CHAPTER 485: PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME

In the dimly lit room, Sinclair’s expression softened as he gazed at Camilla’s sleeping figure curled up on the bed.

Silently, he untied his robe and slipped in beside her with deliberate gentleness.

The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and Camilla seemed to sense his presence almost instantly.

Without opening her eyes, she instinctively shifted closer, nestling into the crook of his arm with practiced ease.

Her cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

*So she wasn’t asleep after all.*

A faint smirk tugged at Sinclair’s lips as he pretended not to notice the quiet sigh she had exhaled the moment he approached.

His dark eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. Wrapping an arm around her, he let his large, elegant hand glide soothingly down her back—slow, rhythmic strokes meant to lull her deeper into slumber.

Buried against him, Camilla allowed herself a tiny, secretive smile before finally surrendering to exhaustion.

The warmth of his body anchored her, and soon, her breathing evened out into the peaceful cadence of sleep.

Without Sinclair by her side, she could never rest soundly.

Ever since her rebirth, it had always been this way.

Noticing the steady breathing of the person in his arms, Sinclair gradually stilled his movements.

His gaze lowered, fixated on Camilla’s delicate, porcelain-like profile.

The obsessive love in his clear, profound eyes was as deep and unyielding as the inky darkness beyond the window.

"Camilla," he murmured in his heart, his voice a silent plea, "don’t leave me."

After what felt like an eternity, he slowly closed his eyes.

"Never.

Never."

Otherwise, his world would crumble.

And so would he.

—— The more prosperous the city, the livelier its nights.

As the capital of Country E, Luville was a sleepless metropolis, pulsing with ceaseless energy.

"President Harrison,"

A middle-aged man swiftly glanced at the man before him—dressed in a black bathrobe, clearly fresh from some intense "exertion"—before immediately lowering his head again.

"What about those three?"

"Killed."

Harrison’s expression darkened as he grabbed a bottle of six-figure red wine from the side, pouring himself a glass.

Harrison downed it in one gulp, quenching the dryness in his throat.

"The Harrison family doesn’t tolerate useless trash, let alone traitors."

Harrison poured himself another glass of wine, swirling it under the dim light before continuing in a slow, deliberate tone.

"Not just them—anyone they could have possibly contacted, family included, no matter how insignificant.

Wipe them all out."

*Harm shouldn’t reach the innocent.*

The middle-aged man understood exactly what Harrison meant by "wipe them out."

His brows, previously relaxed, furrowed deeply.

After all, he too worked under Harrison.

This ruthless approach made him uneasy—like a rabbit mourning the death of a fox, fearing he might be next.

"Mr. Harrison..."

The man glanced at Harrison, hesitating before carefully choosing his words.

"What they did was kept secret from their families.

Those people knew nothing.

Eliminating them all seems... excessive."

The man trailed off, weighing his next words but not daring to voice them.

Harrison didn’t let him finish.

His gaze shifted from the wine glass to the man’s face, his expression dark and unreadable, his voice laced with quiet menace.

"I remember my father once told me—there’s an old saying: "Better safe than sorry."

His eyes bore into the older man.

"Uncle, you’ve been with my father for years.

Surely you understand what that means?"

"...I do."

The man addressed as Uncle, stiffened, immediately lowering his head in flustered panic.

"My mistake, sir.

I’ll dispatch someone to handle it right away."

After speaking, he cautiously lifted his gaze to Harrison, seeking further instruction.

"And what about Sinclair?

Should we send more people to—"

"Leave him be."

Harrison brought the glass to his lips and took a measured sip.

"From here on out, Thomas can take care of the rest."

"President Thomas?"

Uncle brows knitted tightly.

This was Sinclair they were dealing with.

Even their own men had been discovered without lifting a finger—what could Thomas’s people possibly accomplish?

Harrison observed the man’s expression with keen amusement, the corners of his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he voiced the very doubt plaguing Uncle.

"You think Thomas is no match for Sinclair?"

Uncle pressed his lips together, hesitating for a few seconds before nodding reluctantly.

"That good-for-nothing really doesn’t stand a chance against someone like Mr. Luther."

Harrison settled onto the sofa, setting his wine glass aside before lighting a cigarette.

"Still, the Thomas family’s underground influence shouldn’t be underestimated."

Thomas family. Uncle immediately caught Harrison’s drift, his mind racing.

Was Mr. Harrison planning to use Mr. Thomas to create bad blood between Sinclair and Thomas family, then leverage their power against him?

Not a bad plan at all.

"Understood. I’ll get right on it."

A glint of understanding flashed in his eyes as he nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait."

Harrison’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Take the woman inside with you," he exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his tone indifferent.

"Give her some money and send her out of the City.

Make sure she never shows her face again."

Though he saw nothing wrong with a little pre-wedding revelry, getting caught would only spell trouble.

Besides, he couldn’t bear the thought of Juliet getting upset.

"Understood," Uncle nodded before promptly turning toward the room.

His expression betrayed no surprise—clearly, this wasn’t his first time handling such matters.

Harrison narrowed his eyes, his face darkening with each passing second.

Soon enough, he’d make Sinclair realize that taking what belonged to him wouldn’t be so easy.

Meanwhile.

Thomas stepped out of an exclusive private club, his arm slung around a voluptuous, leggy woman with model-perfect proportions.

A few well-dressed men and stunning women followed close behind—the same group that had been trailing Harrison earlier.

"Don’t stay out too late tonight," teased the long-haired man, eyeing the woman clinging to Thomas.

"Remember, you volunteered for this job."

Behind his black-framed glasses, Thomas’s eyes glinted with disdain.

"Just some American businessman," he scoffed.

"On our turf, dealing with him is no harder than crushing an ant."

As he spoke, he lowered his head and planted a kiss on the woman nestled in his arms.

"What could possibly be more important than a beautiful night?"

The woman leaned against Thomas’s chest, giggling coquettishly.

"Thomas’s absolutely right," chimed in the brown-haired man beside them, his laughter joining hers.

"A night of pleasure is worth a fortune.

What’s the point if we let trivial matters ruin the fun?"

Hearing this, the rest of the group burst into laughter as well.

After exchanging a few more teasing remarks, they each wrapped an arm around their female companions and dispersed.

Unbeknownst to them, every move they made was being watched.

Inside the stretch Bentley, the driver glanced at the rearview mirror, his eyes shifting to the man seated behind him.

"Sir, where to tonight?"

Thomas’s hands were already slipping impatiently beneath the woman’s clothes, the drunken haze in his eyes darkening into something far more primal.

"That woman’s been pestering me nonstop lately.

Can’t afford to let her ruin things.

Head to Free Manor."

Both the driver and the bodyguard in the passenger seat understood—the "woman" Thomas referred to was none other than his wife.

"Got it,"

The driver averted his gaze and discreetly raised the partition, sealing off the privacy of the backseat.

Thomas immediately pulled the person into his arms, indulging in whatever he pleased.

Neither of them noticed the subtle movements from several cars parked along the roadside.