Chapter 74 75
Krystal Hunter – POV
I stared at Tomas’s text a moment longer, letting the words sink in like the first bite of a perfectly cold pistachio scoop.
Friday. Paperwork ready. He’ll sign without knowing.
Perfect.
TK Base was its usual mix of low chatter and the clink of cutlery against ceramic — white noise for plotting. I’d tucked myself into the booth farthest from the door, the one half-shadowed by the hanging fern. From here, you could see the whole place without anyone noticing you were watching.
Tomas arrived exactly on time, slipping into the seat across from me like a shadow in human form. No loud greeting, no fuss. Just a faint nod and that usual calm expression that told me he’d been four steps ahead before he even walked in.
“You look smug,” he said.
I spooned another bite of ice cream, letting the dark chocolate drizzle coat my tongue before answering. “I just spent the afternoon letting Darren Johnson think he’d trapped me in a corner. I’d say that’s worth a little smug.”
His mouth twitched in the closest thing he gave to a smile. “And he took the bait?”
“Hook, line, and exclusive consultation,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Men like him can’t resist thinking they’re pulling the strings. All you have to do is leave the right ones dangling.”
We didn’t rush the conversation. The plan didn’t need theatrics, it needed precision. For the next half hour, we let it unfold slowly, one detail at a time. How he’d receive the paperwork. How he’d believe it was his idea to push it through. How every signature he made would weave the net tighter without him noticing.
“You’re sure he won’t check deeper?” Tomas asked eventually, leaning back in the booth.
“He’ll check,” I said, tapping my spoon against the rim of the glass. “But not deep enough. Men like Darren stop digging the second they find something shiny to distract them. And I’m very good at being shiny.”
We let that hang between us, the quiet hum of TK Base filling the space. It wasn’t about striking fast — it was about letting him feel safe, even comfortable, right up until the moment we closed the door behind him.
By the time Tomas left, we hadn’t once raised our voices or sped up the conversation. That was the beauty of it. The plan wasn’t loud. It was a whisper, slow and steady… the kind you only hear right before it’s too late.
And Darren? He was already listening without knowing.
Darren Johnson – POV
The late afternoon sun was slanting through the blinds when I got back to my office, casting long bars of gold across the polished mahogany desk. The kind of light that made everything look a little more expensive, a little more powerful. I liked that.
Krystal Hunter’s folder was still sitting in the center of the desk where I’d left it earlier, neat as a promise. I dropped into my chair, leaned back, and let myself replay the meeting in my head — her legs crossed just so, the measured tone in her voice, the way she didn’t flinch when I told her my help came at a cost.
She was clever, I’d give her that. The kind of woman who knew how to walk into a room and make people rearrange themselves without realizing they’d done it. But clever didn’t mean untouchable.
I tapped the folder with one finger. The acquisitions inside were sharp, bold… maybe a little reckless. That was fine. Reckless made people vulnerable, and vulnerability was leverage. She’d come to me because she needed something cleaned, and when people needed cleaning, they either paid through the nose or bled in other ways. I didn’t mind which.
For now, I’d keep it subtle. Exclusive consultation. She’d resist the idea at first — smart women always did — but I’d make sure she saw the value. And once she signed, once she was under my hand, there wouldn’t be much she could do without my say-so.
I reached for the glass decanter in the corner of the desk, poured two fingers of bourbon into the crystal tumbler, and let the slow burn roll over my tongue. This was the part I liked most — the waiting. Letting the other player think they had room to maneuver while I quietly narrowed the walls.
The phone buzzed. My assistant’s voice came through, polite as ever. “Mr. Johnson, your contact at Whitmore Securities has agreed to meet next week. They said it was regarding the Hunter accounts.”
Perfect.
“Set it up,” I said, my tone smooth.
I could already see how this would play out. I’d secure her trust, position myself as her indispensable ally, and slowly thread myself through every move she made in the market. By the time she realized how deep I was in, she wouldn’t be able to take a single step without tripping over me.
That thought made me smile into my glass. People talked about winning like it was a single moment — some flag planted in the ground. They didn’t understand it was a process. You win in inches, not miles. Every agreement. Every signature. Every tiny concession you coax from someone who swore they’d never give it.
Krystal Hunter was going to give me everything I wanted.
She just didn’t know it yet.
Krystal Hunter – POV
By the time Darren Johnson was swirling bourbon in his glass and congratulating himself, I was already home — silk robe, bare feet, laptop open across my bed. The city lights spilled through the window like stars had gotten lazy and dropped themselves into concrete.
On the screen, a small cascade of alerts pinged quietly. Darren’s office systems weren’t as airtight as he liked to think. Tomas had slipped me the backdoor weeks ago, and now I could see every call, every meeting lined up neatly in front of me like cards on a table.
Whitmore Securities. Next week. Of course he’d chase that angle. Exactly where I wanted him.
I spooned a bit of vanilla ice cream straight from the pint, smirking. Darren thought he was weaving himself into my game, one carefully measured inch at a time. He thought he was patient. Strategic. The hunter circling his prey.
The truth? He was already inside the trap. Every move he made only tied him closer to the strings I’d laid out.
“Good boy,” I murmured at the screen, clicking shut the laptop.
Men like Darren were always the easiest to handle. They thought in terms of conquest. They never considered what would happen if the queen wasn’t the prize… but the player.