Todos los capítulos de The Billion-Dollar Payback Plan: She Woke Up Richer Than The: Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

“Why would she not be alive? Huh?” MJ’s arms flung out as she stepped into the center of the room. “I saw her. I saw her. Last time at the designer wing in Oakridge Mall. She was wearing Prada and Gucci—both, at the same time! Huge Gucci glasses, those black heels that I know are worth more than this entire apartment’s rent. And I remember telling you all.”Norma groaned and rolled her eyes, “Here we go again—”“NO. Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Mom,” MJ snapped. “I called you. I even sent a picture! I told Venice and Era, remember that? And you all said, ‘No, MJ, you’re crazy,’ or ‘She’s probably wearing knock-offs.’ You even said I must have been high. HIGH? Really?”Venice shrank slightly and muttered, “Well, you were dabbling in edibles then.”“That’s beside the point!” MJ shouted. “I know what I saw. And besides, Ivy—your best friend, Zara? She’s been seen having lunch with her at Le Papillon. You know how much a meal costs there? You and Zara? Um, Lana? Illana? couldn’t afford

Then, as if the universe choreographed the moment, the staff at the salon next door—a high-end, invite-only place where Venice had once been rejected—rushed to greet Krystal with cold sparkling water and custom-scented hand towels.“Miss Hunter, your 2PM stylist is ready. We reserved the private suite.”Venice stood there, outside the glass doors, people walking past her like she didn’t exist.Krystal disappeared into the building.Venice didn’t speak for a long time.Her phone buzzed.A text from Ivy:“Did you see Krystal’s face at the Vogue dinner? I think she has staff. STAFF, VENICE.”Another from MJ:“She’s faking it. She has to be. Right?”Venice stared at her reflection in the salon glass. She didn’t look fake.She looked powerful.And for the first time, Venice didn’t want revenge.She wanted answers.So she sat on the steps. And waited.Maybe, just maybe, her little cousin slash stepsister would talk to her.Maybe redemption didn’t always start with apologies.Sometimes… it s

Krystal’s POV —The next day I adjusted my grip on the club, the buttery leather of my glove creaking slightly as I shifted my weight onto my back foot. The sky was a watercolor of gold and blue—another perfect morning, bought and paid for. Birds chirped somewhere beyond the hedges of Fairmont Ridge Golf & Country Estate, which, as of three days ago, now belonged to me.The first swing wasn’t even about the ball. It was about the sound it made when it soared.That clean, satisfying whack.That hush from the stunned board members who once told my uncle I “wasn’t country club material.”That silence after money spoke louder than legacy.I turned slightly, accepting the club from my personal assistant, Ava, who wore a tailored blazer over a crop top and held a clipboard like a weapon.“What’s next?” I asked, reaching for the champagne flute resting on the side tray of the electric golf cart—hand-stitched leather, gold accents, and a built-in cooler, naturally.Ava glanced at her list. “

The Apology OfferThere’s something wickedly poetic about reading an apology letter printed on paper so thick it could be used for royal decrees.I was halfway through my almond croissant and espresso when my assistant, came in with a faint smile and a black velvet box tied with gold ribbon. I already knew who it was from. Rich people had a scent—like desperation and overpriced regret."From the Andersons," she said sweetly, laying it beside my breakfast tray.I didn’t touch it. Not yet. Let the tension marinate.The fireplace crackled beside me in my penthouse overlooking Manhattan. Below, the world moved like a well-oiled machine. Mine. I sipped my espresso, legs crossed in a silk robe that cost more than Raven’s salary. Yes, I knew. I knew everything. MJ's fall. Raven's crash. Norma baking bread. Elias begging a loan shark.And still they sent me a box like I was the one who needed them.With one perfectly manicured nail, I opened it. Inside: a handwritten letter on heavy cardstock

DARREN POVRaven made a beeline toward us just past the first toast. Predictable. Desperate. Still convinced charm could overwrite betrayal.Krystal’s body stiffened slightly, but her eyes stayed trained on the CEO of Ashton Industries. She didn’t spare Raven a glance. She didn’t have to—because I was already stepping in.“Mr. Anderson.” My voice sliced through the polite hum of jazz music. “I don’t recall you on tonight’s invite list.”His eyes flicked to me, sharp, calculating. “Darren Johnson,” he said smoothly. “The finance wunderkind. I’ve read your name a few times lately.”“And I’ve tried hard to forget yours,” I said, smiling like a blade in velvet. “What do you want with Ms. Hunter again?”His jaw flexed. “I just want a moment. A real one. I owe her that.”“Ah. That’s the problem with men like you,” I said, taking a slow sip of champagne. “You think apologies come with time limits—like you get to decide when your betrayal matters.”Raven glanced over my shoulder, trying to fi