Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire
Chapter 294: Ms. Melissa has gone to Disney land with Mr. Vincent

Chapter 294: Ms. Melissa has gone to Disney land with Mr. Vincent

Taylor Family Manor.

"Has Melissa still not returned?"

"Ms. Melissa"

The butler hesitated before the composed and handsome man, not daring to withhold any information.

"She probably won’t be back tonight."

Staying out all night?

Taylor paused as he loosened his tie, his gaze sharpening with an unspoken authority. "Where did she go?"

"Disneyland in Tokyo," the butler answered truthfully, then quickly added in Melissa’s defense, "She didn’t know you were returning today.

She only left this afternoon."

Disneyland?

At least it wasn’t some questionable place. The coldness in Taylor’s eyes gradually faded, his handsome features softening once more.

"What about Mr. Vicente?"

Taylor and Vicente were friends.

Saying Vicente was hired to protect Melissa was more like calling in a favor.

Whether to provide close protection or not was never something he insisted on.

It all depended on Vicente’s own willingness. The butler nodded.

"Mr. Vicente went with Ms. Melissa."

If not for that, she wouldn’t have been able to leave the capital at all.

They had all witnessed Mr. Vicente’s capabilities firsthand.

Eyes as sharp as a hawk’s, a sense of smell as keen as a hound’s.

Not a single move of the young miss could escape his grasp.

The butler lowered his head and rubbed his nose.

Of course, there was no derogatory implication in that.

"With Vicente by her side, nothing will happen,"

Taylor shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it aside, leaning back in his chair.

"She’s been cooped up for too long.

Let her be." The butler remained silent.

But deep down, he thought it was precisely because of Mr. Vicente’s presence that Ms. Melissa grew even bolder.

Taylor lifted a cigarette to his thin lips and lit it, the pale blue flame casting flickering shadows across his jade-like features.

"Anything happened while I was away?"

"Yes, sir."

The butler’s expression turned grave as he recounted in detail how Melissa had narrowly escaped an attempted kidnapping and assassination at the mall.

"After all I’ve spared them, they still dare come for me."

Amidst the swirling smoke, Taylor’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile, his usually refined face hardening with a dangerous edge.

"Call a family meeting tomorrow morning," he said, his smooth voice laced with an icy threat.

"And make sure those old fools understand—they’d better show up in person."

The butler knew his master was about to make an example out of them.

"Understood."

Taylor exhaled a slow stream of pale smoke before flicking the cigarette away.

"Leave me."

With a silent bow, the butler withdrew.

Crushing the cigarette into an ashtray,

Taylor rose and strode to the liquor cabinet.

Taylor pulled out a bottle of whiskey, then settled at the table, pouring himself a drink.

A pair of hands with prominent knuckles swirled the wine glass slowly.

Just as he was about to bring it to his lips and down it in one go, his phone, lying nearby, rang.

The number on the screen was so unfamiliar it felt like a relic from the past.

His dark eyes narrowed slightly.

"Taylor—" ——

In the master bedroom of a villa in the western district, Calvin stepped out of the shower, a towel in hand as he dried his damp hair.

When he looked up, his gaze landed on the figure curled under a thin blanket on the sofa, absorbed in a book.

His footsteps paused for a moment, and a warm, resigned smile flickered in his ink-dark eyes.

Tiffany, spotting Calvin in his white bathrobe, felt a faint blush rise to her fair cheeks.

Luckily, the dim lighting masked it completely.

"Why are you sleeping here?"

"Did your wound get wet?"

They spoke in unison, and for a brief moment, the air fell silent.

"It’s fine—"

"It’s fine."

Their eyes met, and a knowing smile passed between them.

Calvin moved to stand by the sofa, his tall frame silhouetted against the light.

His gaze softened as he looked at Tiffany.

"You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa."

"No way," Tiffany replied without hesitation, her lips curving into a playful grin as she eyed the lean, towering man before her.

"You’re injured.

What kind of person makes a wounded man sleep on the couch?"

