My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 211: Another Test

His right hand was clenched tightly at his side, knuckles raw and bloodied. A nearby pillar bore the brunt of his fury, faint crimson smeared across its white paint.

"Oh my God," Cammy whispered, her heart leaping to her throat. "Greg..."

Greg didn’t move at the sound of her voice. His body was frozen—coiled with anguish. His jaw tightened, breath heavy through flared nostrils. Ric approached him carefully but kept a few steps of space, like one would with a wild animal cornered by pain.

"Greg, please..." Cammy said again, walking faster now.

Monica placed a hand on her arm. "Cammy, wait—don’t push him right now—"

But Cammy shook her off and closed the distance.

Greg turned around slowly, eyes red-rimmed with fury and heartbreak. "You should’ve just told us," he said, his voice hoarse. "You should’ve told us before we fell in love with each other deeply..." he uttered, his words directed at Monica.

Monica felt scared, but she stood her ground. "I didn’t know until recently. I didn’t know you are Richard’s son. I asked you before if you are related to Cross Holdings, but you said you are not. So I didn’t check further."

"That’s fucking lame. You asked if I am connected to the company and not with Richard Cross. Of course I would say no, since I was not, you fucking brainless old woman!" Greg scoffed and laughed sarcastically.

"Oh, I am sorry, I forgot. You are not brainless since you are very good at manipulating people to get what you fucking want, reagardless if who will get hurt. You are pure evil, Monica. You should rot in hell!" Greg exploded in fury and heartache.

Monica stepped in quickly. "Enough! That’s enough, Greg. You need to go. Cammy’s not well. This isn’t the time or place." freeweɓnovel.cøm

But Greg ignored her. His gaze was locked onto Cammy, desperate, lost.

"I-I’m s-sorry, Greg..." Cammy stammered before bursting into tears.

"I will still love you!" he shouted suddenly, the words breaking from him like a dam collapsing. "I will fight for us, Cammy! Just stay with me."

"Man, Cammy is your sister. I think you should be careful with your words. You’re not the only one hurting here. You’re hurting her with what you are saying," Ric butted in.

"I don’t care what that paper says," he said, voice trembling. "I only care about what I feel—and what I feel is real. Cammy, stay with me! Please, baby—stay with me!"

Cammy opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Her vision blurred. Her body swayed.

Ric’s eyes widened. "Cammy—!"

She slumped to the ground and started hitting her chest, just where her heart is, with her fist.

"Cammy!" Greg shouted in terror. He dropped to his knees, holding her tightly, blood from his knuckles now smearing her clothes. And in that instant, surrounded by heartbreak, guilt, and unspeakable love, the truth no longer mattered.

Only Cammy did.

"If it weren’t for Dylan... if it wasn’t for my son, I’d be down on my knees begging God to just take me now!" Cammy sobbed, her voice shaking the night air as she pounded her chest with her fists. "It’s painful, it hurts so much—it feels like a thousand blades are slicing my heart to pieces!"

Her screams echoed through the parking lot, raw and ragged, the kind of agony that tore at the soul.

Monica stood frozen for a moment, one hand pressed to her temple while the other gripped her waist, her own heart racing from the chaos unfolding before her. This—this was far beyond anything she had anticipated. Cammy was unraveling.

"I’ll go back inside and buy some bottled water," Monica said finally, her voice low and rattled. She glanced at Ric, who simply gave a tight nod, his face drawn in concern. "Please don’t leave them alone."

As Monica rushed back into the hospital, Ric let out a long, weary breath. He knew the truth would cut them both—but he hadn’t expected Greg to throw everything aside, even the blood tie that now bound them, just for the love he couldn’t let go of.

Turning back to Cammy, who was still on the cold pavement, Ric slowly approached and crouched down beside her. "Cammy," he said softly, placing a gentle hand on her trembling arms. "You can’t stay on the ground. It’s freezing and filthy. Come on, let’s get you inside the car."

Cammy’s entire body shook with sobs, but she didn’t resist as Ric supported her from under the arms.

He looked over to Greg, whose hands were still bloodied, clenched tightly into fists, his knuckles now caked with dried red. Ric gave him a silent signal—an unspoken plea to help.

To his relief, Greg moved.

Together, the two men carefully lifted Cammy, her body limp from exhaustion, and helped her into the back seat of the car. She curled up without a word, clutching her knees to her chest, her sobs now muffled against her folded arms.

Greg lingered at the door, staring at her broken form, and whispered more to himself than anyone else, "I did this... I broke her... If I didn’t let her stay that night, this wouldn’t have happened."

Ric dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing hard against his eyes as if he could somehow rub the chaos away. His heart pounded with a strange weight—not just from the scene unraveling before him, but from the sliver of guilt slicing through his chest.

’This is so fucked up!’ he thought bitterly. Everything—all of it—was a tangled mess of pain, betrayal, and truths no one wanted to face.

A few minutes later, Monica came briskly walking back from the hospital, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. She was composed on the outside, but her face betrayed a flicker of anxiety. In her hands were three bottles of water.

She handed two to Ric, her tone low and urgent. "Clean his hands. I don’t want Richard seeing him like this. He’ll lose his mind."

Ric nodded, wordlessly accepting the bottles. He turned toward Greg, whose fists still trembled, crimson crusted along his knuckles. He wasn’t even blinking—he just stood there, staring at the car like he was about to combust.

Meanwhile, Monica uncapped the third bottle and knelt beside Cammy in the back seat. "Sweetheart," she said gently, tilting the bottle to Cammy’s lips. "Just a sip... please."

Cammy blinked slowly, her lashes still wet with tears. She drank, obediently but distantly, managing to swallow half the bottle before her trembling hand waved Monica away. She slumped back, her body small against the leather seat, eyes locked on the windshield—staring, but seeing nothing. The kind of silence only heartbreak could carve.

Then—

"We’re already here," Greg’s voice cracked through the stillness like a whip. "Let’s take another DNA test, Cammy. Right now."

Ric and Monica both froze.

Greg stepped forward, desperation radiating from every inch of him. "I’ll prove them wrong—I’ll prove all of this is wrong! We’re not siblings! I know we’re not!"

His voice was trembling, but his conviction was blistering. It wasn’t hope—it was denial, fueled by heartbreak.

Ric’s jaw clenched. Monica’s hand flew to her chest as if her heart had stopped.