Chapter 31 31
“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 that place.”
Ivy’s lips parted, jaw working uselessly as she tried to find a retort—but couldn’t.
“So maybe she is alive. And maybe—just maybe—she’s the one watching us all burn.” MJ’s voice dropped to a bitter whisper. “But no. No one even says her name.”
Silence stretched, thick and terrible.
And then MJ turned to Elias, her eyes sharp.
“And Daddy. What did you do to her anyway? Huh? What happened that night? Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time someone even mentions Krystal?”
Elias’s hand tightened around his cigarette. Ash fell onto his already stained pants. He didn’t answer.
MJ stepped forward, eyes blazing. “Did you kill her? Is that it?”
“You little brat—” Elias started, standing up.
“Don’t you dare!” MJ snapped. “We’re all stuck in this moldy hellhole, eating cereal dust and selling our damn underwear for food, and not one of you wants to admit that maybe we’re cursed because of what we did to her.”
Norma let out a brittle laugh. “Oh, please. We’ve been hit by a smear campaign, we’ve been sabotaged—someone’s clearly targeting us! The gala, the shares, the press—this isn’t about Krystal. She’s just a pathetic ghost of the past—”
“Well,” MJ said, voice cold, “that pathetic ghost is maybe living better than we are now.”
Elias' voice cracked, “It doesn’t make sense. I saw the blood—”
Their eyes bulged.
Elias sat back down slowly, as if the weight of MJ’s words were physically crushing him.
His mind flashed back to that night.
The blood.
The silence.
The body unmoving on the floor.
And yet... no body was ever found when he returned later that night. The place was wiped clean. He never told the others.
And now… now she might be back.
Now the mansion was gone. The empire was crumbling. The world hated them.
And Krystal’s name was still a forbidden word in this room.
MJ spat her gum into a plastic wrapper and walked to the window.
“Maybe she’s not just alive,” she whispered, “maybe she’s the one pulling the strings. Maybe all this is her way of saying… checkmate.”
Silence fell again.
Only the sound of a distant siren outside, the hum of the fan, and Elias’s breathing—shallow and fast.
The weight of guilt, regret, and rising fear clung to them like the humidity in the room.
No one dared say her name again.
Not that day.
MJ POV
My old china phone rang just as I was mid-rant, arms flailing, voice hoarse, surrounded by the stench of cold instant noodles and the humid stink of our pathetic apartment.
RAVEN.
I stared at the name flashing on the cracked screen. I hadn't heard from him in weeks—not since our public breakup on social media where he, like every other backstabbing soul, had ghosted me when the McLaren name lost its glitter. My thumb hovered, unsure if I wanted to feed my pride or my desperation.
"Answer it already!" Ivy snapped, combing her greasy hair with a fork like we were in some twisted budget version of The Little Mermaid.
I clicked accept, put the phone on speaker, and said with a sneer, “Wow, Raven, calling me now? Looking for clout again or just reminiscing?”
His voice came in cool, crisp, too calm.
“No. I’m calling because I heard you’re broke.”
“Well, if you're here to mock me, I’m not in the mood,” I snapped. “Unless you’re offering something other than attitude.”
“I can give you five cents,” he said smoothly. “Maybe enough for your pride?”
The room erupted into howls—Venice snorted so hard her snot hit the only clean towel on the couch. Elias cursed under his breath. I bit my lip hard, heat flushing my face.
“Five cents? Are you serious?” I hissed. “I should block you, Raven.”
“You should meet me,” he said, his voice taking a sudden edge. “There’s something you need to know. About Krystal.”
The room went silent.
I felt my heart drop like ice in my chest.
“What about her?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
“Come to Koriya Café,” he said. “Noon. Don’t be late.”
And then he hung up.
I sat there, frozen. No one breathed for a second.
“What did he mean about Krystal?” Era finally asked, eyes narrowing.
I swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know.”
Elias stood up too fast, knocking over his cup of cheap black coffee. “You’re not meeting him.”
“You don’t tell me what to do anymore, daddy,” I said sharply, rising to my feet. “Not when we’re living in an apartment that smells like feet and ramen. If Krystal is alive, and she’s out there walking around in Gucci while we’re sharing one slipper—I want to know why.”
The next day
MJ showed up early.
Dressed in a wrinkled blazer she dug up from her old college closet, mismatched earrings, and borrowed shoes one size too small. Her pride was wounded, her wallet empty, and her nerves frayed.
The café was sleek, clean, air-conditioned—everything her current life wasn’t.
Raven arrived on time. Immaculate. Cool. Dressed in designer casuals that screamed money and freedom.
He ordered a cappuccino and let MJ sit in silence, fuming, lips trembling with unspoken rage.
“So…” she broke the silence, hands wrapped around her chipped mug.
MJ blinked as Raven stirred his overpriced cappuccino, his words hitting her harder than the scent of stale perfume clinging to her only decent coat. The café they sat in was modest—far from the high-end places Raven used to haunt with Krystal during their golden years. He looked thinner now, a little tired around the eyes, but still annoyingly smug.
She hadn't even gotten her latte yet.
"What did you just say about that bitch?" MJ asked slowly, trying not to sound desperate. But she was. She was starving, the inside of her mouth dry from eating crackers and expired canned beans for the past two days.