Rebirth Swapped Bride; Married to the Ruthless Cursed Billionaire-Chapter 233: The end of Sandra Porter 2

Meanwhile, at the Porter residence.

"Track her down at this address

"Hurry up!"

Madam Porter stared at the address flashing on her phone’s GPS, her voice trembling with urgency as she urged the taxi driver.

"Faster, please!" With the old patriarch refusing to intervene, her only hope now was Mr. Porter.

But she knew all too well.

Mr. Porter wouldn’t answer her calls—she had to confront him in person.

Thankfully, she had installed a tracker on his phone earlier.

"Ma’am, this is a taxi, not a private jet," the driver grumbled, though he bit back his irritation at the sight of her obviously expensive attire.

"Even if I wanted to speed, these traffic lights won’t let me."

"I’ll pay extra."

Without hesitation, she pulled out a thick wad of cash from her purse and tossed it onto the passenger seat.

"Is this enough?"

"More than enough, more than enough!"

The driver’s eyes lit up, his impatience vanishing in an instant.

"Hold on tight," he said with a grin, shifting gears swiftly.

"I’m about to turn this car into a jet."

The vehicle accelerated rapidly, speeding toward the outskirts of the city.

Mrs. Porter clutched her phone tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Sandra was too impulsive—every second wasted increased the risk of her stirring up trouble.

Meanwhile, in an abandoned warehouse on the city’s outskirts...

"Dad..." Sandra looked up at Mr. Porter, her face swollen and bruised, fear and sorrow etched into her features.

"Are you really going to listen to that woman and kill your own daughter?"

A faint glimmer of hope still lingered in her eyes.

That single word—"Dad"—managed to stir the last remnants of Mr. Porter’s meager paternal affection and guilt.

"Sandra, I have no choice," he murmured, his gaze heavy as he studied the daughter who had brought him nothing but trouble.

"Even if I don’t do it, Sinclair and Camilla won’t let you go.

Blame yourself for never knowing your place—always coveting what belongs to others."

Sinclair was no exception.

The position of the Porter family head was no exception.

"Steal?"

Sandra’s eyes burned with fury, then twisted into venomous hatred as she realized Mr. Porter had no intention of letting her go.

"Steal?

Those were rightfully mine to begin with!"

Her voice, first a ragged snarl, spiraled into a shriek as her face contorted with rage.

"You’re the thieves! You stole everything from me!"

"Get it over with."

Mr. Porter shook his head dismissively, his gaze shifting to the bodyguards nearby.

"Make it quick."

With that, he lit a cigarette and strode out without another glance.

"Yes, sir."

The bodyguards moved swiftly, splashing gasoline from blue canisters across every corner of the warehouse.

The acrid stench flooded the air in an instant.

A suffocating shadow of death loomed over Sandra, clawing at her soul until her entire body trembled with terror.

Madness overtook her.

"No!

Let me go—please, let me go!"

Her eyes widened in terror as she struggled desperately, veins bulging across her entire body.

Yet the ropes binding her only tightened further, her crimson eyes brimming with bone-chilling despair.

"I’m the daughter of the Porter family—the head of the Porter household!

Just let me go, and I’ll give you anything you want!"

The bodyguards remained unmoved.

"Sorry, Miss Sandra."

Amid Sandra’s increasingly shrill pleas and curses, one of them casually tossed a lit lighter onto the gasoline-soaked floor.

Then, without hesitation, they strode out and firmly shut the warehouse door behind them.

Their last glimpse of her was those bloodshot eyes, filled with venomous hatred, glaring at them.

A chill ran down their spines.

**BOOM!**

Flames erupted skyward, instantly engulfing the entire warehouse.

Watching the scene unfold, Camilla rolled up the car window, her cool gaze betraying not a flicker of emotion.

"Let’s go."

Had she not been prepared, she would have been the one meeting a gruesome end.

Mercy had no place when dealing with enemies.

