My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge

Chapter 298: Her Father’s Daughter

Ric paced the gleaming corridor of the hospital’s VIP wing, every step echoing like a countdown. In one hand, he clutched a carefully wrapped bouquet of soft pink tulips—her favorite. In the other, a steaming takeout box of food she used to crave. His palms were slick with sweat, his grip tight, like he was holding onto hope itself.

Just a few feet away stood two armed guards stationed outside the room he was trying to reach. The sight of them alone made his stomach twist. He hadn’t been told not to come—but he hadn’t exactly been invited either.

He stopped mid-step, ran a hand through his hair, then turned back the other way. His shoes scuffed against the polished floor as he resumed pacing, heart pounding louder with each pass.

She might not want to see him. In fact, she’d made that painfully clear the last time they spoke—her voice trembling with fury, eyes burning with betrayal.

"Don’t ever show your face again."

Ric clenched his jaw. Maybe he should just leave.

Then, suddenly, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, making him jump.

He turned sharply, nearly dropping the food box.

"Easy there," said a voice—calm, deep, familiar.

Ric blinked, his eyes locking onto the towering figure of Bartolomeu Tucker—Annie’s father.

"What are you doing out here?" Bartolomeu asked, studying Ric with narrowed eyes. "I’ve been watching you pace like a man on trial. Why don’t you go inside?"

Ric swallowed hard, forcing a nervous smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well... she kinda kicked me out the last time we talked. Said she never wanted to see me again. So... I don’t know if today’s a good day to try my luck."

Bartolomeu looked him over for a long beat, eyes unreadable. Then his gaze dropped to the tulips, then to the food box.

"Those are her favorite," he said, voice softer now. "I can smell what’s in there. You brought that spicy beef stir-fry she loves, didn’t you?"

Ric nodded mutely.

Bartolomeu sighed, a ghost of a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Well, then. We’re not letting that go to waste."

He turned toward the guarded door.

"Come on," he said over his shoulder. "If she throws anything at you, I’ll catch it before it hits."

Ric hesitated, his pulse hammering in his ears.

"Are you sure—"

"Just follow me," Bartolomeu cut him off, already striding ahead. "You’ve got five minutes to say something that’ll keep her from hating you forever. Use it wisely."

With a deep breath and a racing heart, Ric followed.

The moment Ric stepped into the room, Annie’s eyes locked onto his like a sniper taking aim. Cold. Sharp. Unforgiving.

He froze for a heartbeat, then forced a nervous smile as he lifted the takeout box in his hand like a peace offering. "I... I brought some food," he said, his voice barely steady. "Your favorite."

Annie didn’t respond. Her silence was louder than any scream.

"Darling," Bartolomeu said, trying to cut through the tension, "at least give the man a chance to explain... or eat the food before you kick him out." He gave a small, half-hearted chuckle, but even he could feel the storm brewing beneath the surface. noveldrama

Annie let out a heavy sigh and swung her legs over the side of the hospital bed. Her caregiver rushed to her side, gently supporting her as she stood, still weak but burning with quiet fury.

They sat down together at the small table, the air thick with unspoken words. The only voice that filled the silence was Bartolomeu’s, speaking lightly, trying to keep the conversation alive. Ric nodded occasionally, muttered short replies, all while his gaze flicked toward Annie, who refused to meet his eyes. Correct content is on freew.ebno(v)e\l.(c)om.

Every forkful of food was like eating through barbed wire.

When the last bite was gone and the plates sat empty between them, Bartolomeu stood, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket.

"Well then," he said with forced cheer, turning to the caregiver. "Let’s go visit my grandchild. Show me where the NICU is."

He gave Ric a meaningful look. A silent command. Now’s your chance.

And then he left, closing the door behind him with a soft but final click.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Annie folded her arms and leaned back, her expression unreadable—except for the slight roll of her eyes that made Ric wince. She still wouldn’t look directly at him.

"Annie," Ric began, his voice cracking with tension. "Please. I’m sorry. I tried my best, but what could I do? I already nearly lost everything... and you still have Duncan. You still won."

At that, Annie’s head snapped toward him. Her eyes were fire and frost all at once.

"Won?" she repeated, venom dripping from the word. "Our child is a girl, Ric. I wanted a boy—for Duncan. The man you say I won with? He’s in jail. And he still hasn’t married me."

