My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 214: Cammy’s Plan (1)

Cammy picked up her phone as it buzzed softly in her hand. A message had come through—it was from Ric.

[Greg is asleep now. Peacefully. We had a drink in the hotel’s bar and he got totally drunk. He’s in Suite 1304, just in case you want to check on him.]

She stared at the message for a long while, her thumb hovering over the screen. Her chest ached. The message alone was enough to make her heart twist.

Greg. Sleeping. Peacefully. While she... she was wide awake, crushed under the weight of decisions she never imagined she’d have to make. But this is good, since from the looks of it. Greg is going to have a harder time accepting their blood relation than her.

But instead of replying with a simple thank-you, she tapped the call icon. Her fingers trembled as the phone rang.

Ric answered after a few seconds, his voice calm but curious.

[Is everything alright?] he asked, surprised by the late-night call.

Cammy inhaled deeply before responding. "Yes," she said quietly. Then steadied herself. "Ric... are you busy tomorrow?"

"No, not really. Why?" he asked, more alert now.

"I need to go to Felicity’s house," she said, her voice firm with resolve but lined with exhaustion. "I need both of you... you and Felicity. There are things I need to do. Decisions I have to make. And I can’t do them alone right now."

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Ric replied.

[Alright. What time should I pick you up?]

"After breakfast," Cammy answered without hesitation. "Greg will probably want to talk once he wakes up, and... I need to settle everything else first. I have to be ready when that moment comes."

Ric’s tone softened. [I understand. I’ll be there.]

Cammy hung up the phone slowly, her eyes lingering on the dark screen. She knew tomorrow might change everything again.

But for the first time in days, she felt... prepared.

Or at least, she hoped she was.

As Cammy placed her phone into her pocket, she turned to see Monica standing at the hallway, arms folded, eyes sharp and unreadable.

"What are you planning to do, Cammy?" Monica asked in a low, serious voice.

Cammy hesitated for a second. There was a weight behind her mother’s words—the kind that came from years of knowing her too well.

But Cammy smiled faintly, almost too calmly.

"I’m just going to ask Felicity for some business advice," she said softly, walking past her mother and heading for her bedroom.

"Since I’ll be joining the Cross household soon... it’s about time I learn how to carry that name in the business world."

Monica didn’t reply immediately. She just stared at her daughter’s retreating back, sensing there was more to the story—but she said nothing.

Behind the bedroom door, Cammy finally let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

The room was dim, moonlight slicing through the slats of the blinds, casting long shadows across the bed. She changed into her nightgown and sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at nothing. Her heart wouldn’t slow down.

’Joining the Cross household...’ The lie echoed in her head. A temporary shield. A desperate, protective layer.

She lay down, hoping exhaustion would do the trick—but her thoughts raced all night. Her body begged for sleep, but her mind refused to surrender.

It was only a few hours before dawn that she finally dozed off—curled up on one side of the bed, clutching a pillow like it was her last piece of safety.

**********

The scent of sautéed garlic and freshly brewed tea drifted into her dreams. Something warm. Comforting. Familiar.

Cammy blinked groggily and sat up. Her eyes found the digital clock—7:42 AM. She had barely slept.

Then she heard the soft clang of kitchenware and Ric’s gentle humming from the kitchen. She rose from bed, still half in a fog, and stepped into the hallway.

There he was.

Ric, in his black shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, apron tied loosely around his waist, was busy plating a spread of healthy dishes—steamed dumplings, fresh fruit, and warm oatmeal drizzled with honey and chia seeds.

He looked up and smiled as she walked in. "Good morning," he said warmly, pushing a cup of tea toward her. "I figured you didn’t sleep much, so I made something gentle on the stomach and strong enough to get your brain functioning."

Cammy blinked back the sudden sting behind her eyes. Something about Ric’s presence—calm, solid, steady—was exactly what she needed this morning.

She took the tea. "Thank you... But, what are you doing here? Are you our personal chef now? We have no money to pay you. Your talent fee must be pretty high," Cammy jested.

Ric smiled, watching her sit down across from him. "I can’t sleep either, so I decided to just have breakfast with you. It’s lonely to eat alone, you know. We’ve got a long day ahead, Cammy. But we’ll get through it."

Cammy nodded quietly. She didn’t say anything more. But she didn’t have to.

Today, she would face the world again... but first, she needed this moment of warmth, silence, and Ric’s quiet kindness.

The car ride was quiet.

Cammy stared out the window, arms wrapped around herself despite the sun warming the morning sky. Ric glanced at her from time to time, but said nothing. He knew better than to prod her now.

When they pulled up in front of Felicity’s house, Cammy’s heart skipped a beat.

It was the kind of house that held secrets in every corner—the garden too neatly trimmed, the curtains too perfectly draped. A home that hid stories in its silence. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

Ric opened the passenger door for her. "Come on," he said softly. "I’ll go look for Felicity."

Cammy nodded and stepped into the house. The moment she crossed the threshold, a strange wave of stillness hit her. The air inside was cooler, quiet, too quiet. The scent of old perfume and faint lavender filled her senses—Felicity’s scent. Elegant, persistent, secretive.

While Ric disappeared down the hallway, calling out Felicity’s name, Cammy wandered into the living room, her steps slow and hesitant.

Her gaze landed on the console table near the grand staircase—a collection of framed photographs neatly displayed.

She moved closer.

There was a picture of Felicity in her younger years, glamorous and poised. Another one of her and an older gentleman who looked vaguely familiar. But it was the third photo that made Cammy’s breath catch in her throat.

Felicity sat on a wicker chair, her arms wrapped around a baby boy—and beside her stood a young boy, no older than ten, smiling awkwardly at the camera.

Cammy’s heart stuttered.

That boy... the shape of his eyes, the structure of his nose, even the faint dimple on his right cheek...

It was Greg. Or someone who looked just like him.

Her hand trembled as she picked up the frame. There was no label. No date. But it was unmistakable. The boy’s smile, even as a child, carried Greg’s charm. Greg’s pain.

"Cammy?"

Ric’s voice came from behind her, and she quickly put the frame back in place, trying to steady her racing heart.