Inside the warehouse engulfed in flames, Sandra’s piercing screams and curses echoed through the door.

"Dad, you heartless monster—how dare you kill your own flesh and blood!"

"I curse you to die alone, with no descendants to mourn you!"

"Even if I become a vengeful ghost, I’ll haunt you—I’ll haunt every last one of you!"

... Mr. Porter’s hand trembled as he took a drag from his cigarette, a flicker of guilt flashing in his eyes.

He didn’t dare look back.

Without hesitation, he climbed into the car.

"I’m heading back first.

You lot stay behind and clean up."

"Yes, sir!"

The bodyguards nodded in unison.

"Cleaning up" meant ensuring no one inside survived.

But given the inferno before them, there was little left to worry about.

Mr. Porter’s car sped away into the distance.

The towering flames continued to rage.

Meanwhile...

"Ma’am," the taxi driver said

Inevitably, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"This whole area is just abandoned by docks and warehouses.

Are you sure you have the right address?"

Even she didn’t know why Mr. Porter would be in such a desolate place, but the GPS coordinates couldn’t be wrong.

"No mistake," Mrs. Porter replied firmly, her eyes fixed on the remaining few kilometers displayed on the screen.

Her fingers tightened around her phone.

"Drive faster."

The driver clearly didn’t understand, but he didn’t press further, simply stepping harder on the accelerator as they raced toward the destination.

Just as they rounded a bend, a sleek black Mercedes E-Class flashed past them in the opposite direction.

"Now that’s odd," the driver muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

"This place has been deserted for years—hardly ever see a soul out here.

So why’s a luxury car like that rushing in today?"

Madam Porter barely glanced at the car before looking away, too preoccupied to give it another thought.

But when she arrived at the location marked by the tracker, all she saw was a warehouse engulfed in flames.

Confusion clouded her eyes.

How could Mr. Porter’s phone be pinpointed inside this burning building?

Had the tracking system malfunctioned after all?

Just as she turned to leave, something on the ground caught her eye.

A diamond necklace lay abandoned in front of the warehouse.

She rushed forward, snatching it up to examine it closely.

This was Sandra’s necklace—what was it doing here?!

Meanwhile.

Hundreds of miles away, in the basement of a secluded villa.

"President Luther, I was wrong—I swear I’ve learned my lesson!"

"Please, no more! Have mercy!"

"Help me—somebody help—!"

Screams, pleas, and the sickening thuds of blows echoed endlessly through the dim underground chamber.

Gerald stared at the surveillance monitor with a furrowed brow, his expression grim and unreadable.

The dim lighting in the room casts long shadows.

A man as striking as a deity gripped another barely conscious man by the collar, slamming him against the wall before delivering another brutal punch.

*Thud.

* *Thud.*

Each strike landed with bone-crushing force, vicious and unrelenting.

The man’s face was soon a mess of blood and bruises, droplets spraying into the air.

Even through the screen, the aura of sheer brutality radiating from Sinclair was palpable—cold, merciless, and utterly terrifying.

At his feet, dozens of men lay sprawled in grotesque heaps, their conditions unknown.

The few still conscious among them clawed desperately at the door, scrambling to escape the nightmare unfolding around them.

The scene was nothing short of a blood-soaked horror.

These assassins, sent by the Luther Family to eliminate their own heir, wouldn’t last much longer.

Gerald’s jaw tightened.

It seemed there was no choice but to administer the sedative.

Not that it was unexpected—Sinclair had given the order himself before stepping into that room.

However, heavy doses of sedatives would take a severe toll on his body, so he avoided using them unless absolutely necessary.

"Stay alert," Gerald commanded, his face hardening as he watched Sinclair’s increasingly violent state.

He turned to the mercenaries beside him and ordered,

"Your primary objective is to administer the injection to President Luther."

As the mercenaries filed in, their silhouettes disappearing into the room, he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

If only Madam were here... things would be different.