Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire
Chapter 93: Are the photos ready?

Chapter 93: Are the photos ready?

The banquet hall buzzed with laughter and light conversation once more, as if the earlier commotion outside had never occurred.

The guests had seamlessly resumed their polished facades before Jonathan, Margaret, and their entourage even stepped through the doors.

Maintaining the illusion of harmony was second nature in elite social circles.

Jonathan, Margaret and Tyler exchanged subtle glances, their shoulders relaxing almost imperceptibly.

"Margaret, why don’t you mingle with the ladies over there?"

Jonathan plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, his gaze scanning the crowd with practiced ease.

"I’ll take Tyler to meet some of the family elders."

Expanding Tyler’s network was, after all, the primary objective of the evening. "

Of course," Margaret replied, her earlier distress now buried beneath her signature gentle demeanor.

She turned to her son, her voice soft but firm.

"Tyler, this is a rare opportunity.

Stay close to your father and make a good impression."

"Don’t worry, Mom."

Tyler nodded, though his attention drifted toward Sandra, who stood aloof in the distance.

His eyes lingered, unreadable.

The three of them raised their glasses and dispersed into the crowd.

But soon, their expressions darkened.

Jonathan and Tyler realized that several branches of the Luther Family, who had been close to them recently, were conspicuously absent from the banquet.

Yet, they hadn’t caught even a whisper of this beforehand.

Clearly, it was Sinclair’s doing. What infuriated Jonathan and Tyler even more was the way the remaining Luther relatives in attendance seemed to avoid them, offering only the most perfunctory greetings..

Obviously, Sinclair’s tactic of making an example out of a few to intimidate the rest had worked like a charm.

Others from influential families also picked up on the subtle shift in the air.

Their attitudes toward Jonathan and his son cooled noticeably—after all, Sinclair’s stance carried far more weight than theirs.

If the father and son had it bad, Margaret fared no better.

The wives and daughters of the Luther Family’s lesser branches, who once flattered and fawned over her, now kept their distance—sometimes subtly, sometimes blatantly.

Once, twice.

One circle, then another. Even someone as composed as Margaret was beginning to lose her mask of calm, her eyes darkening with suppressed fury.

*Spineless sycophants, the lot of them!*

Sandra stood at a distance, a wine glass in hand, mechanically exchanging pleasantries with the surrounding socialites while her gaze drifted toward Tyler.

Her mind raced, plotting how to seize an opportunity to speak with him.

Just then, Margaret approached with a practiced smile.

"Sandra—"

The ladies around Sandra exchanged subtle glances at Margaret’s arrival, their expressions shifting with unspoken judgment.

Given Sinclair’s history, Sandra had never hidden her disdain for Margaret.

And Margaret, knowing her place, had always kept her distance—so why approach now?

A flicker of calculation passed through Sandra’s eyes before she curved her lips into a polite smile.

"Aunt Margaret, it’s been a while."

"Indeed, it has,"

Margaret replied warmly, taking Sandra’s hand as if they were the closest of confidantes.

"The Porter family’s prosperity must truly nurture beauty.

You’ve grown even more radiant, my dear."

"You flatter me too much," Sandra turned her gaze toward Jonathan and Tyler with a graceful smile.

"I should go say hello to Uncle Jonathan as well."

Margaret’s smile deepened, a subtle glint flickering in the depths of her eyes.

"Let me take you over."

The onlookers exchanged surprised glances, murmurs rippling through the crowd.

Since when have these two grown so close?

Even Melissa wore a puzzled expression.

As she stared at their retreating figures, lost in thought, a slender hand lightly tapped her forehead.

"Why are you avoiding Sandra?

And why do you look so troubled?"

Meanwhile, in a secluded room on the second floor...

A man observed Margaret and Sandra from the shadows, his thin lips curling into a faint smirk.

His dark, inscrutable eyes resembled an unfathomable abyss.

"Are the photos ready?"

"Hiss!"

