My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 226: Just For Today (3)

[~Song Recommendation: High, High, High - Camylio~]

The sun began its slow descent, casting golden light across the sand, bathing the villa and the shore in a warm, honeyed glow. The air smelled of the ocean and roasted garlic, fresh herbs and grilled fish.

Soft music played from a small Bluetooth speaker tucked near the villa porch—simple acoustic melodies that matched the serenity of the beach and the intimacy of the moment.

Greg and Cammy danced barefoot on the warm sand, their shoes forgotten somewhere along the porch steps. His hands rested on her waist, hers draped gently around his neck. They swayed slowly, as if the world had stopped spinning just for them.

No more tears. No more weight.

Just them.

In this fragile, perfect moment.

Behind them, one long wooden table sat beneath string lights hung from the porch railing to nearby palm trees.

White linen covered the tabletop, and simple plates of food—roast chicken, buttered prawns, grilled squid and fish, baked mussels and steamed oysters, fresh fruits, and slices of chocolate cake—waited for hungry guests.

No alcohol. Just bottles of cold sparkling grape juice catching the last rays of sunlight, uncorked and bubbling into plastic flutes.

Greg had insisted: "I want everyone to remember this day clearly. No fuzz, no haze. Just the reality."

Harry was the first to join the dancing, pulling Eve with him to the sand.

Ethan took Ellie’s hand next, and the pair burst into laughter as they clumsily twirled each other, their feet slipping in the soft sand.

For the first time in days—maybe weeks—laughter floated in the air, unburdened and light. It wrapped around everyone like a soft blanket.

Even Cammy had forgotten, just for now, the pain etched into the corners of her heart. She tilted her head back as Greg whispered something into her ear, and she laughed—whole and bright. The kind of laugh that echoed through the soul.

From the porch, Grace sat with Judge Thompson, both of them with full plates and quiet smiles.

"She looks happy," the judge commented, chewing slowly as he looked toward the dancing couples.

"She does," Grace replied, her voice soft.

Then her phone buzzed on the table.

She glanced down, wiped her hands on a napkin, and picked it up. As she read the message, her brows furrowed, lips slowly pulling to the side into a crooked frown.

The judge noticed. "Bad news?" he asked.

Grace sighed, then set her phone down face-down. "It’s both... good and bad."

She stared out at the beach where Cammy was spinning barefoot in the sand, her hair catching the wind like ribbons of gold and fire.

"I’ll tell them tomorrow," Grace added, taking a sip from her grape juice. "This day is theirs. Let them have it... before everything changes again."

Judge Thompson didn’t press.

He simply nodded, his eyes full of understanding.

As the sky turned from gold to twilight, the soft melodies faded, and the laughter quieted.

One by one, the guests began to say their goodbyes—hugs were exchanged, cheeks kissed, and promises whispered to preserve the magic of the day in memory.

Eve and Harry were the last to leave. Eve wrapped her arms tightly around Cammy, whispering, "You’re stronger than you think. I’m so damn proud of you."

Cammy blinked through her emotion and whispered back, "Thank you... for everything."

Then, the sound of the car doors closing, tires crunching against the sand-and-stone driveway, and finally... silence.

It was just Greg and Cammy now.

The stars began peeking through the deepening sky. Waves still rolled gently nearby, but the villa stood still in its glowing peace—private, intimate, theirs.

Greg turned to Cammy, his boyish grin returning like the sun breaking through clouds. Without warning, he grabbed her hand, and in one playful swoop, yanked her toward him.

"What are you—GREG!" she yelped, but it was too late.

With a laugh, he swept her off her feet and jumped—both of them splashing into the villa’s pool, wedding clothes and all.

The cold water shocked a gasp out of Cammy, her dress ballooning around her in floating lace and tulle.

"You’re crazy!" she shouted, water dripping from her lashes as she pushed her wet hair out of her face. "I like this dress and you want to ruin it?!"

Greg swam closer, laughter bubbling in his chest. "You look beautiful soaking wet. Even more than before. Who knew that was possible?"

Cammy tried to scowl at him—but the smile was already spreading. She started laughing too, wild and free.

Their laughter faded into something softer as they met in the center of the pool. Greg reached for her, brushing a wet curl from her cheek.

His eyes searched hers, and the playfulness in them dimmed into something deeper—aching and reverent.

Slowly, he kissed her. And Cammy let him.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, and certain. Like rediscovering something sacred.

When she began unbuttoning his soaked shirt, her fingers trembling slightly, Greg caught her wrists, holding them still.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with restraint. "I don’t want to—"

Cammy didn’t let him finish.

She nodded once, then twice—eyes steady.

"Yes," she said quietly. "Now shut up and undress me."

Greg stared at her, his chest rising and falling with awe and disbelief, then leaned forward to kiss her again—this time with no hesitation, no holding back.

The moon bore silent witness as layers of lace and fadric slipped away beneath the water. The sea murmured nearby. And for one night—whether it was forever or just until dawn—Cammy and Greg belonged only to each other.

Their breaths mingled, warm against the cool night air as fingers fumbled with soaked fabric.

Cammy’s hands trembled, not from fear, but from surrender.

Greg kissed her slowly, reverently, like each second mattered.

Her dress floated like a ghost around her, slipping off her shoulders as his hands found her waist.

He gasped softly when she touched him, as if her fingers lit fire beneath his skin.

Their bodies moved closer, hearts pounding, lips tasting desperation and devotion alike. Just for one last time they will give in to their heart’s desire before they face the incoming storm and live their lives separately.