head of the Luther Family. Camilla tightened her arms around Sinclair, burying her face against his chest.

After a long pause, she finally spoke softly. "How long will you be gone?"

"At least three days, maybe up to a week."

Sinclair’s heart melted instantly, his dark, narrow eyes softening with emotion.

"I’ll hurry back."

There were things he needed to figure out.

He never wanted those close to him to suffer on his behalf.

"Alright." Camilla quickly composed herself, lifting her head with a gentle smile.

"But you’d better bring me back a gift."

"Of course."

Sinclair’s long, elegant fingers brushed against Camilla’s cheek, his dark eyes brimming with tenderness.

"While I’m away, if you need anything, just ask Ramsey. And one more thing—"

His voice deepened.

"Be good. Keep your distance from other men."

Camilla nodded obediently in agreement.