Mona, the internet’s self-proclaimed vigilante, built a ten-million-follower empire on one thing: punishing the rich. She smashed supercars, slashed priceless paintings—the more expensive, the better. I’d always dismissed her as another fame-hungry clown, a sideshow for the perpetually online. Then I realized the mansion she was currently trashing on her livestream was mine. By the time I rushed to our estate, the damage was apocalyptic. The custom-ordered European crystal chandelier was a glittering ruin on the marble floor. A masterpiece worth millions, shredded into canvas ribbons. An antique vase valued at a fortune, now just a pile of porcelain shards. When she saw me, her chin lifted in a gesture of pure arrogance. "Not bad on the props," she sneered. "Thirty grand should cover this pile of junk, right?" I surveyed the wasteland that was once my living room, a knot of fury tightening in my chest. I simply signaled for my butler to begin calculating the losses. When he finally told her she owed me one hundred and eighty million dollars, she pissed herself. 1 "My payment info. Now." Mona lounged on my bespoke sofa, her tone dripping with disdain. When I didn’t move, her patience seemed to snap. She shot to her feet, planting herself in front of me. "What? You think thirty grand isn't enough?" she demanded. "Look, I'll admit the props were convincing this time, but I never asked you to go this over-the-top. Do you have any idea how much effort it took to smash all this? How much of my time you wasted? I should be charging you for the trouble. Don't push your luck." She settled back, preening. In her world, a world of ten million followers, people paid for the privilege of her attention. She’d never encountered someone who didn’t immediately bow down. I ignored her rant, my gaze fixed on the wreckage. I just waited, my patience a thin veneer over a core of white-hot rage, as Peterson, my butler, continued his quiet assessment. Mona’s foot began to tap impatiently. "What's taking so long? Thirty grand is more than generous. You should be thanking me for paying that much for this heap of garbage. If you keep this up, you're going to find out what happens when you get on my bad side." A flicker of genuine malice crossed her face. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I was almost curious to see what "her way" of dealing with me looked like. Seeing my lack of reaction, she switched to a boastful tone. "Do you even know how many fans I have? Do you know how much my top donors gift me every single day? All I have to do is cry a little on camera, and they will cyberbully you until you want to kill yourself." Cyberbully me? If she could actually pull that off, I might almost be impressed. "Miss Mona, please, be patient," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Since you're so powerful, why don't you stick around and hear what this 'pile of junk' is actually worth?" Just then, Peterson finished his calculations and approached, whispering the final figure in my ear. One hundred and eighty million. A nice, round number. "Peterson," I said. "Please inform the lady." My butler straightened his tie and turned to Mona, his voice ringing with crisp, professional clarity. "Ma'am, based on our initial assessment, the damages total one hundred and eighty million dollars. How would you like to handle the payment?" For a split second, raw panic flashed in Mona's eyes. Then, she leaped from the sofa as if it were on fire. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? One hundred and eighty million!" she shrieked. "Do you even know how many zeros that is?" 2 As she was screaming, the team I’d called in earlier was already documenting the scene, their camera flashes illuminating the destruction. "Of course I do," I replied smoothly. "The real question is, are any of your 'top donors' willing to foot the bill?" To my surprise, Mona burst out laughing—a wild, unhinged sound. Has the shock broken her brain? I wondered. "Miss Mona," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "Playing dumb won't do you any favors here. You need to start thinking about how you're going to pay me back for my 'pile of junk'." I spat the last words out, each one a testament to the fury I was barely containing. Only I knew the truth: every shard on the floor was a stab to my heart. That goddamned Mona. She’d used a bottle of vintage wine worth over a hundred thousand dollars for a fucking bath. The painting she'd shredded was now nothing more than a glorified dishrag. And worst of all, the Ming Dynasty cloisonné vase. It had been a birthday gift from my grandfather last year, something he'd spent a fortune on at auction. If I didn't make her pay for this, I wasn't a Price. Mona, however, was still full of bravado. "You lowlifes are just trying to extort me because I'm a famous influencer, aren't you?" she sneered. "Fine. I'll add another twenty thousand. Fifty K total. That should be enough for you greedy pigs. This is blackmail, you know. I could call the cops." Wow. The sheer audacity to twist reality like this was almost impressive. I still had no idea how she’d even gotten into my house, and here she was, painting herself as the victim. Some people truly have no shame. My upbringing, however, demanded I maintain a shred of composure. "Since you brought it up," I said, a slow smile spreading across my face, "why don't we? You trespassed, destroyed my property… by all means, let's get the police involved." I nodded to Peterson, who immediately reached for his phone. "Wait!" Mona yelped. The bravado was gone, replaced by a