Chapter 38 38
The next day
The Elite Business Gala – Manhattan
The chandeliers dripped crystals like the tears I shed for Raven Anderson.
I stood at the top of the ballroom stairs, one hand looped through Darren Johnson’s arm, the other holding a champagne glass I hadn’t even touched. My black velvet gown shimmered under the golden lights, hugging my curves like a silent weapon. The slit ran up to my thigh, revealing legs that used to walk barefoot to school while Raven rolled past me in his daddy’s Porsche.
Now? The paparazzi below were whispering my name like it was gospel.
"Krystal Hunter," Darren murmured beside me, his voice low and warm with pride, "I hope they’re ready for you."
I tilted my head, catching my reflection in the mirrored walls. Hair curled like old Hollywood. Diamond earrings that once belonged to Grandmother McLaren. And around my neck? The infamous black opal necklace from the estate vault—rumored to have been cursed.
Fitting.
We walked down the stairs together, the room parting like the sea. CEOs nodded. Politicians stared. Fashion editors whispered. The McLaren girl they all used to mock—some even forgot I existed—now owned the hottest fintech startup on the East Coast, had signed three tech-leisure partnerships in Europe, and was about to finalize a luxury investment deal with Darren’s firm.
Everything they took from me, I rebuilt. Better. Shinier. Untouchable.
So when I saw him across the ballroom, clutching a drink like it was life support—when our eyes met—I didn’t flinch.
Raven Anderson.
In a dull gray tux that fit him like yesterday’s regret. MJ wasn't on his arm tonight. Well, after their meeting at the cafe lastime, I found out their plotting something for me. Let them come. I'm ready. Probably too busy scrubbing her fake charity off LinkedIn. He looked like someone who lost a war but refused to read the surrender clause.
Pathetic.
He started walking toward me. Like we had unfinished business. Like years of betrayal could be healed with a look and a half-limp apology.
Darren leaned down. “Should I block him with a well-timed speech about stocks?”
“No,” I said, sipping my champagne with the grace of a queen who remembers. “Let the bastard suffer.”
Raven stopped in front of us, eyes flickering over my gown, my jewels, my man.
“Krystal,” he said. Like it was a prayer. Or maybe a final wish.
I tilted my head. “Do I know you?”
His jaw tightened. “I just… I wanted to say congratulations. I saw your name on the Wall Street Weekly. And the gala—”
“You mean my gala?” I interrupted sweetly. “I own the venue now. Had to fire some of your dad’s old partners. They were terrible with numbers.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
“You look…” He trailed off.
“Rich?” I offered. “Happy? Better without you?”
He swallowed. “You’ve changed.”
“No, Raven.” I smiled slowly. “I evolved.”
The air between us tightened like an old violin string. The memory of that rainy night in sophomore year when he kissed me behind the theater. The way he whispered promises while texting MJ. The moment he ghosted me before finals week and posted a Valentine’s photo with her.
I leaned in slightly, my voice honeyed but sharp.
“I begged you once,” I whispered, “to love me back. To choose me. And you picked a McLaren with the right surname but the wrong soul.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“I was a secret in your life. A thrift-store girl you could love in private but not in public.”
Raven opened his mouth again, and I didn’t care what excuse or half-apology was about to spill.
“I’m not your shame project anymore. I’m your consequence.”
Darren, silent this whole time, finally took my hand and brought it to his lips. “We’re due to speak in five,” he said, his voice smooth as cashmere. “The investors want a picture with the real power couple.”
Raven’s face paled.
I turned one last time, leaning close to his ear. “You don’t get to be proud of me now, Raven. You don’t even get to knowme.”
And then I smiled.
Not the smile he remembered.
The one that said: Take that, bitch.
The one that said: I hope MJ’s ghosting you now too.
The one that said: You don’t break a girl like me and expect her to stay shattered.
Later that night, as Darren and I walked onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air, he looked at me with that thoughtful gaze of his. Admiring. Serious. Steady.
“You know,” he said, brushing a lock of hair from my face, “you didn’t need to destroy him like that.”
I smiled. “Oh, I didn’t do it tonight. He started it the day he let me go like I was disposable.”
Darren laughed softly. “You’re terrifying when you’re victorious.”
“Good,” I replied, sipping my drink. “They need to remember that.”
He pulled me close by the waist. “So… empires by day. Revenge by night?”
I kissed him on the cheek. “And brunch in Paris by morning.”
We watched the skyline glitter below.
Let them talk. Let them gossip. Let Raven cry in his bathtub while listening to Olivia Rodrigo.
Because I was the one who got away—and built a kingdom with the pieces he left behind.