My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 291: Start of New Life

Cammy stood in the grand foyer of the Cross Estate as a silent technician secured a sleek, black anklet around her left ankle. It blinked once—alive—its GPS system now fully synced with the pre-approved zones she was allowed to travel to.

The cold click of the locking mechanism echoed louder than it should have.

It was official. Her house arrest had begun. freewebnoveℓ.com

The first destination on her list? St. Anne’s Home for Orphaned Children—the very place where she would serve out her two-year community sentence.

Though not behind bars, she felt the weight of her punishment with every step. But she’d made peace with it.

Greg had insisted on more than just a driver. He’d hired a full-time personal assistant, too—something Cammy hadn’t expected, and certainly didn’t ask for.

As they stood just outside the mansion’s front doors, Cammy turned to him with a scowl softened by affection.

"Greg," she huffed, arms folded over her six-month bump. "You didn’t have to assign me a babysitter. A driver would’ve been more than enough."

Greg only chuckled, wrapping his arms around her from behind, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.

"It’s not for you, babe—it’s for me," he whispered, voice low with concern. "You’re carrying our child. What if some wild kid runs into you? What if you slip or get dizzy and no one’s there to catch you? You don’t have to like it, but you will let me work without worrying about you every minute. Deal?"

Cammy groaned, rolling her eyes. "Ugh, fine. You win—again."

Just then, Edward pulled into the circular driveway, parking the black SUV in front of them. The rear doors opened, and two people stepped out—a well-groomed man and a warm-faced woman, both in crisp uniforms. They walked up to Cammy and Greg with polite smiles, extending their hands.

"Madam, Sir," Edward said, "This is Roger and Hanna—your new driver and assistant. They’re husband and wife, and they’ll be living on the estate full-time, effective today."

"Oh, that’s nice," Cammy said, pleasantly surprised. "Do you two have any children?"

"Not yet, Mrs. Cross," Roger replied with a shy smile. "We’re newly married, and we’re saving up before we even think about it."

"A wise and rare decision," Greg nodded approvingly, before turning back to Cammy. "Ready to go?"

Roger opened the back door for Cammy, but to her surprise, Greg slid into the seat beside her without hesitation.

She blinked. "Wait... why are you getting in?"

Greg smirked, settling comfortably. "I want to see where you’ll be spending your days for the next two years. I’ll head to the office after that—my driver’s trailing us."

Cammy shook her head, half-exasperated, half-touched. "You’re really not going to let me out of your sight, are you?"

He grinned and took her hand. "Just today. Tomorrow, I’ll let you go... maybe."

With a long sigh and a dramatic roll of her eyes, Cammy gave in, leaning back in her seat. Greg tapped Roger’s shoulder from the back seat, signaling him to go.

The drive from the Cross Estate to St. Anne’s Home for Orphaned Children took no more than twenty minutes—but with every passing minute, Cammy’s heart beat faster, and Greg’s expression grew more somber. They weren’t headed into the city’s glow or comfort. Instead, they were approaching something forgotten—something neglected.

The orphanage appeared like a ghost out of a time long past.

The gate creaked as it opened, rust flaking off in delicate orange trails. Two lanky teenage boys pushed it aside, their arms struggling against its corroded hinges. It groaned, as though warning them of the decay beyond.

And then—St. Anne’s came into full view.

Cammy’s breath caught in her throat.

The main building was heartbreak itself: peeling paint clung to its walls in tattered strips; weeds had choked the life out of what once might have been a vibrant garden; windows were either shattered, patched with plastic and duct tape, or blocked out entirely with warped plywood. The place looked abandoned, haunted... but it wasn’t. Children lived here.

Greg moved quickly to help Cammy down from the SUV. Her steps were slow and careful, but her eyes scanned everything. She didn’t speak—she couldn’t yet.

From the cracked concrete path, a nun approached with a warm, gentle smile. Behind her were a small group of children—some shy, others curious, all watching intently. A little girl with messy pigtails and mismatched shoes toddled up to Cammy and held out a wild bouquet—flowers plucked from the grounds, bruised and tangled but offered with such tenderness.

Cammy knelt slowly and took them, blinking back tears. "Thank you," she whispered, hugging the little girl.

At the same time, a boy not older than six looped a garland of jasmine around Greg’s neck, proud and beaming. Greg chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair, his heart quietly breaking.

"Welcome to St. Anne’s Home for Orphaned Children, Mr. and Mrs. Cross," the nun said, her voice as warm as the sun overhead. "I’m Sister Olivia."

Cammy took her hand with gratitude. "Thank you, Sister. I’m truly honored to be here. I’m looking forward to working with you."

Sister Olivia’s smile softened, though her eyes glistened. "We’re the ones honored, dear. And I must apologize for what you’ve seen. Our funding has dried up. Fewer people attend church these days... and even fewer remember places like this."

Greg stepped forward, his voice low but firm. "Sister, may I look around the property before I leave? I want to see where my wife will be spending the next two years."

"Of course," she nodded. "I was hoping you would. Come, I’ll show you everything."

They walked together through the grounds—and the deeper they went, the worse it became.

The children’s dormitories were crumbling. Roofs sagged. Beds were mismatched and patched. The playground was a skeleton of rusted metal and broken swings. Bathrooms were mostly unusable, with cracked tiles and leaking pipes. The kitchen—where food for dozens was prepared—looked ready to collapse. Only the dining area seemed functional, though barely, with duct-taped furniture and ancient appliances.

And yet... the place was clean. Spotless, even. There was no foul smell, no sign of laziness or filth. Every corner told of effort, of people trying their hardest despite having almost nothing. The children they passed greeted them with shy smiles and bright eyes, all polite, all thankful.