My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 137: Broken Phone

Cammy and Greg strode briskly out of the room, their pace just shy of a full-on sprint, as if the very walls whispered secrets behind them. The moment they stepped outside, Greg’s car came into view—and there, standing beside it with an elegant bouquet of flowers in hand, was Debbie, waiting.

Cammy forced a bright smile, though the way Debbie’s eyes flicked over her fresh outfit made her stomach tighten. "I’m so sorry, Debbie," she began, weaving an excuse on the spot. "I had a hard time finding everything I wanted to bring. That’s why we took a little longer."

Greg, standing just behind her, fought the urge to smirk. Oh, he knew the truth behind that delay all too well. Cammy’s previous outfit had been ruined—drenched, thanks to him.

And he could still picture her in a flurry of panic, desperately using her hairdryer to salvage the situation, drying the bed just enough to change the sheets before anyone, especially Debbie, could see the evidence.

But who was he kidding? The entire household had likely already pieced it together. Cammy hadn’t exactly been quiet.

Still biting back his amusement, Greg busied himself loading the boxes into the car, eager to get moving. The sooner they left, the better.

Debbie extended the bouquet toward Cammy, her eyes filled with unspoken emotions. "I picked these from the garden," she said softly.

"The ones you planted. I’m not sure when you’ll be back, but I thought bringing them with you might bring you a little happiness."

Cammy pressed a hand to her chest, swallowing the lump in her throat. "That’s so thoughtful of you," she murmured, her voice wavering. "Thank you." She took a deep breath before adding, "I don’t know if I’ll ever come back here. Please... take care of the house. And everyone."

Debbie’s expression tightened with sorrow, but she nodded. "We will miss you, Madam."

Without another word, she wrapped Cammy in a final embrace—warm, lingering, filled with a silent understanding that things would never be the same again. And then, just like that, Cammy and Greg were gone.

As the car rumbled down the driveway, Cammy sat in the passenger seat, her fingers delicately tracing the petals of the flowers in her lap.

Greg glanced at her. "You really like flowers that much?"

A wistful smile ghosted across her lips. "I do... but I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed. It’s just..." She exhaled, gazing out the window. "These flowers hold so many memories. I never imagined I’d leave that house so soon. I always thought I’d grow old there."

Greg didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tightened his grip on the wheel, stealing a quick look at her. There was something about the way she held those flowers—like they were the last tangible piece of a life she wasn’t ready to let go of.

Greg’s curiosity was growing with every passing minute, especially when it came to Cammy’s past—the things that had once made her happy. "Was the house built after you got married?" he asked, stealing a glance at her as he drove.

Cammy’s fingers absentmindedly stroked the petals of the bouquet in her lap. "No," she said, her voice carrying the weight of old memories.

"It was already built when Duncan surprised me with it. He took me and my parents there after construction was finished... and that’s where he proposed." A wistful smile touched her lips. "He told me I could do whatever I wanted with the interior since he had already chosen the exterior."

Greg remained silent for a beat, processing her words. Then, out of nowhere, he said, "My offer still stands, you know. If you ever want to build your dream house from the ground up, just say the word. There’s still plenty of space on the property."

Cammy turned to him, blinking in surprise before bursting into laughter. "Alright, alright," she said, shaking her head. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Greg smirked, pleased with himself. Maybe one day, she would take him up on that offer.

While Cammy and Greg drove home, laughter and light conversation filling the car, someone else was having an entirely different kind of evening—one filled with frustration and boiling anger.

"What the hell, Duncan?!" Orson’s voice echoed through the hospital room, his face a mask of disbelief. "Your nurse just called me to say you destroyed your phone and now I have to get it repaired? Are you serious?"

He took a step closer, his frustration mounting. "Why would you throw your phone in the first place? Do you even realize how much important stuff you had on it? Contacts, files—God knows what else! What the hell happened for you to completely lose your shit?!"

But Duncan didn’t answer. He sat stiffly on the hospital bed, arms crossed over his chest, his face set in a stubborn glare. His silence only made Orson’s blood boil hotter. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

"Are you going to tell me what happened or not?!" Orson demanded, his patience wearing dangerously thin.

"Just have it repaired. Don’t ask questions," Duncan said flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Orson let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head as he grabbed the ziplock bag filled with the shattered remains of Duncan’s phone. The device was barely recognizable—reduced to broken pieces after being hurled straight into the wall in a fit of rage.

Muttering under his breath, Orson pushed open the hospital room door and stepped out, only to nearly collide with Duncan’s private nurse. She had just returned, holding a plastic bag filled with takeout containers.

"Mr. Campbell, don’t leave just yet," she said, stopping him. "Mr. Veston asked me to buy dinner for three. Please have some before you go."

Orson paused, rubbing his temple. "Right... fine," he said, stuffing the ziplock bag into his pocket. Then, narrowing his eyes, he added, "But before I sit down and eat, tell me—what the hell happened to his phone?"

The nurse shifted uncomfortably, her expression wrapped with concern. "He was watching something on his phone earlier," she began.

"But he had his earphones in, so I don’t know what it was. It went on for a while, long enough that I thought he was just watching a movie or a series. But..." She hesitated, her brows furrowing. "His expression was different. He looked furious—more than I’ve ever seen him."

Orson listened intently, his jaw tightening as she continued.

"He kept cursing under his breath, slamming his fist against the bed every now and then. At first, I thought it might be sports—like his team lost or something. But then, out of nowhere, he just snapped. He threw his phone straight at the wall with everything he had. The impact shattered it completely."

She swallowed hard, her voice lowering. "After that, he just kept hitting the bed, cursing over and over. Then... he told me to get out before he—" She paused, her lips pressing together. "Before he broke down."

Orson remained silent, his grip tightening on the ziplock bag in his pocket.

"I stayed outside," the nurse admitted. "I could still hear him... cursing at someone. But I couldn’t make out the name." She sighed, her voice marked with sadness. "Whoever it was, they must’ve really hurt him. I could feel the pain in his voice."

Orson exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, his tone firm. "Thanks for telling me. But don’t mention this to him. And definitely don’t tell Annie. If I think his lawyer needs to know, I’ll handle it. Do you understand?"

The nurse nodded, her lips sealing shut.

"Good. Now, go back inside," Orson instructed. "I won’t be staying for dinner. I need to run to the cellphone shop before it closes."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode out of the hospital, his pace quickening. The night air hit him as he stepped outside, but it did nothing to cool the thoughts racing through his mind.

’There’s only one person in this world who could make Duncan this angry—angry enough to break down like that.’

’Cammy.’

’What the hell happened this time?’

The thought nagged at Orson as he hurried down the dimly lit street, his grip tightening on the shattered remains of Duncan’s phone. He had known Duncan for years—long enough to recognize that the man rarely lost control like this.

It took something, or rather someone, to push him over the edge. And that someone was always Cammy.

’They’re already having a divorce, so what else could she ever do that could make him lose his mind like that?’

No matter how hard Orson thinks about what could happen, he really can’t put the pieces together.

Orson reached the shop just in time, pushing open the glass door with more force than necessary. As the clerk greeted him, he placed the ruined phone on the counter.

"Can you fix this?" he asked, his voice edged with urgency.

The clerk raised an eyebrow at the sorry state of the device. "Depends. What the hell happened to it?"

Orson let out a dry chuckle. "Let’s just say... someone had a really bad day."

And something told him this was only the beginning.