My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 202: The Girl Isn’t Mine (1)

Cammy slowly wheeled her father back inside the penthouse, her thoughts still echoing with the conversation they’d just shared on the balcony. Her heart was a storm—one half aching with love, the other burning with fury. But as she turned the corner toward the living room, something else caught her attention—something that made her stop short.

Ric and Monica.

They were locked in an intense, hushed conversation by the marble-topped kitchen island. Monica’s posture was tight, almost guarded, while Ric leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. Whatever they were talking about—it wasn’t light or casual. Cammy could feel it in the air like static before lightning.

"Ric," she called out, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.

Both heads snapped in her direction. Ric straightened almost instantly, his expression softening. Monica, on the other hand, transformed as if on cue—her features settling into that serene, practiced smile Cammy had known since childhood.

"Cammy, darling," Monica cooed sweetly, gliding over as if the air hadn’t just crackled moments ago. "Why don’t you bring your father to the master bedroom? It’s nearly time for his afternoon nap."

She placed a hand gently on Peter’s shoulder, her voice suddenly full of tender concern. "And guess what? I invited Ric to stay for dinner. Isn’t that wonderful? He even offered to teach me a new recipe—something light and heart-healthy for your dad. Isn’t that thoughtful of him?"

Cammy’s eyes narrowed slightly, shifting from Monica to Ric. Something felt off. Her mother’s tone was too smooth. Too rehearsed. It sounded like manipulation wearing pearls.

"Ric," Cammy said carefully, "you don’t have to do this. If she pressured you—"

Ric held up a hand, smiling in that gentle, earnest way that always disarmed her. "It’s okay, Cammy. Really. I want to. Your dad deserves something nourishing and special. And I’d be honored to cook it for him. For both of you."

Cammy tilted her head, still unsure. "Are you sure about this? I mean, you’re welcome to stay for dinner, but cooking’s not a requirement."

But Ric didn’t flinch. "One hundred percent sure. I just need to grab a few ingredients first." He turned toward Monica with a theatrical sigh. "But I can’t possibly walk around the market alone. Too sad. Too lonely. I’d ask you to come, Cammy, but I know your time with your dad is precious right now."

Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, "Besides, I’m trying to win your mother’s favor. I heard there’s another guy in the picture. Competition’s tough. Gotta step up my game."

The corners of Cammy’s mouth twitched despite herself. "You’re ridiculous."

Monica laughed—a high, practiced trill—and gave Ric a playful smack on the arm. "Oh, please. You already have my favor, darling. No need to try so hard. But yes, let’s go before the market closes."

Ric nodded politely, and as Monica stepped closer to Peter, her tone softened. "I’ll be back soon, my love," she said, bending down to kiss him on the cheek and smoothing his thinning hair with careful fingers. "Enjoy your time with Cammy."

Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the front door with Ric by her side.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Cammy stood frozen for a beat, her father silent beside her. The moment was still, but her instincts screamed.

Something was happening.

And she didn’t trust the calm before the storm.

Monica and Ric moved swiftly through the building’s parking lot, their footsteps echoing against the concrete like a countdown ticking toward something irreversible.

Without a word, they slid into Ric’s sleek black sedan, the doors slamming shut like a seal on a dangerous secret.

Ric buckled his seatbelt with a sharp click, his jaw tight, his knuckles pale against the steering wheel. "I still can’t believe I’m going through with this, Monica," he muttered, eyes fixed ahead, voice low and simmering with conflicted heat.

"Oh, spare me the guilt act," Monica said, settling into her seat with practiced elegance. Her tone was cool, sharp, almost amused. "You wanted this just as much as I did. Don’t you dare paint me as the villain in your little redemption arc."

"I wanted Cammy, Monica. I want to make her life happy forever," Ric snapped, throwing the car into gear.

Monica rolled her eyes. "Then stop whining and drive."

Ric exhaled hard through his nose and hit the gas, the tires screeching slightly as they sped out of the parking structure. The city lights blurred past the windows, but the tension inside the car was razor sharp.

"Are you sure this person can be trusted?" Monica asked, glancing at him, her voice dropping an octave—this was the real question, the real fear trembling underneath her veneer of control.

"Yes," Ric said without hesitation. "My Dad and I are major benefactors of the hospital. This is a small favor in exchange for millions in funding. The technician won’t ask questions—they’ll simply replace the sample, no records, no trail."

Monica gave a slow nod, then reached into her coat pocket. With delicate fingers, she lifted a plastic evidence pouch into the air, inside it a few strands of graying hair.

"I took it straight from Peter’s head," she said with a dark gleam in her eye. "While I was kissing his cheek. He didn’t even flinch."

Ric shot Monica a sideways glance, his jaw tightening as he took in the sight of the hair sample dangling casually in her fingers.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. "Jesus... you really are something. But why the hell are we using Peter’s hair and not yours?"

Monica let out a low, amused chuckle and flicked the pouch slightly, the strands of hair catching the light like threads of fate. "Oh, Ric. Haven’t you ever watched a medical drama? Even just the basic ones?" she said with maddening calm.

"Gender can be determined through DNA, and Peter’s sample is all we need since it’s a paternity test. Besides..." she leaned her head against the seat with a sigh so casual it made Ric’s skin crawl, "...the girl isn’t mine. Not biologically, anyway."

Ric’s hands tightened around the wheel, his pulse spiking. Without warning, he swerved the car to the right, tires screeching as he pulled over to the shoulder. The vehicle lurched to a stop.

He turned to face her, voice sharp as a blade. "What the fuck are you saying now?"