My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 197: Cammy’s Fury (1)

Cammy and Dylan boarded the earliest flight to Arlon City, determined to squeeze every second out of their three-day visit—Dylan had to return to school immediately after, and Cammy...

Cammy was running on fumes. Sleep had evaded her entirely. Between the late-night arrival at her apartment and the bombshell revelations from Richard Cross, her mind hadn’t stopped spinning.

"Miss Cammy Watson?"

The voice sliced through her fog of exhaustion. A young man stood before her in the departure area of the airport, nervously flicking his gaze between his phone and her face, as though unsure which one held the real truth.

Cammy’s brows furrowed. She didn’t know him. "Who are you?" Her voice was calm, but it carried the sharpness of someone who’d had just enough.

"I—uh—my name is Lance. I’m your parents’ new driver. Mrs. Watson sent me to pick you up."

Her expression hardened. "My mother hired a driver?" She laughed under her breath, humorless and sharp-edged. "Interesting. I wonder which imaginary account she’s using to pay your salary."

She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. "I texted her to pick us up. Instead, she sends you?"

Lance scratched the back of his head, flashing a sheepish, uncertain smile. "Madam is... with her friends. She asked me to pick her up later tonight."

Cammy exhaled, long and slow. A familiar blend of disappointment and frustration tightened in her chest. But the young man in front of her didn’t deserve her fury—he was just the messenger, collateral in a much larger mess. "Right," she muttered. "And where’s my father?"

"In the penthouse, ma’am. Would you like me to take you there, or...?"

She was already moving. "Take us home—" She stopped mid-step, a sharp pivot. "Actually, change of plan. Take us to the penthouse first. I’ll drop off my son and his nanny... and then you’re going to drive me to wherever my mother is."

Lance’s eyes went wide. He froze, mouth slightly open, like a deer in headlights. Cammy’s aura had shifted—suddenly cold, commanding. She looked every bit the villainess of a drama, wrapped in an angel’s disguise. The sweet curves of her face clashed violently with the fire in her voice.

He didn’t move.

"What? Cat got your feet?" she asked, her tone now edged with ice.

Lance swallowed hard. "Ma’am... are you sure? I mean, Madam might get upset. I-I don’t want to—"

"If you’re afraid of her," Cammy cut in smoothly, "just drop me off. You don’t even have to stick around."

Something in her tone—cool, unwavering, final—told Lance there was no room for debate. He nodded quickly, defeated, and motioned toward the parking lot.

As they walked, Cammy’s eyes hardened, jaw clenched. There was something brewing beneath her calm exterior—vengeance, maybe. Or perhaps just the boiling point of too many buried truths. Either way, someone was about to get burned.

She just had enough.

**********

Lance pulled up to the edge of a glittering marina, the hum of the engine fading into the distant thrum of music and laughter. Cammy’s brows knitted together as she stared out the window, confusion prickling her senses.

"What the hell is this...?"

Then she saw it.

A sleek, gleaming yacht bobbed gently in the water, dressed like a circus for the rich—streamers fluttering in the breeze, golden balloons tied to polished railings, and strings of lights twinkling like stars. Music floated over the dock, mingling with the sound of clinking glasses and hollow laughter.

A party. A celebration.

Her heart sank. And then it hardened.

One brow arched as realization sank in, sharp and merciless. Of course. Of course her mother would do this. It was all so clear now—Monica had sold her out. Thrown her into the lion’s den for a taste of luxury, for the fake affection of equally fake friends, for the fleeting approval of Arlon’s elite. And Duncan—he was at the center of it all.

Cammy stepped out of the car slowly, every movement controlled, deliberate. Her heels clicked against the dock with the precision of a countdown. Her hands clenched at her sides, the only visible sign of the storm brewing inside her.

She turned to Lance, her voice steady, but colder than frostbite. "You can go, Lance. There’s no need to wait."

The driver, clearly relieved to escape the tension curling off her in waves, gave a quick nod and hurried back to the car.

Cammy didn’t move right away. She stared at the yacht, her jaw tight, her pulse steady—but barely. The fury inside her was quiet. Measured. Deadly.

Let them toast their lies and clink their glasses over her fate.

She was walking into the lion’s den—but this time, she was the fire.

Cammy’s heels clicked on the wooden dock as she walked toward the yacht, her steps as careful as a predator’s closing in on its prey. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

The laughter and music grew louder with each step, the air thick with the scent of overpriced perfume and champagne. She could already feel the eyes on her, even though she hadn’t yet reached the party.

As she neared the yacht’s entrance, one of her mother’s friends spotted her. The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, and before Cammy could even register the reaction, the friend was already calling out her mother.

"Monica," the woman said in a hushed voice, clearly still trying to keep her composure despite the situation, "your daughter is here."

A second later, Monica herself appeared from inside the yacht, striding out with the haughty grace only someone like her could carry. But her face was tight, angry, the mask of control slipping.

"What are you doing here?" Monica spat, her voice sharp and filled with accusation.

Cammy’s rage simmered beneath the surface, bubbling up until it finally erupted. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. Her words cut through the tense air like a blade.

"Is this what you get from selling me to Duncan?" Cammy’s voice was louder than she intended, the words echoing across the marina. "You wanted your socialite life more than the peace of mind of your own daughter? Was that the price you were willing to pay?"

The guests on the yacht, once unaware of the family drama unfolding, now looked toward them. Whispers began to stir. Cammy’s voice had carried, raw with hurt and fury.

Monica’s smile flickered, a tight, strained thing. She glanced nervously at the onlookers, quickly raising her hands in a placating gesture. "I’m so sorry, everyone. My daughter is tired from her flight. Please, enjoy yourselves," she said, forcing a smile, even though the anger was radiating off her like heat from a furnace.

Without waiting for any more attention, Monica seized Cammy by the arm and yanked her away from the party, leading her down the dock and away from the marina.

The noise grew distant, and soon they were in a quiet, secluded corner of the yacht club, away from the prying eyes. Monica didn’t slow her pace until they reached a nearby bench, where she shoved Cammy down roughly, forcing her to sit.