My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 248: Piece By Piece

Cammy had arrived at the office just as the sun peeked over the city skyline, determined to clear the mountain of unfinished work before she left for Arlon. She dove into the tasks with such focused determination that time slipped through her fingers like sand in a storm.

Before she knew it, the clock was nearing noon, the buzz of the outside world breaking into her cocoon of concentration.

"Cammy," a voice called out sharply, snapping her from the glow of her computer screen.

She turned to find Harry standing by her desk, a furrow etched deep between his brows. "Where’s Greg?"

Startled, Cammy flicked her eyes to the time on her monitor and scrambled for her phone, her heart thudding uneasily in her chest. No messages. No missed calls at that hour.

Before she could respond, Mila, Greg’s secretary, answered with her usual crispness, "Mr. Cross will be late. He called in earlier and canceled all his morning appointments. He said he’ll be here by lunchtime."

Harry’s frown deepened, and Cammy didn’t miss the tension that flickered across his face. "Did he say why?" he pressed.

"He said... he’s sick," Mila said, her voice short and oddly clipped, like she didn’t quite believe it herself.

Harry gave a humorless laugh, the sound brittle. "Sick? Gregory Cross? That’s rich. I thought he was invincible. Guess he’s human after all." His words dripped with sarcasm as he turned away, vanishing down the corridor.

Cammy waited until Harry was safely out of earshot before leaning closer to Mila, her voice low and urgent. "Did he say what he was sick with?"

Mila hesitated, then shrugged lightly. "Headache, he said. But if you ask me..." She leaned in conspiratorially. "It’s a hangover. He had me order a truckload of hangover food and electrolytes—classic recovery menu. Had it all delivered to his penthouse."

A bitter sting twisted in Cammy’s chest. She masked it with a tight smile, but Mila wasn’t fooled. Her next words came as a whispered accusation, tinged with curiosity. "Did you two... have a fight? You’re... together, right?"

Cammy forced a laugh that sounded painfully hollow even to her own ears. "No. It was never like that." She tried to sound breezy, detached. "Our relationship was purely business.

We got close because of... messy pasts. We had an agreement. Terms. Deadlines. And now—it’s over. Nothing but professional interactions left between us."

Mila nodded slowly, her knowing gaze too sharp for Cammy’s comfort. "Ahh... so your contract situationship has expired. Got it."

The words hit Cammy harder than they should have. Situationship. Expired. It felt cruelly accurate. She snapped her head around to stare at Mila. "What?!"

Mila grinned mischievously, unbothered. "I was the one who printed the contract, remember? I caught a glimpse. But relax," she added with a playful wink, "I’m under a strict Non-Disclosure Agreement. Your secrets are safe with me."

Despite herself, Cammy let out a small, breathless chuckle, the tension in her chest loosening—just slightly.

Hours crawled by, each minute heavy with unease. Then, finally, the glass doors swung open—and Greg stormed into the office.

Gone was the charming, composed Greg they knew. In his place was a man cloaked in fury, the air around him crackling with an invisible storm. His face was pale, his movements sharp and clipped.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Cross," Mila greeted, her voice carefully neutral. Cammy followed, offering a softer, "Good afternoon."

He didn’t even glance at them. No nod. No grunt. Nothing.

As per their routine, both women trailed him to his office. Mila, prepared to go over his rescheduled day. Cammy, clutching the folder of critical updates she needed to discuss.

But as she stepped through the threshold of his office, something in the air shifted—a dark, suffocating tension that wrapped around her like a vice.

And for the first time in a long while, Cammy realized: whatever was wrong with Greg... it was much more than a simple hangover.

It was something much, much deeper.

And it terrified her.

When the last report was delivered and the final updates muttered between tense breaths, Mila, sensing the brewing storm, quietly excused herself from the office. The door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality, leaving Cammy and Greg alone in the thick, suffocating air.

Without sparing her a glance, Greg broke the silence, his voice cold and hollow. "Do you want to take a leave of absence for a month? Paid, of course. Think of it as my wedding gift to you."

