Chapter 2: If they don’t say who killed my wife cut of their tongues

Inside a dimly lit basement.

The dampness mixed with the pungent smell of blood was filling the air.

Ten or so people, bled and beaten, their hands bound, were suspended in mid-air, toes barely brushing the floor.

Many among them had already stopped breathing, whilst the remaining few were barely hanging on.

This hellish scene in the underground was enough to cause Camilla's pupils to shrink in horror.

She knew Sinclair could be cruel and ruthless. But knowing something and seeing it with your own eyes were two different things.

"Mm... mm... mm." "Mm.. mm.."

Seeing Sinclair walk in, those few still alive could not help but tremble, letting out weak, whimpering sounds.

Camilla could clearly see the deep-seated fear in their eyes. Ramsey stepped forward. "President Luther--"

"Just kill them all."

Sinclair's thin lips parted slightly, his narrow eyes like bloody whirlpools, devoid of any hint of life.

"Bring in the next batch."

"Yes."

Ramsey nodded, signaling his subordinates.

Immediately, more than ten mercenaries stepped forward, swiftly stabbing their daggers into the hearts of the people hanging there.

Then, they dragged away the corpses.

This scene was extremely cruel, yet the expressions of those present remained normal.

Except Camilla. Of course, she did not sympathize with these killers who had harmed her.

It was her first time witnessing such a scene.

In the past, Sinclair would never have shown her this violent and brutal side of himself.

Not long after, another dozen people were brought in. "

Just ask once," Sinclair took out a cigar with his beautiful and slender hand and ignited it.

The hazy white smoke covered his handsome face, a face devoid of any warmth.

"If they don't talk, cut off their tongues and limbs and throw them into the snake pit."

His voice was calm, but it contained a terrifying murderous intent that was suffocating.

Upon hearing this, the crowd of people being led in couldn't help but constrict their pupils and tremble uncontrollably.

Ramsey understood.

"Tell me, who's behind all this?"

Camilla remained by Sinclair's side, watching him deal with batch after batch of offenders.

Until she recognized a well-known name. -- Augustin.

Having gotten the answer he wanted, Sinclair returned to the room.

What? The person who hired a killer to assassinate her was her uncle?!

Camilla followed him back to the room in a daze, disbelief etched on her face.

Her uncle was her only relative in the world.

Why would he do such a thing?

She would never have believed it if she hadn't heard it from the assassins herself.

While Camilla was deep in thought, Sinclair shut himself in the bathroom, washing over and over.

Only when he was certain that not a trace of the pungent smell of blood was left, did he put on his pajamas and lay down next to Camilla.

"Camilla, don't be afraid,"

He wraps his arms around Camilla's waist, buries his head into her neck, and murmurs as he had done many times before, "Just two more days, at most.

Please wait for me."

Two days?

Upon hearing these words, Camilla's spirit wrinkled her brows.

She had a premonition that what Sinclair was going to do was not as simple as avenging her.

The day after Camilla's death.

Sinclair picked countless white roses and piled them up around Camilla, with a hook of desperate laughter on his slightly upturned lips.

White roses were Camilla's favorite flower and the only flowers that grew in the Fu's mansion.

The hundreds, if not thousands of them were picked one by one by Sinclair that morning.

Looking at the crisscrossing scars on Sinclair's well-knit fingers, Camilla felt an unexplainable pain in her heart.

She let out a sigh.

"Why are you doing all this?" Before her voice fell, Sinclair's voice rang out.

"As long as Camile likes it, I am willing to do anything."

Was Sinclair really able to hear her words? Camilla took a step back, instinctively covering her mouth.

She waved her hand in front of Sinclair, only lowering it when she was sure he couldn't see her.

After kissing Camilla's cold lips, Sinclair left the room.

Of course, Camilla's spirit followed Sinclair into the basement.

A middle-aged man was shackled to a pillar.

His once refined face now completely unrecognizable.

He looked at the entering Sinclair, as if seeing a reaper from hell, his despair and fear reaching its peak.

"Mr. Luther, why have you captured me?"

Although his words were interrogative, his tone was more like begging.

Camilla's spirit stood before Augustin.

Looking at the panic and fear in his eyes, her own eyes were filled with disappointment and mockery.

Having known Augustin as family, she understood him.

If he had done nothing wrong, he wouldn't have acted in such a way.

Camilla's face was filled with sorrow. How ridiculous.

The person she treated and respected as family, hired someone to kill her.

The one she desperately tried to escape from, is now avenging her.

She was wrong, utterly wrong from the start.

"What are you doing?" Sinclair had grabbed Augustin by the neck, his expression ferocious and manic.

"My Camilla, I can't bear to even hurt a single hair on her."

Ferocity swept across his handsome features, his eyes a fiery red, like a crazed beast.

"Augustin, how dare you kill her, how dare you?!"

Sinclair's grip tightened along with the murderous aura radiating from his body.

Soon, Augustin stopped breathing.

"Starting with you, I'm going to bring down the whole Sanchez family, to accompany Camilla in the afterlife!!"

Camilla stared at the obsessed and gloomy man in front of her.

She felt no disgust, only heartache.

She walked up to Sinclair, reaching out to caress his furrowed brows.

"Sinclair, I'm sorry."

Sinclair seemed to have sensed something.

His trembling hands paused momentarily, his eyes instantly focusing on where Camilla's soul was.

But the next moment, he let out a self-mocking laugh.

Camilla, in her drowsy state, followed Sinclair back to the study, busying themselves into the night.

But they didn't notice what he was doing. It wasn't until the early morning that Sinclair finally returned to the bedroom.

He lay again in slumber with Camilla's now completely rigid corpse in his arms.

Camilla just sat quietly on the sofa in the room, watching this scene.

Another night had passed.

The room was piled with even more white roses, like a garden.

Camilla's corpse was lying quietly in the midst of them.

There wasn't the slightest hint of horror; instead, there was a sense of serene beauty.

But there was a difference.

Quite a number of people had entered the usually restricted bedroom, which only Sinclair could enter.

Judging from their attire, they were monks, priests, and even Bishops.

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