My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge
Chapter 121: Not Heartless

Chapter 121: Not Heartless

"Orson, can you please tell me what happened?" Cammy’s voice trembled slightly as she stepped closer. "Was this because of his fight with Greg earlier? I swear, I never saw Greg hit him anywhere near his liver."

Deep inside, she was pleading for Orson to deny it. The last thing she wanted was for Greg to get into serious trouble because of her.

Orson hesitated, his jaw tightening as he studied her face. He wasn’t sure if this was something Duncan would want her to know. But as he took in the raw worry in her eyes, the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly at her sides, he knew she deserved the truth. She still cared—no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise.

With a heavy sigh, Orson ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Alright, I’ll tell you. Duncan might kill me for this, but here it goes."

He glanced away for a second, almost as if preparing himself for a blowback, then finally met her gaze.

"After his fight with Greg, we went to Annie’s house. Duncan wanted to talk to her father—you know how desperate his situation is. He had to send Annie back after finding out that you and Dylan were still alive."

Cammy felt her stomach twist into knots. "And?"

Orson let out a dry chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "And Annie’s father was not happy to see him. I mean, what father would be? If someone had done the same thing to my daughter, I’d have beaten him half to death too."

Cammy’s throat tightened, dreading the rest. "So... he attacked Duncan?"

"He didn’t just attack him—he destroyed him," Orson muttered, his fists clenching. "Beat him so badly he could barely stand. And you know the worst part? Duncan just let him. Didn’t throw a single punch back. He took every hit, knowing he deserved it."

Cammy’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what hurt more—the fact that Duncan had been beaten so mercilessly or the fact that he had simply accepted it.

Orson sighed, rubbing his temples before muttering under his breath, ’Damnit, Duncan. Please don’t kill me. At least I left out your dealings with Bartolomeu. That’s up to you now.’

"What? Are you telling me he went there just to apologize and ended up getting beaten half to death? That’s insane! You should report this to the police!" Cammy’s voice rose in both anger and disbelief, her heart pounding.

’Fuck! This is not going as smoothly as I thought!’ Orson cursed inwardly, his mind scrambling for a way to calm her down.

He immediately raised his hands in a dismissive gesture. "No, no, no, Cammy, please—do not report anything. Let Duncan handle this himself. Bartolomeu Tucker is a dangerous man, powerful and ruthless. He’s not someone you want to turn into an enemy."

Cammy’s hands curled into fists. "So, what? We just let this go? Pretend it never happened? He could have died, Orson!"

"I know," Orson admitted, exhaling sharply. "But Duncan knew exactly what he was walking into. I think... deep down, he expected this. Hell, maybe he even thought he deserved it."

Cammy’s stomach churned at the thought. The Duncan she knew would never just stand there and take a beating.

"You should have stopped it when it got out of hand, Orson." Her voice was tight with accusation.

"I tried, Cammy," Orson said with a heavy heart. "I swear I did. But Duncan stopped me. He stood there, let every punch land, let Bartolomeu take out every ounce of rage on him." He shook his head, the memory making his blood boil. "He just took it. Blow after blow, until Bartolomeu was satisfied."

Cammy felt her throat tighten. ’What the hell was Duncan thinking?’

Cammy exhaled deeply, leaning back against the cold, rigid chair. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the fabric of her sleeve as she stared at the floor, lost in thought.

"Well... come to think of it, you have a point," she admitted, her voice quieter now, filled with reluctant understanding. "If someone did that to my child, I’d be furious too. I can’t say I’d react any differently."

Orson nodded, watching her carefully. "Yeah... I think, in his own twisted way, that was Duncan’s version of an apology. Maybe now they’re even." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But he’s not gonna bounce back from this overnight.

It’s gonna take weeks for him to recover. I’ll do everything I can to keep things running at the office, but, Cammy... I need to know I can count on you while he’s here. I have a family too—I can’t be in three places at once."

Cammy lifted her gaze to meet his, determination flickering in her tired eyes. "I was already thinking about that, Orson. I might be divorcing him, but I’m not heartless. I wouldn’t just abandon him when he has no one else and needs me the most."

There was something in the way she said it—almost like a promise. And for Orson, that was enough.

He had known Duncan for years, ever since their college days. Despite being the older one, Orson had always admired Duncan’s sharp mind, and his unshakable ambition. Duncan never let anyone see his weaknesses and never allowed himself to be vulnerable.

But tonight, everything was different. And for once, Orson wasn’t sure Duncan could stand back up on his own.

It was well past midnight when Duncan’s operation finally ended. The long hours had been grueling, each minute stretching unbearably as Cammy and Orson sat in tense silence, waiting for any news.

When the doctors finally emerged, confirming that the surgery was successful, neither of them could fully exhale until they saw Duncan safely transferred—first to the recovery room, then finally to a VIP suite.

Cammy had arranged for the room right beside Dylan’s, ensuring that she could check on both of them without hassle. Despite everything Duncan had done—despite the pain he had inflicted upon her—she couldn’t, in good conscience, walk away.

Not when he had no one else. Not when the very thought of him lying alone in that sterile hospital room made something in her chest tighten.

As she had done for Dylan, she hired a private nurse to stay with Duncan around the clock. But tonight—his first night post-surgery—she chose to stay herself.

She wanted to be there when he woke up. She wanted to talk to him, even if she wasn’t sure what she would say.

She tried to fight it, but exhaustion eventually won. Her body, running on stress and sleepless nights, surrendered to sleep in the reclining chair beside his bed.

**********

The first thing Duncan felt when consciousness crept back in was pain.

Blinding, searing, all-encompassing pain.

There was no part of his body that didn’t ache, no movement that didn’t send sharp stabs through his limbs. For a moment, he didn’t even want to open his eyes—waking up meant feeling everything.

But as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the hospital blinds, his eyelids fluttered open. He took in his surroundings with slow, careful blinks. The pristine white walls, the quiet hum of machines—it looked strangely familiar.

’This... this is Dylan’s VIP room, isn’t it?’

His mind was slow, groggy from medication, but memories of the night before flickered in—the fight, the blood, Orson shouting at him to hold on.

’Right. Orson must have brought me here.’

He would have smirked if his face didn’t feel like it had been caved in with a sledgehammer.

’I should give him a bonus. This was definitely not in his job description.’

He attempted to shift, to look for his phone, but the sharp pull of pain made him stop immediately. Instead, he turned his head just enough to glance at the left side of the bed—and what he saw nearly made his breath catch.

Cammy.

She was curled up in the reclining chair, her breathing slow, her face softened in sleep. The sight of her there, beside him, after everything that had happened... it stunned him more than the pain ever could.

His throat was dry, raw from the oxygen tubes that had been there hours before, but he still forced out a single, pained whisper.

"Cammy...?"

Even saying that much burned.

And yet, he knew—this pain would be nothing compared to whatever came next.

Duncan stared at her, his vision still hazy, his mind sluggish from the heavy painkillers. But even through the blur, he could see the exhaustion etched into her face. Had she stayed here all night?

A pang of something unfamiliar—guilt, maybe?—settled in his chest. He had done so much to push her away, yet here she was, sleeping beside him like she had once done in a life that now felt like a distant dream.

His fingers twitched, aching to reach for her, but even the thought of movement sent pain shooting through his ribs. So he settled for watching her, memorizing every detail of the woman he had spent years loving—and hurting.

She stirred slightly as if sensing his gaze, her brows furrowing before her eyes fluttered open. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then, in an exhausted voice but with relief, and something unreadable, she whispered, "You’re awake."