My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 173: Impulsive Decisions

Greg moved through the grand ballroom like a seasoned performer, flashing his charismatic smile and exchanging warm greetings with the sea of elegantly dressed guests.

He was in his element, effortlessly charming everyone who approached him. Cammy remained by his side, poised and graceful, though a storm raged beneath her composed exterior.

Richard’s words still echoed in her mind, threatening to shake her resolve. But she would not falter—not tonight. Not when Greg had trusted her enough to bring her into this world of power, prestige, and hidden daggers cloaked behind polite smiles.

A new wave of guests approached, and Greg turned to greet them when his face suddenly lit up with genuine surprise.

"Uncle Nick!" he exclaimed, his voice warm and welcoming. The older gentleman, Nicholas Parker, strode toward him with an air of authority, the kind that came naturally to men who had built empires with their bare hands.

"I didn’t know you’d come. Did you just arrive?" Greg’s greeting was followed by a hearty embrace, which Nicholas reciprocated with a knowing smile.

"Yes, just arrived. Apologies for being late. Your Aunt Amanda suddenly fell ill. We waited for her to get better, but she insisted that I should not wait anymore and come here and send her best regards."

"I hope she recovers soon," Greg said sincerely. "Though it’s a shame you missed a big moment—Harry’s promotion! He’s now our Chief Financial Officer." His chest swelled with pride as he spoke of his best friend’s achievement.

"Is that so?" Nicholas’s eyes glinted with something unreadable. "Well, that explains why he turned down my offer."

Greg chuckled, trying to ease whatever tension lingered in Nick’s voice. "Come now, Uncle. Think of this as training. You know Harry won’t stay in my company forever. Eventually, he’ll take over your business. You should be thanking me for preparing him!"

Despite the jest, Greg knew deep down that Harry had no intention of following in his father’s footsteps. At least, not while Nicholas still had control.

Nicholas let out a sigh, his expression unreadable. "I hope you’re right, Greg. Because something’s off with that boy. He got drunk and lost his damn mind recently.

We haven’t talked about it yet, but the timing couldn’t be worse. Do you have any idea how humiliating it would be for me to decline the Robinsons Group’s marriage proposal? Their eldest daughter is infatuated with him. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

She’s not only beautiful and intelligent but owns a quarter of their company. It would be foolish to pass up such an opportunity. Wouldn’t you agree?"

Greg hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. "I believe that’s the same incident our Chief Operating Officer mentioned to me. Don’t worry, Uncle Nick. I’ll ensure that my company isn’t placing unnecessary stress on him. We wouldn’t want him making impulsive decisions."

"That wasn’t impulsive, Greg."

The voice that cut through the conversation was cold, sharp, and painted with restrained defiance. Harry had joined them, a glass of champagne in hand, his posture relaxed but his eyes burning with quiet fury.

"Glad to see you here, Father." His greeting was formal, distant.

Nicholas nodded. "Of course, I wouldn’t miss this. Congratulations on your promotion, son. Use this as a stepping stone. When the time comes for you to take over, you’ll be well-prepared."

Harry’s fingers tightened around his glass. "I will never work for you. And I will never agree to your arranged marriage. So get over it. I’ll find other ways to get the help we need."

The words were final, like a guillotine dropping between them. The tension thickened, suffocating.

Greg, forced a chuckle, though it sounded a bit strained. "How about we eat first, Uncle? You should try the hotel’s cuisine. I promise you won’t regret it. Tonight is a celebration—Harry’s promotion, another successful year for the company. Let’s focus on that."

Nicholas exhaled slowly, reigning in his temper. "Greg’s right. We’ll discuss this later. For now, enjoy yourself, Harry. But don’t forget to visit your mother. She’s unwell and wants to see you."

Harry gave a reluctant nod, meeting Greg’s gaze. He saw the silent plea there—’don’t escalate this further.’ He wouldn’t, for Greg’s sake.

The tension barely had time to dissipate before Nicholas turned his attention to Cammy. His gaze dropped to where Greg’s arm protectively wrapped around her waist, a knowing smirk forming on his lips.

"Now, now, Greg. Are you planning to introduce me to this lovely young woman you seem so possessive over?"

Greg’s smirk mirrored his uncle’s. "Uncle Nick, meet my new Executive Assistant, Cammy Watson."

Nicholas raised a brow. "Just an assistant? With the way you’re holding her, I’d wager she’s more than that."