"It’s just a minor injury, nothing serious," Calvin’s sharp features, silhouetted against the backlight, softened slightly.

"I can’t let a girl sleep on the couch."

His voice carried a faint smile, exuding an unmistakable warmth and chivalry.

Tiffany felt a surge of warmth in her chest but shook her head nonetheless.

"Really, it’s fine,"

She closed the book and placed it on the coffee table before burrowing into the thin blanket, leaving only her soft hair and arms exposed.

"I’m going to sleep now."

She was here to take care of the injured, not to make things harder for him.

Sleeping on the couch would definitely put pressure on his wound.

Calvin didn’t respond further, though the curve of his lips deepened.

Setting down the towel in his hand, he leaned over and gently scooped Tiffany up, blanket and all.

The sudden lift startled her. A brief, startled gasp escaped her lips before she instinctively squirmed in his arms.

"Hold me," A faint, playful smile danced in Calvin’s exquisitely shaped eyes.

"Or else I might just drop you."

Without thinking, Tiffany obeyed.

The curve of Calvin’s lips deepened as he lifted her effortlessly and placed her on the bed.

"Fanny,"

Instead of pulling away, he leaned closer, his voice a low murmur as he gazed down at her—soft, sweet, and as docile as a kitten.

"Be good and sleep."

Tiffany’s long, thick lashes fluttered slightly, though she barely registered his words.

All she could see were those mesmerizing peach-blossom eyes, so close they seemed to shimmer with starlight, breathtakingly beautiful.

Deep inside, fireworks burst in her chest, igniting all at once.

The night was thick. Tension simmered between them. —— The next day, noon.

The late autumn air was crisp and invigorating, the sunlight dazzling in its brilliance.

Slivers of golden light streamed through the gaps in the curtains, casting delicate patterns across the room.

Camilla’s thick lashes fluttered before she slowly opened her eyes.

Pushing herself up, she couldn’t suppress a soft groan.

Her body ached terribly, as if every bone had been taken apart and reassembled.

*With that aloof, untouchable demeanor of his, who would’ve guessed he turns into such a beast at night?*

The thought made her both exasperated and amused, and before she could stop herself, the complaint slipped out.

"Such a gentleman in..."

"Name only?"

A deep, amused voice finished for her, laced with warmth.

"Is that what my Camilla wanted to say?"

Sinclair’s still here?

* Caught red-handed, Camilla startled and turned toward the sound.

There he was, lounging in the armchair beside the bed, his tall, well-built frame impeccably dressed in a tailored suit.

A sleek gray laptop rested casually on his lap. She pursed her lips, remaining silent.

Well, of all times to get caught red-handed by the very person involved.

But Sinclair didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

After all, the moment he was around Camilla, his self-control completely evaporated.

No restraint—none at all.

"Not feeling well?"

Camilla hesitated for a few seconds before shaking her head.

"I’m fine." "Let me give you a massage."

Sinclair set aside his laptop, rose from the couch, and strode over to the bed with his long legs.

Calvin pressed a gentle kiss to his delicate wife’s forehead.

"Just lie still."

His cool, composed voice was laced with nothing but tenderness and affection.

Camilla watched as the man approached her.

After only a brief hesitation, she relented. Fine.

Even if she refused, Sinclair wouldn’t listen anyway. Might as well see how good his massage skills really were.

"Okay."

Camilla obediently followed Sinclair’s instructions and laid down.

Her chestnut-colored curls, thick and wavy like seaweed, spilled loosely over her shoulders.

The pale skin of her back bore faint bruises—tracings of violet and blue—like delicate petals crushed under careless fingers, a haunting beauty in their aftermath.

Sinclair stood silhouetted against the light, his dark, narrow eyes flickering with something unreadable before settling back into calm.

"Sweetheart?"

When no movement came from behind her, Camilla tilted her head to glance at him.

"Hmm."

Sinclair sat on the edge of the bed, his large, well-defined hands resting against the curve of her neck and shoulders.

His palms were warm, the pressure firm but soothing as he kneaded the tension away.

"How’s the pressure?"