Revenge of the Billionaire Heiress

She hadn't slept over in her penthouse in nearly three months.

But tonight, Arabella wanted privacy. Silence. And control.

The penthouse gleamed like a waiting throne marble floors, champagne-toned walls, crystal fixtures. Cold, clean, expensive.

Her sanctuary.

She kicked off her heels at the door, stripped off her soft beige trousers and a silk white blouse with pearl cufflinks, and walked straight into the master bath. The water in her marble soaking tub steamed as she poured in neroli oil and jasmine salt, then lowered herself into it like a queen entering her court.

And finally she let the heartbreak hit her.

Not the heartbreak of losing Preston.

The heartbreak of realizing she'd ever wanted him to love her in the first place.

It was sharp, hot, and humiliating.

But she let it wash over her. She didn't fight the ache. She absorbed it. Memorized the shape of it. And when she rose from that tub thirty minutes later, she didn't feel small or weak.

She felt forged.

Her phone buzzed.

Ava: We got your text.

Dorothy: You okay?

Emily: Hope your good? Who do we need to kill?

Arabella texted back: Come over. Bring wine.

She placed her phone on the nightstand and went to lay on her bed. She was not in the mood to talk till they got there.

By 9 p.m., her penthouse was filled with the sound of stilettos on marble, corks popping, and the glorious chaos of her girls.

Arabella sat in the center of the living room in a navy satin robe, her face freshly scrubbed, no trace of the usual war paint.

"Okay, spill," Ava said, curling her legs underneath her. "You sent us a four-word emergency text and we dropped everything. What the hell happened?"

Ava handed Arabella a glass of wine. "We brought emergency chocolate and a burner phone in case you want to send an anonymous tip to the IRS."

Dorothy, ever dramatic, placed a fake tiara on Arabella's head. "We, the royal court, demand answers. What. Happened."

Arabella didn't move.

She looked at her friends-her girls-and something in her chest cracked, wide and hollow.

"I went to Preston's place today."

They all froze.

"I was going to give him an ultimatum," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Treat me right or it's over."

"Well damn," Emily muttered. "Straight to the point."

"I didn't get to say anything."

"Where is that scum-sucking, name-dropping, haircut-wearing little troll?" Emily exploded

Dorothy leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"I walked in... and found him. With Serena."

The room stilled.

Emily dropped a snack bar. Ava's mouth fell open. Dorothy blinked slowly, processing.

Arabella didn't flinch.

"They were in bed. Together. She was in his shirt. He was half-naked. And laughing." She swirled the glass in her hand. "They didn't even hear me come in."

"That son of a-" Ava sprang to her feet. "You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."

"I wish."

Arabella sipped. Then she told them everything.

The penthouse.

Serena.

The lies.

By the time she finished, Emily was pacing like she was ready to fight someone. "I knew he was trash."

"I'm still stuck on the audacity," Ava muttered.

Dorothy's hands flew to her head. "Are we about to bury a body tonight or...?"

Emily stormed over. "I will fight him. I mean it. I will go full 'Upper East Side girl goes rogue' on his ass."

Arabella exhaled. "It gets worse."

The room collectively groaned.

She reached for her phone, opened the picture she'd secretly taken, and turned it toward them.

Serena. In bed. Laughing. Wearing her Cartier choker.

Dorothy squinted. "Wait-is that the necklace from the auction?"

"The one he gave you after the fight?" Emily asked.

Arabella nodded. "The one I returned. Told him I didn't want a bribe. And he just... handed it to her.

The girls fell into a stunned silence.

Then Ava muttered, "That. Little. Man."

Emily's hands curled into fists. "We should ruin his credit. Can we ruin his credit?"

Dorothy lit a candle on the table like they were about to summon vengeance spirits. "We need a plan."

"A good one," Ava said darkly. "Not a cry-in-the-bathroom one. A make-him-question-his-existence plan."

"Exactly," Emily agreed. "I want him shaking in that stupid matte-black car."

Arabella sat, her legs folded underneath her, the robe slipping off one shoulder. "I'm not crying over him. I don't have tears left for boys like that. I just... I want him to feel it. Feel what he lost."

Dorothy reached for more wine. "So. Now what? You want revenge or rebirth?"

Arabella looked at them-her girls, her ride-or-dies, her chaos makers. And then she said it:

"Both."

Ava leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Say the word, and we'll make him cry blood."

Emily raised her glass. "Let's destroy him."

"No," Arabella said, voice cool. "Let's destroy his ego. Let him know how he doesn't measure up to me. Make him choke on his own insecurity."

Dorothy gasped.

All heads turned.

Dorothy tilted her head, eyes suddenly gleaming. "So let's give him the one thing he can't handle."

"Which is?" Arabella asked, lips twitching.

"His biggest insecurity," Ava said slowly, catching on.

Emily's eyes widened. "Oh my God. Ashton."

Arabella blinked. "What?"

Dorothy leaned forward. "Think about it. Preston always hated how calm, powerful, and untouchable Ashton is. He pretends he doesn't care, but you've seen it he turns green when Ashton walks into a room."

"Because Ashton doesn't have to try," Ava added. "He doesn't chase approval. He doesn't beg for attention. He is attention."

"And now," Emily grinned, "you become the one thing Preston can't have... because you're in Ashton's orbit."

Arabella stared at them.

"You want me to seduce Ashton?"

Ava lifted her glass. "Or let him seduce you. Either way, Preston dies inside."

Dorothy smirked. "It's not about falling in love. It's about reminding men that queens don't beg. They replace."

Arabella laughed. A real, sharp laugh.

"Besides," Emily said, wiggling her brows, "you already admitted once he's hot. Brooding, powerful, slightly dangerous? He's practically revenge candy."

Arabella took another sip of scotch and leaned her head back against the couch. The thought of Ashton-his unreadable eyes, his quiet intensity, that cold charm-sparked something wild in her.

Something wicked.

Maybe it was petty.

Maybe it was reckless.

But she deserved it, no one was going to make a fool of her for that long and get away with it. She would make sure to destroy his ego and stump on him, take everything he wanted to use her for away and take much more.

She raised her glass.

"To revenge"

The girls clinked glasses around her, faces lit by firelight and female rage.

"To pettiness," Ava added.

"To taking back our damn crowns," Emily said.

And Arabella, with a smile sharper than any diamond, whispered:

"To the game."