flicker of fear. "What's wrong, Miss Mona? Afraid?" I purred. "You seemed so confident a moment ago. Let's let the authorities sort this out. I'm quite sure my security cameras recorded everything. Or perhaps you could tell them you were sleepwalking? Possessed by a demon, maybe? Otherwise, you'd better get used to the color orange, because you're going to be wearing it for a long, long time." The seriousness in my expression finally seemed to penetrate her thick skull. A flicker of doubt crossed her face. Could I have really… smashed the wrong house? Just then, her phone rang. 3 She snatched it up, and her furious screech echoed through the cavernous room. "Leah! Where the hell are you!" "You need to get your ass over here! Now!" "Avalon Estates, Number 17! You told me this was all handled! Now these people are trying to shake me down for 180 million! They're threatening me!" "What the hell am I paying you for? If you can't do your job, you're fired!" A muffled voice on the other end murmured placatingly. "Mona, calm down. I negotiated the price beforehand. If they're giving you trouble, I'm on my way with backup right now," Leah's voice promised. "Avalon Estates, Number 17. Give me twenty minutes." Hearing that reinforcements were coming, Mona deliberately switched her phone to speaker. A smug, triumphant look returned to her face. "You hear that?" she said, her voice dripping with renewed arrogance. "Apologize to me right now, throw in a million or two for my emotional distress, and I might just let this go. Otherwise… I promise you, your life is over." My life is over? She really was a first-class moron. I wanted to crack her head open and see if there was anything inside besides air. Yes, this was the Avalon Estates. Except I live at goddamn Number 18. To wreck the wrong house and still act this high and mighty… she hadn't grasped the reality of her situation at all. You don't get to act like a queen in my kingdom. Even God himself would have to bow before walking out of here. Her voice was starting to give me a headache. I took a slow sip of tea. "Since you're so confident, Miss Mona, let's just wait for your people to arrive." After that, I tuned out her stream of curses and insults. Leah and her crew were surprisingly fast. As they strode into the room, I saw Leah’s eyes widen in confusion. This opulent disaster zone was clearly not the cheap prop house she had arranged. But she quickly masked her unease, stepping forward with a dozen thuggish-looking guys behind her. "So you're the one trying to scam us?" she said, her eyes raking over me with contempt. When I didn't reply, she continued, "You look the part, I'll give you that. But you'd better not get so lost in the role that you forget what you really are. Do you know who we are? Do you know how many fans Mona has? One word from her, and you'll drown in a sea of their hate." She took another step closer. "Now, you're going to get over here and apologize to Mona. If you beg nicely, maybe I'll put in a good word for you. Otherwise…" I'd heard enough. Was everyone in her line of work this delusional? "Otherwise what?" I interrupted, my voice calm. "I'm sitting right here. Let's see what you can do to me." My composure must have pushed Mona over the edge. Seeing her backup had arrived, the last of her sanity seemed to snap. "What are you waiting for, talking to her?!" she shrieked at Leah. "Did you bring all these guys just for decoration? She thinks she's so tough? Grab her! I'm going to personally smash her face in and see if she can still talk so big!" Leah, still retaining a shred of sense, hesitated. "Mona, I don't think that's a good idea. What if she really calls the cops? It'll get messy." In response, Mona spun around and slapped Leah hard across the face. 4 "You traitorous bitch!" Mona screamed, her face contorted with rage. "Have you forgotten who signs your paychecks?" "I have millions of fans! So what if I beat her to death? A piece of trash like her dares to defy me? I'm going to teach her a lesson she'll never forget, right here, right now!" I watched as Leah’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. So, not the most loyal of relationships, then. Mona ignored Leah's silent fury and barked orders at the hired muscle. "What are you idiots waiting for?! Grab her! Maybe when I'm done with her, I'll let you boys have some fun." She shot me a disgusting, leering smile. At that, the men’s faces lit up. The leader, a greasy-looking thug, cracked his knuckles. "Your mistake was pissing off the wrong person, sweetheart," he sneered. "But don't worry. We'll make sure you have a real good time." They started toward me, a predator's grin on their faces. I snapped my fingers. In a blur of motion, my security detail emerged from the adjoining rooms. It was over in seconds. They were professionals, and these were street thugs. The greasy leader who’d insulted me was the first to go down, a single punch shattering his nose and sending a couple of teeth clattering to the floor. He lay there, howling in agony. Did she really think I'd be unprepared? The moment I saw the damage, I'd called in my own people. I rose from my chair and walked slowly toward Mona, the sound of my heels clicking on the marble. "So, Mona?" I asked, my voice soft. "Any other brilliant ideas on how to 'deal' with me? If not, you'd better start thinking about that 180 million. Because until that's settled, you're not going anywhere." I turned to my butler. "Peterson. Call the police." The show was over. I was done playing games.
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