My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge-Chapter 244: Bleeding Silently

Eve and Mrs. Moore returned to the restaurant, the warm, savory aroma of fresh ramen filling the air as they moved swiftly between tables, distributing steaming bowls to everyone.

The atmosphere lightened slightly as the comforting scent wrapped around them, but Eve’s heart still raced, the memory of Greg’s broken figure burned into her mind.

As she carefully set a bowl in front of Richard, she caught him glancing around, his sharp gaze sweeping the room like a hawk.

"Where’s Greg?" Richard asked, his voice carrying a low note of authority that made Eve flinch inside.

Thinking quickly, she forced a bright smile to her lips and answered, "Oh, Mr. Moore needed help lifting some heavy sacks of ingredients. Normally, the staff would take care of it, but since it’s just family here today, Greg offered to help. Always the gentleman—even though he’s a CEO of a multi-million dollar company."

She handed him a neatly wrapped pair of chopsticks, praying he would buy the lie.

Richard’s face lit up with a prideful smirk, his chest puffing slightly as if Greg’s goodness were a reflection of his own greatness.

"That’s my son," he said, unwrapping the wooden chopsticks with deliberate ease. "Always helpful. Always knew how to step up when needed."

Eve nodded quickly, masking her inner turmoil. She hated how easy it was to deceive him—but the alternative would have been worse. Much worse.

"Is there anything else you need, Mr. Cross? I can grab it for you when I head back inside," Eve offered, keeping her voice light, almost casual.

Richard waved her off dismissively, already engrossed in tasting the rich broth of the ramen.

"No, dear, I’m good. You go on and finish your work."

Eve bowed her head slightly, murmuring a polite thank you before spinning on her heel and walking away. Her steps were quick but controlled, and it wasn’t until she passed through the kitchen doors again that she allowed herself to breathe.

’Thank God,’ she thought with a shiver.

If Richard had decided to call Greg out... if he had seen him—seen the cracks in the armor he thought his son wore so proudly—questions would have poured like acid, burning everything they were trying desperately to keep from unraveling.

And Eve knew...

One wrong word from Richard, and all of them—especially Greg—might not survive it. freewebnσvel.cøm

Everyone had finally settled into a comfortable rhythm, the clatter of chopsticks and low hum of conversation filling the ramen shop.

Bowls of steaming broth, springy noodles, and fresh toppings were being slurped eagerly, the tension from earlier slowly dissolving into the comforting ritual of eating.

Just as Cammy was beginning to relax, the kitchen door creaked open.

Mr. Moore and Greg finally emerged.

All heads instinctively turned toward them—and in an instant, the table went quiet again.

Greg’s eyes were puffy, unmistakably red even under the warm lighting.

It was a sight that made Cammy’s heart squeeze painfully in her chest.

Richard was the first to speak, setting his chopsticks down with a faint clack.

"What happened to your eyes, Gregory?" he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of concern threading through it.

Before Greg could even open his mouth to respond, Mr. Moore clapped a hearty hand on his back, making him stagger slightly forward.

"This man here," Mr. Moore said, voice booming with theatrical pride, "was very brave. Helped me chop not just one—but ten whole onions." He let out a loud, hearty laugh that echoed around the room.

The others caught on quickly, chuckling and exchanging knowing looks—no one believing it for a second, but grateful for the lifeline Mr. Moore threw over the heavy truth.

Greg gave a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his neck as he played along.

"Yeah... Sorry. Thought I was man enough to handle it, but turns out I wasn’t trained for the battlefield that is onion-chopping."

The laughter grew louder, richer, helping to wash away the heaviness that had been sitting like a stone in all their chests.

Richard laughed the hardest, slapping the table once as tears of amusement gathered at the corners of his eyes.

"You did your best, son. That’s all that matters!"

Greg smiled weakly and slid into his seat, trying to look like he belonged again—trying to forget, just for a moment, that the woman he loved was slipping further away with every ticking second.

Lunch continued with light-hearted conversation.

Richard leaned back in his chair after another generous mouthful of ramen, patting his belly contentedly.

"Mr. Moore, this is incredible. Truly. You could teach the top restaurants in Tokyo a thing or two."

Mr. Moore’s cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"These are actually new recipes," he admitted proudly. "Courtesy of Ric here."

He tilted his head toward Ric, who nodded modestly.

"Ric taught me how to modernize the old traditional ramen styles," Mr. Moore continued.

"Add a twist here and there—different broths, fusion toppings. It’s still authentic, but fresh enough to bring in a new crowd."

"Well, it’s bloody genius," Richard said, lifting his bowl slightly in a toast.

"To tradition and innovation."

Everyone joined in the small toast, the clinking of bowls light and merry.

And for a moment—just a moment—the cracks in their hearts were hidden beneath smiles, and the ghosts of what might have been were pushed into the shadows.

But not erased.

Never erased.

Everyone slowly finished their food, the once lively chatter settling into a comfortable, satisfied quiet. Bowls were pushed aside, chopsticks laid down, and napkins crumpled as the meal wound to an end.

Richard stood first, dusting invisible crumbs off his pants before reaching for his coat.

"Well, we’ll leave you young ones to your unpacking," he said with a grin.

He stepped toward Cammy and pulled her into a brief but firm hug, his cologne and fatherly warmth surrounding her like a heavy blanket she hadn’t asked for but couldn’t push away.

"I’ll forward you the number of a wedding planner I know," Richard whispered into her ear, his voice filled with a father’s pride and excitement. "Someone I trust. You’ll be in good hands, Cammy."

Cammy nodded stiffly, forcing a tight smile as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

Then Richard turned, giving Greg a meaningful look.

"Well, don’t just stand there, son. Say goodbye properly."

Greg’s jaw clenched, his shoulders rigid, but he moved toward her.

The moment felt like slow motion—like watching a wave build, knowing it would crash and leave nothing but wreckage behind.

He wrapped his arms around her briefly, a hug so fleeting and stiff it barely counted.

And then, his breath hot against her ear, Greg whispered so only she could hear:

"Spare me... don’t invite me."

Cammy froze, her body locking in place.

Her heart felt like it had been struck by lightning—splintered and scorched in a heartbeat.

By the time she gathered the courage to react, to say something, anything, Greg had already pulled away, the mask of indifference back over his face.

She could only watch, numb and rooted to the spot, as father and son made their way across the parking lot toward Richard’s sleek black car.

The engine roared to life, the tires crunching on the gravel—and then they were gone.

Cammy stood there in the middle of the quiet street, arms limp at her sides, the wind tugging at her hair.

She stared after them, unable to move, unable to breathe, the pain slicing through her like a thousand invisible knives.

Her chest burned, her eyes stung—but no tears fell.

It was a deeper kind of agony, the kind that hollowed you out from the inside, leaving nothing but echoes where your heart used to be.

She didn’t notice Eve approaching softly from behind.

She didn’t hear Ric calling her name gently.

Cammy stood there...

Staring...

Hurting...

Bleeding silently.