Cammy forced a polite laugh, extending her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Parker."

Nicholas took her hand with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Ah, the pleasure is all mine to meet a lovely lady tonight. Lucky me!"

"Don’t flirt with her, Uncle. She’s mine," Greg shot back playfully.

Nicholas chuckled. "Cammy, don’t take it seriously. I’m just teasing. But do let me know if this man overworks you. Harry’s shoes won’t be easy to fill. You’ll need all the luck you can get."

Eve’s stomach twisted in a knot the moment her gaze landed on Nicholas Parker. Her body reacted before her mind could process it, a rush of unease washing over her like a tidal wave.

Without thinking, she whirled around sharply, her breath hitching in her throat. Her hand shot out instinctively, clutching Chiqui’s arm in a death grip. The sudden movement startled Chiqui, who turned to her in alarm.

As Chiqui’s attention was drawn to Eve, she noticed her hands were trembling when she unknowingly grasped her arm, her face pale as if she had seen a ghost.

"Eve, what’s wrong?" she whispered, concern etching deep lines into her face.

Eve’s heart pounded furiously in her chest, her fingers digging into Chiqui’s skin. She struggled to steady her breathing, but the sheer force of whatever had gripped her refused to loosen its hold. Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but no words came out—only silence, thick and suffocating.

"Can you come with me? I need some air. Please." Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper, but the urgency in her tone sent shivers down Chiqui’s spine.

"Of course! You look unwell. Hold onto me, let’s step outside."

Eve clutched Chiqui’s arm and pulled her toward the exit. She moved with such urgency that she failed to notice the people in her path—until she collided into someone with force.

"Ouch! Watch where you’re going!" The irritated voice belonged to a tall, striking blonde woman.

Eve’s breath hitched. Her blood ran cold. Her already pale complexion turned ghostly white, her lips draining of color as her eyes locked onto the woman’s. The moment stretched unbearably, the air between them thick with something unspoken, something dark.

The blonde woman’s face was equally stunned, her expression flickering between recognition and shock. It was as if time had frozen, trapping them in a moment of shared history that neither had prepared to relive.

Chiqui glanced between them, her heart hammering. "Eve? What’s wrong? Who is—"

But Eve wasn’t listening. She was spiraling, trapped in the abyss of whatever past had just resurfaced.

The night had taken a dangerous turn, and the ghosts they thought were buried were no longer content to stay hidden.

Chiqui’s stomach twisted at the eerie stillness between them. She had never seen Eve look so stricken, so utterly paralyzed. "Eve?" she whispered cautiously. "Are you okay? Who is she?"

But Eve didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because the woman standing before her wasn’t just a stranger.

She was a ghost from the past.

And she had just returned to haunt her.

"Eve?" The woman’s voice finally broke through the thick tension hanging in the air.

But it wasn’t enough to snap Eve out of her trance. Her mind had become an unrelenting storm, a whirlwind of memories crashing down upon her like an unstoppable tsunami.

The past—the unbearable torment, the pain, the humiliation—came rushing back with such ferocity that she felt as if she were drowning in it. And standing before her was one of the people responsible for her suffering, a living ghost from the nightmare she had fought so hard to escape.

Her body felt frozen, paralyzed under the weight of resurfacing agony. Images of her parents’ anguish, her daughter’s unfortunate life, the betrayal, the cruelty—all of it suffocated her, gripping her chest in a vice-like hold. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.

"Eve, is that you?" the woman spoke again, her voice covered with uncertainty. This time, she reached out, her fingers brushing against Eve’s elbow in a hesitant attempt to ground her.

The contact was like a shockwave surging through Eve’s body. The static sensation jolted her back to the present, forcing her out of the nightmare’s grasp. Instinct took over.

She recoiled violently, yanking her arm away as if burned. Her heart pounded furiously against her ribcage.

"Don’t touch me!" she spat, her voice trembling yet sharp as a dagger.

The intensity of her reaction startled not only the blonde woman but also Chiqui, who had never seen Eve like this before.

Without another word, Eve spun around and clutched Chiqui’s wrist. "Chiqui, let’s go," she commanded, her voice barely above a whisper but carrying the force of a storm.

The blonde woman remained frozen in place, her mouth slightly open, watching in stunned silence as Eve walked away—like a shadow slipping through her fingers, untouchable, unreachable.

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