Chapter 55 55
The old university gates were still there—iron-wrought and weather-worn. They looked smaller now. Or maybe I just felt taller. Stronger.
Students milled about under awnings, some with laptops, others with books and steaming paper cups. The campus café was still open near the old library, with the scent of brewed hazelnut and buttered pan de sal wafting out. I paused for a second. My stomach stirred again, but I’d eaten. I wasn’t here for nostalgia. I was here to close a chapter.
I entered the Admin Building, water dripping gently from my umbrella, and walked to the registrar’s office.
“Good morning,” the woman behind the glass said. She didn’t recognize me. She wouldn’t. Last time I was here, I was sobbing and begging for an extension. Now, I just nodded and slipped a ten dollar bill and ID under the glass.
“Settle my full balance, please,” I said.
Her eyebrows shot up. She typed fast. She paused. She looked again.
“Miss Krystal… you’re cleared. Do you want a printed certificate of payment?”
“Yes, please.” I smiled—small, controlled.
Minutes later, I was holding the paper in my hand. Debt: Cleared.
I still have 6 dollars left.
I stepped outside. Rain had picked up. People rushed by with jackets pulled over their heads, but I just raised my umbrella and stood under the awning, letting the wind kiss my cheeks. It was cold, but the victory was warm in my bones.
But I wasn’t done.
I found a quiet spot under one of the stone arches near the library, pulled out my new iPhone, and opened the browser.
Darren Johnson.
Nothing new.
No scandals. No slips. No traces of the ugly truths I knew were buried under the surface.
But I remembered someone who might help.
Tomas.
Ivy’s ex. The computer science major turned cyber-sleuth. The one who found out Ivy cheated on him—with someone with a better bank record.
I knew he wouldn’t forget that. Some betrayals burn forever.
I searched him up. Still had the same quirky profile pic on his defunct gaming blog. Sent him a DM.
Hey. It’s Krystal. We need to talk. I think we might want the same revenge.
I hit send.
Then I looked up, watching the droplets race down the arch’s stone edge.
The game was beginning. And this time?
I wasn’t going to lose.
I met Tomas at the café—a rich, popular place filled with polished marble, soft jazz, and overpriced pastries. I chose a quiet corner at the far end, away from the noise. He arrived exactly on time, his signature scowl carved deep into his face.
“Krystal McLaren, right?” he asked, sliding into the seat across from me.
I nodded, pushing a cup of coffee toward him. His favorite. Black, no sugar, with a hint of cinnamon. The surprise flickered in his eyes.
“You remember that?” he asked, arching a brow.
“Of course,” I said smoothly. “You were one of my best people. Smart. Diligent. I don’t forget that.”
He sipped the coffee, watching me over the rim like I might lunge across the table. Fair enough. This was the first time we’d met face to face.
He reached for the vanilla cake in front of him, took a bite, then muttered through a mouthful, “So. What kind of revenge are you offering?”
Straight to the point. Classic Tomas.
I leaned in slightly, my voice low. “I know you and Ivy didn’t exactly end on sweet terms.”
His jaw tightened. I didn’t stop.
“I also know how badly she messed with you. Manipulated, cheated, humiliated. She’s done worse to me. So I have a proposal.”
I pulled out the folder from my bag, set it gently on the table.
“My inheritance finally cleared. Thousands. Enough to destroy her lifestyle, her status, and every fake friend she’s ever lied to. All I need is someone who knows her inside out. Someone who wants to watch her fall. Burn, even.”
Tomas studied me for a moment. Silent. Calculating. Dangerous.
Then he gave a dark chuckle and leaned back, the scowl softening just enough to reveal something wicked.
“Alright, McLaren. Let’s ruin her.”
I lied, of course.
I didn’t tell Tomas about the ten million dollars sitting quietly in offshore accounts. Or how that money—invested in tech startups and crypto when the world thought I was just a broken McLaren castaway—had quietly grown to over a hundred billion worth in today's money.
No, I told him just enough.
"I can afford you a better computer," I said casually, sipping my latte. "An apartment downtown. Full tech setup. Fastest servers. Custom rigs. Top-tier encryption. The kind of speed that makes governments nervous."
He blinked once, then nodded. “I’m in.”
Typical Tomas. Always smart—just impatient enough to say yes before hearing the full plan.
“And Tomas,” I added, leaning closer, “I want you to dig into someone for me.”
“Who?”
“Darren Johnson.”
His brow furrowed, confused for a breath before recognition struck. “Wait. That Darren Johnson? The lawyer of politicians? The one on every scandal headline and clean as bleach on paper?”
I gave a slow smile. “Yes. That very Darren.”
He didn’t ask why. He knew better. Some things are safer when you don't know.
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a two dollar bill. Crisp. Folded once.
I slid it across the table.
Tomas stared at it like I’d just handed him a diamond.
His voice was soft. “Is this…?”
“Yes,” I answered, eyes locked on him. “Serial-coded. Trackable. It opens a vault chain. You’re smart enough to know what that means.” Yeah I was exaggerating a little but in todays worth it was 10,000 dollars.
His fingers hovered over the bill before he finally picked it up—like it might burn him if he wasn’t careful.
“That dollar,” I said, “is worth more than every paycheck you’ve ever earned via legal end. And it’s just the start.”
Tomas let out a breath. A slow, almost reverent exhale.
“You're not just here for revenge,” he said.
I smiled without warmth. “No, Tomas. I’m here for reckoning.”