All Chapters of The Billion-Dollar Payback Plan: She Woke Up Richer Than The: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Darren Johnson – POVI should’ve waited until morning. Should’ve taken the time to polish my findings, line up the narrative, make it airtight before I dropped it in front of her. That’s how I operated — clean, calculated, always in control.But Krystal Hunter had a way of bending my rules.So instead, I found myself in her penthouse at nearly midnight, folder tucked under my arm, adrenaline still buzzing in my veins from the calls I’d made and the “truths” I thought I’d uncovered about Raven Anderson.She opened the door barefoot, wearing yoga leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder. No diamonds, no silk, no armor of Manhattan elitism. Just… Krystal.“Darren?” she blinked, tilting her head as if surprised but not displeased. “You know it’s midnight, right? Some of us actually do yoga and sleep like normal people.”“Normal?” I snorted, brushing past her into the apartment. “There’s nothing normal about you, Krystal.”“Flattery,” she said lightly, closing the doo

Krystal Hunter – POVHe thought it was luck. That coffee — one sugar, one cream, not too hot, not too bitter. A perfect accident.But of course, it wasn’t.I smirked inwardly as Darren lifted the mug to his lips like it was manna from heaven, his sharp lawyer’s eyes narrowing for just a second before softening. He suspected something, but he didn’t know. Not yet.That was the art of it. To make a man like Darren Johnson, who prided himself on control, feel as though he was still holding the reins while I was quietly stitching the bridle.I’d planned it all: the laugh with the chef, just loud enough for him to overhear and feel like he’d stumbled into something real, intimate. The bacon and eggs instead of green juice — because I knew what kind of man he was. Darren didn’t want luxury for breakfast, he wanted comfort. And comfort was the one thing men like him never admitted they craved.And then there was me. Fresh from the shower, hair still wet, cheeks pink from steam, looking as na

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

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

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,