My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 193: Richard’s Secret (2)

"My father is Pete—"

"Are you sure?" Richard interrupted, his voice steady, measured. "Did Monica ever tell you the truth? Or did she let you believe what was easiest?" fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Cammy felt like the ground beneath her had been ripped away.

Richard leaned back, watching her reaction carefully. "I have no proof. Only the past. And a feeling that I’ve never been able to shake."

He sighed. "Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. Maybe it was better left buried. But now that I see you, I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer."

Cammy shot to her feet, her breath unsteady, her mind spinning. "I... I need air."

She didn’t wait for his response. She turned and fled, needing distance, needing anything but the suffocating weight of what had just been said.

But before Cammy could escape, Richard’s grip on her wrist was tight and firm yet measured—like a man holding onto something he wasn’t ready to let go of.

"Wait, Cammy," he said, his voice lower now, painted with an eerie calm. "I didn’t mean to confuse you. We have the technology to find out the truth. Don’t let your emotions consume you just yet."

Her breath came in short, uneven bursts. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run—to get as far away from him and his devastating words as possible. But something about his steady tone, his calculated restraint, made her pause.

’He’s right...’

’He was only speculating. Nothing was certain yet.’

And if there was a way to confirm it... shouldn’t she know?

Cammy’s pulse hammered as she watched Richard move to his desk. He pulled open a drawer, retrieving a small canvas pouch. Turning back to her, he walked with the same poise and authority that made him a force in the business world.

He reached into the pouch, revealing a small box.

"This is a DNA testing kit," Richard said, handing it to her. "I had it ordered from Arlon City. There’s a reputable facility there."

Cammy stared at the box in her hands, her fingers suddenly ice-cold.

Richard studied her reaction before continuing. "Gregory mentioned that you were planning a visit to Monica and Peter. I knew then that this was the perfect opportunity—for you to decide if you want to know the truth or not."

Her throat tightened.

"I’ve already used one of the swabs," he went on, his voice deliberate, as though every word was part of a long-laid plan. "And in case the swab fails..." Richard plucked a strand of his hair. "Here, let’s include a strand of my hair with the root intact. If you truly want proof, all you need to do is send the sample in for testing together with yours."

His next words made her stomach twist.

"If the results confirm that you are my daughter, I will accept you wholeheartedly," he said, eyes sharp, unreadable. "And in return, I expect you to acknowledge me as your father. Blood comes with responsibility, Cammy. I will bring you into Cross Holdings, help you reclaim CorEx, and protect you from that soon-to-be ex-husband of yours."

The air in the office grew heavier.

His voice dipped lower, colder. "If you are my daughter, I will not let anyone harm you or your son. And I will personally make sure that man pays—suffers—for whatever he’s done to you. Think carefully, Cammy. This isn’t just about lineage. This could change everything for you and your son. Think of him and his future."

A shiver ran down her spine.

Goosebumps crawled over her skin as his words wrapped around her like a vice. The sheer weight of his revelation, of the offer he was making, was suffocating.

Her head throbbed, her thoughts spiraling as she wordlessly placed the DNA kit back into the pouch and shoved it deep inside her bag.

"I understand, Mr. Cross," she murmured, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I will think about it carefully... and I’ll let you know once I’ve made my decision."

Richard nodded, a smirk barely tugging at the corner of his lips, as though he already knew what choice she would make. "A wise response."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a sleek black card and handed it to her.

"Take this," he said. "My personal number is written on the back. If you need anything, you can contact me directly. No need to go through my assistant or secretary."

Cammy nodded, slipping the card into her wallet with trembling hands.

Richard’s expression darkened slightly, his gaze piercing as he added, "Now, let’s go back before anyone starts suspecting. You go first. If Greg asks where you were, tell him you went to the bathroom."

He hesitated, then his next words sent ice through her veins.

"Oh, and Cammy... refrain from sleeping with Greg," he said, voice softer, almost gentle—but the malice beneath it was unmistakable. "We wouldn’t want to bring an inbred child into this world, would we?"

A cold, aching nausea twisted in her gut.

She swallowed hard, barely keeping her face neutral. "I—I think I actually do need to go to the bathroom to freshen up."

Richard gave a slow nod. "Turn right. It’s the door at the end of the hallway."

She didn’t wait for another word.

Cammy hurried out of the office, her breath shaky, her steps unsteady as she made a beeline for the bathroom.

The moment she shut the door behind her, her back hit the cold wood, and she slid down onto the floor.

Tears streamed down her face, silent and unstoppable. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her stomach twisting violently, as if it couldn’t decide whether to sink or lurch.

Her entire world had just shattered.

And now... she was left to pick up the pieces.

Her chest heaved, sobs breaking free one after the other, raw and ragged, echoing against the marble walls like a haunting lullaby.

The silence around her was deafening, except for the relentless pounding of her heart in her ears.

Her mind unraveled in pieces—one torment after another clawing its way back into her consciousness.

She saw their faces first.

The twins.

Tiny hands that never had a chance to hold hers. Breathless cries that never left their lungs.

Then came Duncan—her husband, her supposed partner, her betrayer.

She had given him everything. Years of loyalty, love, devotion... and he had ripped it all to shreds between the legs of another woman.

And the worst part?

Dylan saw it.

Her son—her sweet, innocent boy—had watched the man he called "dad" become the monster that shattered their family.

And now this.

Greg.

The only man who made her feel something again. Who peeled back the walls she had built so high around her grief and guilt. The man who kissed her like he wanted to erase all her pain, who touched her like she mattered, who made her feel alive.

And now there was a chance... a terrifying, grotesque chance... that he could be her brother.

Her stomach churned violently. Her entire body trembled as a sickening dread pooled in her core.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her knees, as if the sheer act of holding herself together could keep her from shattering completely. But the weight pressing down on her—everything she’d endured, everything she’d lost, and everything she now stood to lose—was suffocating.

Tears blurred her vision, hot and relentless, as she whispered into the silence, her voice cracking under the weight of despair,

"Why is this happening to me? Haven’t I suffered enough?"

When she finally summoned the strength to rise from the floor, a brutal wave of pain slammed into her skull. The headache surged, sharp and unforgiving, and nausea gripped her so fiercely that her body gave her no choice.

She stumbled to the toilet and collapsed beside it, emptying her stomach in harsh, choking sobs of sickness and sorrow. Everything she had eaten spilled out—every bite now tainted by memory and grief. It felt endless, like she was purging not just the contents of her stomach, but the poison of the past months, the heartbreak, the betrayal, the fear.

When it was finally over, she slumped back against the cool wall, trembling, hollowed out... but lighter. Her headache dulled. The nausea receded. And for the first time that night, her mind was eerily clear.

No more falling apart. No more questions. Just answers—and action.

She braced herself on the edge of the vanity, pulling her weary body upright. Staring into the mirror, she took in the reflection of a woman who had been pushed to her breaking point—and was still standing.

Cammy splashed her face with cold water, straightened her dress, reapplied her lipstick with a steady hand, and tucked every trace of vulnerability behind a calm, composed mask.

She was no longer just a woman in pain. She was a woman with a purpose.

With a breath drawn deep and sure, Cammy walked out the bathroom door and made her way back to Greg—and the storm waiting in the mansion. If she had to pretend that she’s ok, she will for the people she loves and people who care for her.