Chapter 524: Chapter 524

"Don’t worry," Sinclair said calmly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he thought of the last man remaining in the basement.

"It won’t be long now."

Sinclair tested the temperature of the soup beside him before lifting a spoonful to Camilla’s lips.

"Have a little more."

The tenderness in his expression was a stark contrast to the ruthless, chilling figure he had been in the basement moments ago—so much so that it was hard to believe they were the same person.

Camilla obediently parted her lips, her gaze flickering toward Ramsey, who stood outside the door, glancing at his watch intermittently.

A sudden realization dawned on her, and she fixed her beautiful eyes on Sinclair’s dark ones.

Though phrased as a question, her tone carried certainty.

"Mhm," Sinclair replied indifferently, never pausing the motion of his hand.

"Nolan sent someone."

Camilla blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her clear, bright eyes.

Only then did she and Sinclair consider this possibility—had they actually sent someone already?

"The royal family has already made their move," Sinclair said, noticing Camilla’s puzzled expression.

A faint smile played on his lips, his tone carrying no surprise.

"If he wants to accomplish anything under their watch, speed is essential."

"Nolan reaching out first is actually good for us."

Camilla nodded in agreement.

Having Nolan send an envoy was far better than them making the first move—at least this way, they held the initiative.

But then, as if struck by another thought, her brows furrowed again.

"Sweetheart, we still don’t know enough about Nolan.

What if he has ulterior motives?

What if he poses a threat to you?"

When it came to Sinclair’s safety, she couldn’t afford to be careless.

"Don’t worry," Sinclair set down the tonic he was holding and gently cupped Camilla’s face.

"If I’m willing to go, it means I’ve prepared for every possibility."

Camilla had complete faith in Sinclair’s capabilities—but trust didn’t necessarily ease her worries.

"Sweetheart, wait for me a moment."

She abruptly rose from the couch and strode upstairs.

Sinclair watched Camilla’s retreating figure, his brow furrowing slightly as his heart tightened.

Had Camilla forgotten she was pregnant?

Camilla soon descended, though nothing new was visible in her hands.

She stepped up to Sinclair, loosened his tie, and deftly concealed two silver needles within its folds.

"The slender needle on top is coated with a slow-acting poison.

I have the antidote," she murmured, her voice soft as she carefully retied the knot.

A faint glint sharpened her eyes.

"As for the poison on the lower needle—it’s potent enough to drop ten Nolan dead on the spot."

Each needle served a distinct purpose.

The first was for negotiation.

The second was for when words failed.

"I know you’re prepared," she said, smoothing the tie before lifting her gaze to meet his.

A smile played on her lips, but the delicate curl of her lashes cast shadows across her face.

"But I’ll only rest easy if you carry these."

"Alright," Sinclair gazed down at Camilla, his strikingly handsome features softening with warmth.

Truth be told, she didn’t need to explain anything at all.

Whatever she said, he would follow without question.

"That’s a relief," Camilla murmured, rising onto her tiptoes to press a fleeting kiss to his lips.

"I’ll be waiting for you at home."

"Mm," Sinclair swallowed hard, restraining himself just in time.

Sinclair brushed a tender kiss against her forehead before finally stepping away.

Ramsey, waiting by the door, gave Camilla a respectful nod before promptly following his boss.

Outside, Karl stood with a skeptical frown, still mulling over Ramsey’s excuse for making him wait out here.

*A man like Sinclair needs his wife’s permission to leave the house?*

As Sinclair’s figure disappeared, the smile on Camilla’s lips gradually faded.

After a brief pause, she turned and walked toward the backyard.

The mercenary guarding the entrance nodded and immediately swung the door open.

Camilla, clad in a white hazmat suit, stood in the chemical-filled room, her movements brisk and precise.

Her slender fingers danced across the array of instruments with practiced speed.

Her stunning face was a mask of icy concentration.

