Betrayed I Upgraded to His Billionaire Brother novel Chapter 160

**TITLE: Pushing the Edge 160**

**Chapter 160**

A group of grown men stood there, their faces painted with a mix of disbelief and discomfort. The bluntness of the reprimand had struck them like a cold slap, leaving them momentarily speechless.

By the time they managed to digest the situation, I had already retreated into the lab, my mind laser-focused on the task at hand.

Abbott raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Don’t you think she has a point?” he asked, his tone laced with a blend of respect and incredulity.

“Shouldn’t you all get back to work?” I shot back, my voice steady. “Grown men, getting schooled by a young woman… doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, does it?”

As the murmurs of their conversation faded into the background, I immersed myself in my research.

Every moment I could inch closer to a breakthrough meant one more life saved, one more family filled with hope.

And on a personal level, it signified a step towards my own security and independence.

—

Later that evening, as I made my way home, I decided to take a small detour. I wanted to pick up some chicken noodle soup for Chloe—the good kind from that quaint little spot she adored.

While I had a natural talent for medicine, my culinary skills were, to put it mildly, dismal.

During my student days, when my wallet was perpetually empty and my stomach constantly grumbling, I survived on instant noodles. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner—easy.

After marrying Zane, during those tumultuous times when his affection seemed to ebb and flow unpredictably, I thought that cooking for him might bridge the gap between us.

That endeavor ended in a culinary catastrophe that was nothing short of inedible.

It’s clear that everyone has their own strengths; it’s rare to find someone who excels at everything.

Take me, for example: I have a genuine knack for medicine, which indicates that a career as a culinary artist was never in the cards for me.

Some people are destined to shine in the kitchen, and I’ve come to realize that I shouldn’t force my way into their spotlight.

After dinner, I made sure Chloe took her medicine before I began clearing the table, gathering all the trash bags scattered around the apartment with the intention of taking them downstairs.

I had already showered upon arriving home, so I was clad only in a nightgown, feeling cozy and relaxed.

Chloe, her voice still raspy from her fever, croaked a reminder, “Put on a coat. Don’t catch a cold too.”

I had a strong aversion to dark, confined spaces, which is why I always avoided the dumpsters in the underground parking garage. Instead, I opted for the trash bins on the first floor.

The chill outside was biting, and the wind howled like a restless spirit. Just a minute out there would feel like ice slicing through my skin.

Heeding Chloe’s advice, I wrapped myself in a long down coat, grabbed the trash bags, and opened the door—only to halt abruptly.

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