My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 181: Secrets

The three of them sat frozen, tension thick in the air as Harry’s voice cut through the silence. He held their eyes, one by one, before finally speaking.

"I had a conversation earlier... with someone unexpected," Harry began, his tone low and resolute. "A man named Mr. Takahito Saimori."

Greg’s brows furrowed. "Saimori? Isn’t he our client from Japan? The CEO of Fujimoko Industries?"

Harry gave a slow nod. "Yes. But there’s more. He told me he’s here in the country because Duncan Veston personally invited him—urged him—to reinvest in CorEx. Said he was one of the original shareholders back when the company had a different name."

Cammy leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Wait. Different name? What do you mean? CorEx has always been CorEx."

"I thought the same," Harry replied. "But Saimori claims otherwise. He said the company was originally called Veston-Watson Logistics. That is, before Jonas Veston was... removed."

A heavy silence fell.

"Removed?" Greg echoed. "You mean—"

"Thrown out," Harry confirmed grimly. "According to Saimori, Jonas Veston was stripped of everything—his position, his shares, even his legacy. Then CorEx rose from the ashes, quietly assuming all the assets of Veston-Watson Logistics: buildings, people, resources.

They gave original shareholders a choice—stay, or cash out. Saimori chose the latter and used the money to start Fujimoko."

Cammy looked stunned. "But... the founding date of CorEx is older than me. That doesn’t make sense."

"It is older than you," Harry said. "CorEx technically existed back then. It was a shell company, a provincial satellite of the bigger enterprise. Officially separate, but tied.

He said it was created to isolate certain operations—maybe for taxes, maybe to protect the main company if something went wrong."

"That’s shady," Cammy muttered. "Why would my father even bother doing that if Veston-Watson was already successful?"

"Could be a safety net. Or maybe... they were planning something," Greg suggested darkly. "Contingency strategies like that don’t happen by accident."

Cammy exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "But then why dismantle the bigger company? Why let it die?"

Harry hesitated. "That’s where things get murky. Saimori said the official line was that Jonas Veston ’wanted out.’ He sold his shares, walked away. But..." He leaned in, voice dropping. "There are rumors. Dark ones."

Greg’s jaw clenched. "What kind of rumors?"

Harry’s gaze sharpened. "That Jonas didn’t leave. He was pushed. Blackmailed. Forced out. Thrown to the curb with just enough hush money to disappear."

Cammy’s face went pale. "Are you saying... my father helped do that to his own partner?"

Harry didn’t answer immediately. Then: "I’m saying someone did. And if Duncan invited Saimori back, it’s because something’s about to happen. Something that needs covering up—or cleaning up."

Greg swore under his breath. "Why now? Why bring Saimori in after all these years?"

"I don’t know," Harry admitted. "But whatever it is... it smells like a resurrection. Or a complete reshuffle."

Suddenly, Cammy stood, pacing. Her voice trembled, but not with fear—with something colder. "Then I want answers. I want to know what my father really built. What he destroyed. And why I’m just now hearing about any of this?"

Harry rose slowly, eyes never leaving hers. "Then we need to find out more about Jonas Veston, when he was still alive after he left the company."

"Then there’s only one place left to start," Cammy said quietly, her eyes like steel. "The source himself... my father."

A heavy silence fell. Greg glanced at her, concern etched into every line of his face. "Cammy... your father’s not well. You said the doctors—"

"He’s getting stronger," she interrupted, her voice unwavering. "The nurse sent me a video yesterday—he was smiling. Said he even asked to be brought to the garden. He’s lucid more often now. It’s time."

"But is it safe to bring this up?" Greg pressed. "The past, the company... It could trigger something. You know how fragile—"

"I know," Cammy said, sharper than intended. Then, more quietly, "I know. But this isn’t just about his health anymore. It’s about the truth. About what really happened back then. About the web my family has spun—and the silence they’ve cloaked it all in."

She stood, her spine straight, every movement filled with restrained fire. "I need to see him. I need to face my mother, too. Ever since the conservatorship ruling was finalized, she’s gone completely dark. Not a word. She’s hiding something. I can feel it. And I won’t keep pretending not to notice."

Greg’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Then I’m coming with you."

Cammy turned to him, lips pressed tight. "No, Greg. This is something I have to do alone. If Duncan’s people even suspect you’re involved, they’ll twist it—claim I’m unstable, unfit, manipulating things behind closed doors. I won’t give them another weapon to use against me. I won’t risk losing Dylan."

The mention of her son wrapped the air in silence.

