Chapter 79 80
I pulled strings I hadn’t touched in years, whispering into phones, making introductions through middlemen who didn’t ask questions. Each call was another stone cast into the pond, ripples spreading outward, waiting to come back and drown Raven Anderson.
Because when Krystal said she wanted someone ruined, she didn’t mean politely embarrassed. She meant obliterated.
I leaned back in my chair, the bourbon burning its way through my chest, and thought about her again.
Why was I doing this? Raven Anderson wasn’t my problem. Not until Krystal made him mine. I should’ve told her no. Should’ve kept my distance. But every time I saw her smirk across my desk, every time she looked at me like she was daring me to prove myself, I couldn’t help it.
She wanted him gone.
So I would erase him.
I pictured the look on her face when I told her. The satisfaction. Maybe even gratitude. Maybe she’d finally let me see past that polished armor she wore so well.
The phone buzzed again — Marco texting me leads already, links to offshore accounts, rumors of unpaid bribes, whispers of infidelity. Anderson wasn’t clean. None of us were. All I had to do was pull the right thread.
I smirked bitterly, saving the files to a folder marked Krystal’s Gift.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, Darren Johnson, untouchable fixer, rigging the downfall of another man not for money, not for leverage, but for a woman. A woman who had already cost me sleepless nights, a woman who might very well cost me more.
But I didn’t stop.
Because somewhere deep down, beneath the bourbon haze and the desperation, I wanted her to owe me. I wanted Krystal Hunter to look at me not as another pawn, but as the man who delivered her revenge on a silver platter.
So that night, I did what had to be done. I pulled the strings, made the calls, and set the noose tightening around Raven Anderson’s empire.
And as I poured one last drink before bed, I muttered to myself, “This one’s for you, Krystal. You better be worth it.”
••••
Krystal Hunter – POV
The air smelled faintly of lavender and sweat as I stretched into downward dog, my yoga instructor’s soothing voice reminding the room to “release all tension.”
If only she knew.
Tension was what I thrived on. Tension was the silk thread I pulled to unravel empires.
My phone buzzed against the mat, and I caught the look of disapproval from the instructor as I rolled out of position and picked it up. “Take a deep breath, Krystal,” she scolded gently.
I smiled sweetly at her and ignored it. Tomas’s name on the screen was worth far more than breathing exercises.
“Talk to me,” I answered, slipping into a seated pose as if this was just part of the routine.
“Your boy Darren,” Tomas said, his voice a smooth mix of amusement and warning, “is moving faster than expected. He’s been calling in favors, old friends of friends. Looking into Raven Anderson — family, business, the whole tree.”
A laugh slipped past my lips, soft but edged. “So he meant it when he said he’d ruin Raven for me. How… devoted.”
“Devoted, reckless, same thing,” Tomas replied dryly. “But don’t worry. I’ve been watching. Feeding his contacts what I want them to hear.”
That caught my full attention. I leaned back against the mirrored wall, towel draped elegantly over my shoulders. “Feeding him… what exactly?”
“False data,” Tomas said, and I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “A little trail of poison wrapped in truth. I sprinkled whispers of Anderson’s father’s old dealings — Italian mafia, South American cartel ties. Enough to make Darren believe he’s digging up gold, when really he’s swallowing the hook.”
My lips curled into a smirk. Oh, Tomas. Always two steps ahead, sometimes even ahead of me.
“Good,” I murmured, eyes flicking up to my reflection. Calm, poised, radiant even in yoga wear. “Let him think he’s winning. Let him think he’s clever. Every hour he spends chasing those ghosts, every dollar he burns following that trail, he ties himself closer to me.”
The thought of Darren, late at night, pouring bourbon and thinking he was delivering me the head of my ex like some knight in a three-piece suit — delicious.
“He’s digging himself into a hole,” Tomas continued, “and when the time comes, we’ll have enough leverage to bury Raven and Darren if we want.”
I closed my eyes, savoring the words like fine wine.
“Not bury Darren,” I corrected softly, opening them again to catch the gleam of my smirk in the mirror. “Not yet. He’s useful. He’s… charming. And the way he looks at me — like I’m both his salvation and his damnation — well, it would be a shame to waste that. No, Tomas. We’ll let him fall just far enough that he’ll need me to pull him back up. Then he’ll never leave my side.”
Silence on the line for a beat, then Tomas chuckled. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Krystal.”
“I always do,” I said, rising gracefully as the instructor called for the final stretch. Around me, women folded into child’s pose, serene and oblivious. And there I stood, phone pressed to my ear, already plotting the next move in a game that was less about stocks and more about hearts.
“Darren Johnson thinks he’s burning Raven Anderson to impress me,” I whispered, voice low and amused. “But in the end, it’s Darren’s own heart that’s on the pyre. And I’ll be the one holding the match.”
I hung up, slid my phone into my bag, and joined the others in closing meditation — lips still curved into a smile that had nothing to do with inner peace.