My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge
Chapter 276: Buried Fury

Chapter 276: Buried Fury

Before Richard could draw breath to launch his furious rebuttal, the door to the hospital suite slammed open with a deafening crack.

Everyone inside jumped. The sharp, jarring sound echoed off the sterile walls like a gunshot.

A woman stormed in—graying hair disheveled, eyes blazing with fury, her presence like a thunderstorm rolling into the room. Greg froze. She looked... familiar. Her posture. Her gait. Her energy. It was like seeing a ghost from a blurred memory.

He barely had time to process it when—

*SLAP!*

The sound was sharp and brutal, and for a moment, the world went still.

Richard’s head snapped to the side, the color draining from his face as he held his cheek, stunned into silence. No one in the room had ever seen him—the great Richard Cross—struck like that. Not by business rivals. Not by enemies. And certainly not like this.

"You damn old man!" the woman seethed, her voice shaking from emotion. "How dare you speak that way about the woman your son loves! About the mother of your unborn grandchildren!"

Her voice cracked. Her hands trembled. "You haven’t changed, Richard. You’ve only rotted. More bitter. More cruel. More obsessed with power. I kept my silence for years—but not anymore."

Greg couldn’t breathe.

Richard opened his mouth, but she cut him off like a blade through air.

"Sue me. Drag me to court for breaking our agreement. I don’t give a damn anymore. I entrusted you with our son because I believed—even in your twisted way—you loved him.

That you’d at least protect his happiness." Her voice cracked again, this time filled with sorrow. "But no. You’re doing to him exactly what you did to me. And I’ll be damned if I let history repeat itself!"

Richard still said nothing, his cheek red from the blow, his eyes unreadable.

"You will use every ounce of your power to help Greg and Cammy—every judge, every lawyer, every favor you’ve banked over decades. I don’t care if you have to burn Duncan to the ground or strangle that godforsaken ex-husband of hers with your bare hands—which I know you’re more than capable of," she spat, voice rising into a growl.

"But the one thing—" she jabbed a trembling finger in his direction, "the one thing you will not do—is destroy my son’s happiness the way you destroyed mine, you heartless, greedy, selfish bastard!"

She raised her handbag high, her fury boiling over, about to swing it again—but Aarya lunged between them, shielding Richard with her own body.

"Felicity, stop!" Aarya shouted, clutching the woman’s wrist with both hands. "Please! If you need to hit someone, hit me. But Richard—he’s unwell. His blood pressure’s unstable. Another shock like this could kill him!"

Felicity’s arm trembled mid-air, then slowly lowered as the haze of rage began to clear.

Her chest heaved with every breath, her eyes glassy with tears she refused to let fall.

Across the room, Greg—silent until now—took a shaky step back, bumping into the edge of the sofa behind him. He sat down hard, like the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

His lips parted, dry and trembling.

"M-Mom...?"

Felicity’s eyes turned to him—soft now, despite the fire still burning behind them.

Felicity’s shoulders dropped, the adrenaline draining from her like a punctured dam. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. She turned slowly, her face softening as she looked at the young man who had once been her whole world.

Her eyes, once blazing with fury, now shimmered with unshed tears—grief, regret, longing.

She met Greg’s gaze with trembling lips and a voice that barely rose above a whisper.

"Hello, Gregory... It’s been a long time."

She took one careful step toward him. Then another. Her hands hung limply by her sides, as if afraid to reach for something she feared would shatter.

Greg’s jaw clenched. His eyes were wide—but not with joy or reunion. With disbelief. Betrayal.

He stood up like he’d been burned, his chair scraping back with a jarring screech.

"No." His voice cracked. One word, drenched in decades of pain. "No. You don’t get to show up and act like this. Not now. Not like this."

He moved—swift, purposeful—and stormed toward the door. Aarya called his name, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. Not even once.

Felicity froze, her mouth open in a silent cry as he disappeared down the hall.

Her heart trembled in her chest.

She turned to Richard, and the softness vanished in an instant. Her spine straightened. Her fists balled.

"We are not done," she hissed, pointing a shaking finger at the man still seated in stunned silence.

"You will help Greg. And you will help Cammy. You’ll pull every string you have, every rotten favor you’ve buried in your damned empire. Because if you don’t—" her voice dropped to a growl,

"You’ll face the full force of the fury you buried in me for almost twenty-three years. Do not test me, Richard. I am not the same woman whom you could walk over in the past."

And without waiting for a reply, Felicity turned on her heel and walked out with the same storm-force she came in with—only now, her fury had a purpose.

She strode down the hospital hallway, scanning frantically.

Then she saw him.

Greg—tall, tense, and furious—pushing the door open to Cammy’s room.

Felicity broke into a near run.

She reached the room just as the door swung shut behind him, and with a shaky breath, she pushed it open and followed.

Felicity opened the door slowly, carefully, like she was afraid it might scream at her for coming in. She didn’t want to interrupt—not yet. Not until she understood the shape of the moment she was walking into.

The room was dimly lit, washed in the soft glow of morning sunlight filtering through half-drawn curtains. The TV was on, playing something neither of them seemed to care about.

There, by the bed—Greg.

Her heart ached.

But she didn’t speak.

She just watched.