Betrayed I Upgraded to His Billionaire Brother novel Chapter 208

**TITLE: Pushing the Edge 208**
**Chapter 208**

“I’m here.” Her voice trembled as she fumbled with her phone, thrusting it toward him with urgency.

The familiar sight of the industrial complex loomed ahead, a stark reminder of the grim reality they faced.

It hit Zane like a punch to the gut; this group had taken both his wife and his nephew.

His eyes darted over the phone’s screen, absorbing the information before he decisively handed it back, his mind racing as he strode toward his car, determination etched on his face.

“I’ll handle this. You need to go home and wait,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“No!” The panic in Amelia’s voice was palpable as she clutched his arm, her grip tight with fear. “Marx is my son! How can I just sit at home and wait while he’s in danger?”

Zane cast her a wary glance, sensing the desperation in her eyes, but time was not on their side. “Then get in the car,” he commanded, urgency lacing his words.

“Okay.” She nodded vigorously, scrambling into the passenger seat, her heart racing as she realized the gravity of the situation.

**Elara’s POV**

Before long, the van came to a jarring halt at a dilapidated industrial complex. A creeping sense of dread settled in my stomach, whispering that we were well outside the New York City limits.

The vehicle lurched to a stop in front of a crumbling factory building, the kind that had long since lost its purpose. The tattooed man beside me yanked me out with little regard for my well-being, his roughness evident in every movement.

As I stumbled out, a middle-aged man with a jagged scar slicing across his face emerged from the passenger seat, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Ever heard of being gentle with a woman?” he scolded, his eyes narrowing at the tattooed brute.

“What’s the point? She’s a dead woman walking anyway,” the tattooed man muttered, but he fell silent under Scarface’s piercing gaze—clearly, the one wielding the authority here.

Scarface let out a derisive snort, a sinister glint in his eyes. “With a face like that… don’t you want to have a little fun with her before she goes?”

The implication struck me like a physical blow, a chill sweeping through my body as dread coiled tightly around my spine. “Who hired you?” I demanded, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the turmoil inside.

They ignored my question, dragging me into the dark, foreboding interior of the factory. I fought against their grip, but it was futile. They bound me securely to a chair, the ropes biting into my skin.

And then I caught the scent—the unmistakable smell of gasoline.

Panic surged within me, but I fought to keep my composure.

Years ago, my mentor had taught me to identify herbs by their scent, honing my ability to discern subtle differences in aromas. It was a skill that had sharpened over time, and now, it screamed at me: these men intended to end my life today.

In addition to the two who had brought me in, I noticed several other muscular men lurking in the shadows. The prospect of escaping on my own felt like a distant fantasy, utterly impossible.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to focus on Scarface, the clear leader of this motley crew. “You said someone paid you to kill me. How much?”

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