Greg stepped back slowly, nodding, though his jaw was tight. "Then promise me you’ll be careful. If your mother’s avoiding you, there’s a reason. And if your father truly knows what happened... someone might not want him to speak."

Cammy gave a faint, bitter smile. "That’s exactly what I’m counting on."

After some time, Greg and Cammy decided to call it a night. Greg and Cammy went out of the door in silence, Eve’s final hug and Harry’s solemn nod still lingering in their minds.

They didn’t speak much on the way back to Cammy’s apartment. The walk was quiet. There was too much to process, too much to feel, and not enough words for any of it.

Inside her apartment, Cammy slipped off her coat and poured two glasses of water, handing one to Greg as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

"You sure you’re okay to go to Arlon City?" he asked softly.

Cammy gave a tired smile. "I’m not sure about anything anymore. But I have to."

They talked for a little while longer—small things, normal things. The kind of words people use to patch over cracks in their thoughts. When Greg finally stood to leave, he hesitated at the door.

"If anything feels off," he said, his eyes meeting hers, "you call me. No matter what."

Cammy nodded, her throat tight. "I will."

When the door clicked shut behind him, the apartment suddenly felt colder. Quieter. She sank into the couch, rubbing her temples, trying to breathe past the weight of everything unraveling around her.

And then, his voice echoed in her memory.

’Do not sleep with him until you come and see me. Cammy, there’s something you need to know. If you want the truth, come to the mansion tomorrow night.’ freeωebnovēl.c૦m

Richard Cross.

Greg’s father had said those words that felt like a cryptic warning. But now... now it felt like a key she’d tossed aside—only to find herself standing in front of a locked door.

Without another second of hesitation, Cammy reached for her phone and dialed his number.

It rang twice before he picked up, and she immediately introduced herself.

"Cammy," Richard said, as if he’d been expecting the call all along. "I was wondering when I’d hear from you."

Her voice was steady. "I want to talk. About everything."

There was a pause. Then, "Good. You’re ready."

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t make her explain.

"I’m having dinner tomorrow night at the house," he continued. "The whole family will be there—it’s Saturday. Come. I’ll invite Greg too. It’s time we all sat down... and talked."

Cammy exhaled slowly. "Alright. I’ll be there."

"Good," he said again, but his tone shifted—just slightly. "There are things you need to hear. Things your mother never wanted you to know. And once they’re said... there’s no going back."

The call ended.

Cammy stared at the screen for a long moment, her pulse quickening with every heartbeat. She didn’t know what was waiting for her at that dinner—but she had a feeling it would change everything, not only for her but for Greg too.

The silence of the apartment was fragile—barely holding together beneath the soft ticking of the wall clock and the occasional sigh of the wind outside.

Cammy sat on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, her thumb hovering over the flight app. Her chest felt tight as she scrolled through available flights.

Arlon City.

Just seeing the name brought a wave of unease. She found a flight for Sunday morning. One adult. One child.

As she entered their names, her hands trembled ever so slightly. The last time she booked a flight for Arlon City, it had ended in an explosion and screams.

She could still hear the cries of the people and the sirens of the ambulance and firetrucks. The flash of her son’s terrified eyes.

Her thumb froze above the confirmation button.

That crash should have ended them.

But it didn’t.

With a sharp inhale, she blinked the memory away. ’Not now,’ she told herself. ’Not tonight.’

She pressed "Confirm."

It was done.

The screen flickered with a loading symbol before a digital boarding pass appeared. She set the phone down and leaned back, trying to steady her breathing. But before the stillness could settle again, a small voice echoed in the living room.

"Mommy?"

Cammy turned.

Dylan’s door was cracked open. The soft light from the living room had spilled into his room, just enough to awaken him.

Cammy swiftly walked into his room. His sleepy eyes blinked at her from his bed, his tousled curls like a wild halo on his pillow.

"I didn’t mean to wake you," she whispered, brushing a hand through his hair.

He shook his head. "It’s okay. I thought I heard something."

"I was just booking our flight. We’re going to Arlon City tomorrow," she said gently.

His eyes lit up. "Really? Are we gonna see Grandpa?"

She smiled softly. "Yes. And Grandma, too."

His excitement flickered, but something else sparked in his gaze—hope.

"Mommy," he said, voice suddenly more alert, "do you think... do you think tomorrow, the doctor will say I can use the crutches?"

"That’s what he said last time, remember?" he continued, "He said if everything goes well, maybe no more wheelchair."

Cammy nodded, her eyes glistening. "Yes, baby. I think you’re ready. I think you’ve been ready for a long time."

Dylan beamed. "I wanna run again."

"You will, sweetheart," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You will."

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