The words hit harder than any shout would have. Cammy stiffened, her hands clenching at her sides. She forced a trembling breath out and shook her head, her voice small but determined. "G-Greg... you don’t have to give me a wedding gift—"

But he cut her off sharply, his tone slicing through the space between them like a blade.

"It’s not just for you," he said, his eyes—tired, bloodshot—finally meeting hers. For the first time since he arrived, he looked at her, truly looked at her, and the weight of his gaze nearly crushed her.

"It’s for Dylan, too. The custody case appeal might drag on for months... you should spend every second you can with him while he’s still... with you."

Cammy’s heart squeezed painfully. The cracks in her carefully constructed armor deepened.

Greg leaned back in his chair, his posture rigid, as if bracing himself against an invisible onslaught. His voice lowered, rougher now, almost as if he was trying to speak through a storm raging inside him.

"If you don’t want to fully be on leave or perhaps hesitant to take the paid leave, you can work from home. I’ll be out of the country attending hearings about the problem with the shipment previously, and handling... other legal matters."

He paused, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair. "All the work I’ll assign can be done remotely. Take the opportunity. Be with Dylan while you still can."

Cammy pressed her lips into a tight line, forcing back the swell of emotion threatening to choke her. She nodded once, curtly. "Alright. I’ll take it. Thank you."

She turned on her heel, desperate to escape before her composure cracked, but Greg’s voice—low, almost hoarse—called her back.

"Cammy."

She stopped, her back rigid, refusing to turn around.

"Take back your car," he said. "I don’t need it. Dylan’s back to school on Wednesday, right? I’ll leave my driver with you while I’m gone. Use him. He’s got nothing better to do while I’m overseas."

Greg’s fingers tapped idly against his monitor, but Cammy could feel the tremor in the air, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down between them.

"My flight’s tomorrow," he added quietly. "You can leave after lunch today. Mila will email you the tasks."

Cammy nodded again, her voice thick but steady. "Understood. Thank you."

She made for the door, her hand reaching for the handle, when Greg delivered the final blow.

"No need to thank me," he said carelessly, the words falling from his lips like broken glass. "I’m your big brother, after all. It’s my responsibility to look after you and Dylan."

The sentence struck Cammy like a sniper’s bullet—silent, precise, lethal. She froze for a fraction of a second, her hand trembling slightly on the door handle. But she didn’t look back. She couldn’t. If she did, she would shatter completely.

She opened the door and stepped out, walking away with her head held high, even as her heart crumbled with every step.

Inside the office, Greg sat perfectly still, staring blankly at his monitor, his hands curled into fists on the desk. The words he had spoken—the lie he forced through gritted teeth—echoed in his mind, each syllable tearing him apart.

He hadn’t said it to hurt her.

He had said it to hurt himself.

And the deeper he carved into his own heart, the more he realized:

He was losing her.

Not just to another man.

But losing her trust, her light, her laughter—everything he had secretly, selfishly held onto all this time.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

He said those words to make his heart hurt more until it became numb. Numb enough not to feel anything anymore.

Cammy moved mechanically through the motions, her body betraying none of the chaos raging inside her. She sat down at her desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, saving every file.

She packed her things in silence and rose from her chair, the weight of the moment almost too much for her slender frame to bear.

Before she left, she couldn’t help it—her feet carried her on their own accord. She stopped in front of the glass wall that separated her from Greg’s office.

There he was.

Sitting at his desk, shoulders hunched forward, staring blankly at his screen. He wasn’t working. He wasn’t typing. He was just... sitting there. Motionless. As if the very life had been drained out of him.

Cammy’s throat tightened painfully.

She wanted to run to him.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to demand why he had to push her away so cruelly under the pretense of being a "big brother" when everything inside her knew—knew—that what they had could never be something so simple. So empty.

But she stood there, frozen, a silent farewell written in her tear-glazed eyes.

He didn’t look up.

Maybe he felt her gaze.

Maybe he didn’t.

It didn’t matter anymore.

With one last broken breath, Cammy tore her eyes away and turned. freeweɓnovel.cøm

Each step she took toward the elevator felt like tearing a piece of herself off and leaving it behind.

Piece by piece. Until there was almost nothing left.