Melissa gasped in shock, her head jerking up to meet a pair of piercing, almost translucent eyes that seemed to see right through her.

"Brother!"

Rubbing her forehead, she glared at the man before her, her voice dripping with irritation.

"Do you have any idea how terrifying it is when someone sneaks up on you like that?

You could scare someone to death!"

"Don’t change the subject."

Taylor’s calm yet ignorable gaze shifted from Melissa to Sandra.

"What did Sandra say to you earlier?

Or rather, what did she ask you to do?"

Melissa was a good girl in every way—except for her naivety, which made her an easy target for manipulation.

This wasn’t the first time Sandra had used her as a pawn.

In the past, when nothing major had come of it, he’d been willing to turn a blind eye.

But today was different.

He wasn’t about to let Melissa provoke Sinclair.

How does he know?!

A flicker of panic flashed through Melissa’s eyes as she scrambled for an excuse to brush off the question.

"No, I—" "Melissa, I suggest you choose your next words carefully," Taylor cut her off sharply.

"Unless you want to lie poorly and suffer the consequences for nothing."

Consequences?!

A shiver ran down Melissa’s spine as she immediately swallowed the fabricated excuse on her tongue.

In their family, the eldest brother held paternal authority.

When her brother doted on her, he spoiled her rotten—granting her every whim.

But when it came to discipline? He showed absolutely no mercy!

Meanwhile... Margaret led Sandra to stand before Jonathan and Tyler Jonathan’s eyes flickered with surprise at seeing the two women together, though his expression remained carefully composed.

The stern lines of his face softened as he forced a cordial smile for Sandra.

"Sandra."

Tyler’s gaze lingered on Sandra, his inscrutable expression revealing nothing.

Sandra, fearing what Tyler might say, quickly spoke up with a practiced smile.

"Hello, Uncle Luther," she greeted warmly before shifting her gaze to Tyler, deliberately feigning curiosity.

"And this must be the legendary youngest son I’ve heard so much about?"

Margaret lowered her head, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Indeed, this is my younger son, Tyler" Jonathan replied, though slightly puzzled by Sandra’s tone.

He didn’t dwell on it, instead introducing them.

"Tyler, this is Sandra—Grandpa Porter’s granddaughter."

"Miss Porter," Tyler murmured, his sharp, fox-like eyes—bearing a slight resemblance to his brother Sinclair—marching as he studied her with an inscrutable gaze.

"You remind me of someone I know." *

Damn it!* *

He recognized me after all!* Sandra’s heart lurched, but she forced her expression to remain composed.

"Is that so?

What a coincidence," she replied smoothly.

"I thought it was quite a coincidence too," Tyler’s pale lips curved into a faint smile.

"She’s also from the capital. Who knows—she might even be acquainted with Miss Sandra."

"Tyler," Jonathan frowned, his voice laced with skepticism.

"Since when did you have a friend like Sandra in the capital?

I’ve never heard you mention her before."

"We haven’t known each other long. It just never came up."

Tyler’s tone was indifferent as his gaze lingered on Sandra.

Sandra’s grip on her glass tightened, her knuckles whitening.

If he kept talking, that night’s incident might spill into the open.

Just then, Margaret smoothly intervened.

"Jonathan, with us elders hovering around, the younger ones must feel stifled," she said, looping her arm through Jonathan’s with a practiced smile.

"Let’s give them some space to chat and get to know each other."

Recalling Margaret’s earlier words, Jonathan cast a meaningful glance at Tyler and Sandra before nodding and stepping away. The moment the two left, Sandra’s smile vanished instantly.

With an icy expression, she pushed Tyler’s wheelchair into a corner.

"Tell me," she demanded through gritted teeth, "did you know my identity all along?"

Upstairs on the second floor—

"Right on schedule," Camilla murmured, lifting her bloodstained heel from the mutilated man’s body.

"Drag him away."

Down in the banquet hall, a sudden hush fell over the crowd as all eyes turned toward one direction.

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