Whatever might happen at tomorrow’s birthday banquet, she had to be prepared. ——

"Mr. Nolan" A man’s voice broke the silence. "Sinclair is here."

Nolan rose from the sofa and walked to the balcony, his gaze fixed on the manor’s entrance.

The evening wind carried a biting chill as it swept through, causing the cigarette between his fingers to flicker like a dying ember.

Nolan narrowed his eyes as he watched the tall, imposing figure approaching from a distance.

His tone carried an ambiguous edge, somewhere between amusement and something more sinister.

"The uncrowned king of San Francisco’s business world." His voice was light, almost casual, as if the words held no real weight.

"If only I had the chance, I’d love to test my skills against him in the marketplace."

Dressed in a flawlessly tailored black suit without a single wrinkle, Sinclair exuded an aura of cold, unyielding dominance.

His tall, straight frame seemed to command the space around him.

As if sensing Nolan’s gaze, Sinclair paused mid-step and slowly lifted his head to meet his eyes.

His strikingly handsome face was expressionless, yet even from this angle—looking up—he still seemed untouchable, like a deity gazing down upon mortals.

The moment those pitch-black eyes locked onto him, Nolan instinctively sensed danger, a shiver running down his spine.

A beat later, the corners of Nolan’s thin lips curled slightly

. Nolan gave Sinclair a faint nod—just enough to acknowledge him.

Sinclair’s dark eyes narrowed imperceptibly, his face betraying no emotion.

Without a word, he continued walking forward, past Nolan as if he were nothing more than air.

Nolan smirked, the expression laced with something dangerous.

Even on his own turf, this man had the audacity to act so arrogantly.

Truly, Sinclair was no ordinary opponent.

* Karl’s voice sounded from outside the door.

"President Nolan, President Luther is here."

Nolan strode back into the room with his long legs. The door opened from the outside, and karl escorted Sinclair inside.

Nolan extended his hand, a lazy, indifferent smile playing on his strikingly handsome yet somber face.

"An honor to finally meet you." Sinclair glanced at the outstretched hand before giving it a brief, firm shake.

Their hands parted as quickly as they had touched, and the two men took their seats on opposite sofas.

Their auras were entirely different—yet equally impossible to ignore. Karl and Ramsey stood silently to the side.

Nolan studied Sinclair, the corners of his lips still curled in that faint, knowing smile.

"What kind of tea would Mr. Luther prefer?

I’ll have someone prepare it right away."

A faint, unreadable smile played at the corners of Sinclair’s thin lips as he spoke in a measured, icy tone.

"I didn’t come to Mr. Nolan’s place for tea."

His dark eyes, veiled like mist, betrayed nothing of his true thoughts.

"Well then, when in Rome..." Nolan’s smile remained unchanged as he turned to Karl.

"Have two coffees prepared."

Karl nodded and left to relay the order.

"The reason I invited Mr. Luther here is to discuss a partnership," Nolan continued, his tone casual, as if making small talk. "Partnership?"

Sinclair arched a brow, his inscrutable dark eyes narrowing slightly as they fixed on Nolan. "Do enlighten me."

His handsome face remained impassive, devoid of any discernible emotion—utterly unreadable.

Nolan sighed inwardly, his lips curling into a wry, almost amused smile.

"Let’s not beat around the bush," he said, his tone laced with resignation.

"The people I sent—along with those dispatched by the royal family to investigate Madam Luther in San Francisco—are probably all in your hands now, aren’t they?"

The moment they lost contact, he’d already suspected as much.

Sinclair’s lips curved slightly, a dangerous glint in his otherwise unreadable expression.

"So those were your men—and the royal family’s," he mused, his voice low and smooth, yet carrying an unmistakable edge of mockery.

Ramsey remained expressionless, but he understood perfectly.

This was Sinclair’s way of probing—testing the man before them.

After all, they were the ones exposed, while Nolan operated in the shadows.

And with his close ties to the royal family, he undoubtedly knew far more than they did.