Krystal Hunter died with a broken heart, a knife in her back, and one regret—she finally won the damn lottery right before she died. Ten million dollars, untouched, deposited in the bank… wasted. Or so she thought. Because when Krystal wakes up in a hospital bed—very much not dead—the world has gone to economic hell. The global economy has collapsed, the dollar has depreciated into dust... and her forgotten bank account? Now worth one hundred billion. With the world burning and billionaires falling like flies, Krystal is no longer the girl they betrayed. She’s richer than empires, hungrier than ever, and back to collect what she’s owed—with interest. Ex-lovers, fake friends, and bloodthirsty siblings beware: She died once. She’s not dying quietly again. A deliciously savage romantic revenge comedy about wealth, power, payback, and kissing someone hot while the economy collapses.
View MoreThe accusation landed like a stone. Darren’s shoulders sank as if that single line had the weight to crush him. “You—how can you say that? I gave you everything. I—”“You gave me the performance of every desperate, bought man in this city,” she interrupted, and there was a glacial edge to her anger now. “You paraded me like a trophy and then thought you could buy your way into my pity. You thought you were clever, Darren. You thought you could take what belonged to me and hide behind charm.”He tried to find counter arguments, defense, plea. All he could find was baffled, trembling grief. “I didn’t— I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were—” He couldn’t finish. He had no language for the universe in which the woman who had brewed his coffee, slept with her head on his chest, and laughed at zombie movies could also be the architect of his ruin.Krystal’s mouth tightened. She stood, the silk rustling like a promise. She leaned in so close he could see the tiny flecks of gold at the edge of
A few days later.The strike came fast.One morning, Darren woke to a pounding on his office doors. Not clients. Not reporters. Police.The McLarens had made their move.They dragged him out in front of his own staff, cuffed like a petty criminal. The charge sheet was thick—market manipulation, wire fraud, abuse of client accounts. None of it should have stuck, but the evidence was damning, airtight.Too airtight.Because every document, every lead, every digital breadcrumb pointing to Darren had been fed there. Quietly, carefully. Tomas had slipped them into the system like a master puppeteer, all while Krystal watched with the patience of a woman who had rehearsed this play before.By the time Darren was thrown into an interrogation room, sweat beading at his temple, the news was already everywhere.“McLaren Stocks Collapse Amid Scandal.”“Billion-Dollar Dynasty Declared Bankrupt.”“Anonymous Sources Point to Darren Johnson’s Scheme.”The city buzzed like a hive.And in that chaos,
Behind closed doors, Krystal kept her leash tight.Tomas and his team were already working in the shadows, weaving false leads and feeding Darren just enough “intel” to make him believe he was striking real blows. Every move he thought was his own was one Krystal had orchestrated weeks in advance.And slowly, she reeled him in.She let him stay the night more often now, sometimes on the couch, sometimes tangled in sheets he thought were a sign of affection instead of manipulation. She let him see her laugh at ridiculous TV shows, let him “discover” she hated watching horror movies alone, let him think he was peeling back the layers of the rich girl to find someone real, someone only he knew.It was all performance.Every coffee she brewed exactly the way he liked it, every smile timed to his victories, every sigh of “I feel safe when you’re around” was a string pulling him deeper.By the time Darren realized he couldn’t breathe without her, it would be too late.But Darren didn’t see
The Anderson empire collapsed faster than anyone could have predicted.One week, Raven Anderson was pacing in smoke-filled rooms, plotting Darren Johnson’s ruin, rallying the remnants of his father’s contacts in Italy, and whispering with mercenaries about how many bullets it would take to end a man’s career.The next, his empire was on fire.It started with whispers: odd phone calls, quiet visits by men in dark suits who didn’t belong to his world of fast cars and penthouse girls. Then came the warrants. Tomas had pulled every lever Krystal instructed, feeding the authorities documents, account ledgers, and bloodstained trails of money that tied the Anderson family not only to illegal offshore accounts, but also to trafficking, weapons, and assassins for hire.The timing was perfect — and merciless.Police raided the Anderson offices. Politicians, who had once smiled at their cocktail parties, cut ties overnight. Reporters swarmed like vultures. And when investigators stormed the man
Raven’s POVAnderson HQ was no calmer.The assassin had delivered proof — photos of Darren’s trashed apartment, the threats to his family. Raven should have been satisfied. Should have felt vindicated.But he wasn’t.He wanted more.He wanted Darren to suffer in ways money couldn’t measure. He wanted him humiliated, broken in public, crawling on his knees begging for forgiveness he would never get.Raven slammed a fist against his desk. “If that coward thinks hiding behind McLaren’s daughter will save him, he’s even dumber than I thought.”The thought of Krystal twisted his insides in a different way. Once, she’d been his — the girl who believed in him, who had stitched pieces of his pride back together. And now she was siding with Darren Johnson? Helping him?No.He’d ruin Darren, and when the time was right, he’d drag Krystal down with him.“Tell the assassin I want it public,” Raven ordered one of his men. “No more shadows. I want everyone to see what happens when you cross an Ande
Darren’s POVBy the time I reached her penthouse, my nerves were shredded. My shirt stuck to me with sweat, my throat was dry, and my eyes kept darting over my shoulder like a hunted animal. Because that’s what I was.The doorman looked startled when I barged in at nearly 3 a.m., muttering Krystal’s name like a prayer. I didn’t even care about appearances anymore. I needed her. Needed her to anchor me before I lost my mind.When the elevator doors slid open to her floor, I half-expected silence. Darkness. Maybe even rejection.Instead, the double doors opened, and there she was.Krystal.Barefoot in silk pajamas, robe tied loose at the waist, hair falling in lazy waves. She looked like something soft and untouchable — not the sharp, cunning heiress I had pegged her as.And for a second, my chest tightened.“Darren?” Her voice was a blend of surprise and sleepiness, though something in her eyes flickered quick. “What happened to you? You look like hell.”I tried to laugh, but it came o
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