Her voice broke at the edges, and she turned away, biting her lip until it almost bled.

"And the worst part?" she added bitterly. "Greg and Cammy. They’re happy. Together. Living the life that should have been mine."

Ric exhaled sharply and dragged both hands down his face, his frustration building.

"Can’t you just let them be?" he snapped, not with anger, but desperation. "Let them go, Annie. Focus on yourself—on your daughter. On Duncan. He’s going to need you now more than ever, especially with everything he’s facing."

Annie didn’t respond right away. Her eyes stared at the wall, unblinking, as if she were trying to see through time itself. Her hands trembled slightly, the weight of every broken dream pressing down on her chest.

The silence stretched again—thick, suffocating. There were no winners here. Only scars.

And Ric waited, unsure if her next words would be forgiveness... or the final blow.

Annie’s cold demeanor cracked, her expression softening like a sudden shift in the wind before a storm. Her hand reached across the table, trembling slightly as she placed it over Ric’s.

"I need your help," she said, her voice low—almost a whisper, but filled with urgency. "Help me get Duncan out... or at least talk to him. Convince him to marry me. I don’t care if it happens behind bars, in front of guards, with nothing but a pen and two witnesses—I just need us to be husband and wife."

Ric stared at her, stunned. His body went rigid, her touch burning through him like ice on raw skin.

"Annie..." he said cautiously, pulling his hand back. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."

Her eyes narrowed, but he pressed on.

"If he hasn’t married you yet, there’s a reason. And if he wants to marry you, prison walls won’t stop him. But me? I have no sway over Duncan. Even if I did... what could I possibly say to make him change his mind?"

Annie’s desperation sharpened, a flicker of something darker behind her eyes.

"You could at least try," she said. "If we don’t get married, I can’t legally take over Duncan’s company. That business—his empire—it’ll be seized, or worse, fall into the wrong hands."

Ric’s jaw clenched. He leaned back slowly, his face twisting into something between disbelief and disgust.

"So that’s what this is about?" he asked, voice rising. "Money? Still?"

She didn’t deny it.

"Jesus, Annie..." He stood, pushing back his chair roughly. "You have a newborn daughter in the NICU, and all you can think about is signing paperwork to take over a company? You haven’t changed at all."

Her face twitched, but she didn’t speak.

Ric shook his head, anger bleeding into every word. "You had a chance to be better. I really thought that maybe—maybe—motherhood would change something in you. Even just a flicker of compassion. But no. It’s always about power, control, image. Never about love."

Annie flinched, but still said nothing.

"I shouldn’t have come here," Ric muttered, already heading toward the door. "I brought food. I brought peace. I brought concern. And you handed me another transaction."

He turned one last time, his eyes cold. "You don’t want a husband, Annie. You want a lifeline. And I hope—for your daughter’s sake—that one day, you’ll realize the difference."

He walked out, not waiting for a reply, the door clicking shut behind him like a judge’s gavel falling on a verdict.

Annie sat frozen in place, the room now silent but screaming with the echoes of everything that had just been said... and everything she refused to admit.

Before heading home, Ric made one last stop.

The sterile silence of the NICU corridor wrapped around him like a weight. Bartolomeu stood at the far end, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the smallest crib near the center.

Ric quietly stepped beside him.

Without turning, Bartolomeu spoke. "How did it go?"

Ric exhaled slowly, jaw tight. "Not good."

Bartolomeu nodded grimly. "Figures. That daughter of mine... she was born with fire in her veins. Always has to have things her way, no matter the cost."

They stood in silence for a moment, both men watching the fragile infant through the glass.

"She doesn’t look like Annie," Bartolomeu said at last, his voice quieter now. "Annie had a squarish jaw as a baby. This one... she’s softer. Gentler somehow."

Ric tilted his head, studying the infant’s tiny face, so peaceful behind the clear barrier.

"She doesn’t look like Duncan either," Bartolomeu continued, his brows drawing together. "Then who does she look like?"

Ric hesitated. Something unreadable flickered across his face. Then he shrugged.

"She looks like her father," he said simply. "I can see it now."

Bartolomeu’s eyes lingered on Ric for a beat longer than necessary. The air between them grew heavier, dense with unspoken questions neither dared to voice.