Chapter 39 39
DARREN POV
Raven made a beeline toward us just past the first toast. Predictable. Desperate. Still convinced charm could overwrite betrayal.
Krystal’s body stiffened slightly, but her eyes stayed trained on the CEO of Ashton Industries. She didn’t spare Raven a glance. She didn’t have to—because I was already stepping in.
“Mr. Anderson.” My voice sliced through the polite hum of jazz music. “I don’t recall you on tonight’s invite list.”
His eyes flicked to me, sharp, calculating. “Darren Johnson,” he said smoothly. “The finance wunderkind. I’ve read your name a few times lately.”
“And I’ve tried hard to forget yours,” I said, smiling like a blade in velvet. “What do you want with Ms. Hunter again?”
His jaw flexed. “I just want a moment. A real one. I owe her that.”
“Ah. That’s the problem with men like you,” I said, taking a slow sip of champagne. “You think apologies come with time limits—like you get to decide when your betrayal matters.”
Raven glanced over my shoulder, trying to find Krystal’s eyes. “She’s not even going to speak to me?”
“She doesn’t have to,” I said calmly. “She has a boardroom now, not a locker room. She has power. She doesn’t owe anyone a look back—especially not a man who threw her away like spare change when someone flashed family money.”
“MJ lied,” Raven said quickly. “I didn’t know—”
“Stop,” I interrupted. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You just didn’t expect the girl in the thrift dress to outgrow your last name’s worth.”
Raven’s face hardened. “So now you’re her knight in shining armor?”
“No,” I said, voice quiet but lethal. “I’m the man who saw her bleeding and didn’t flinch. Who doesn’t need to compete, because I already won.”
He flinched then.
KRYSTAL POV
I watched the entire exchange through the corner of my eye, sipping chilled white wine and chatting with a producer from Eastbridge Films. But my ears were on fire. My skin tingled at Darren’s words. The way he said “I already won” like I was a crown, not a consolation.
Raven stood a few feet away, now frozen in the middle of the dance floor—awkward, uncertain, and very much no longer the prince in any fairytale. MJ wasn’t by his side tonight. Not even Ivy or Era. The scandal had peeled them all apart like rotten fruit.
He caught my gaze—finally—and tried to smile.
I didn’t smile back.
Instead, I lifted my glass to him. Just once. The same way he used to lift his phone in front of my face when he ignored me for MJ’s texts.
Take that, bitch.
Then I turned my back.
DARREN POV
As Raven slinked away like a story gone stale, I walked back to her.
Krystal turned to me, her eyes glittering with dark fire. “You didn’t even let me have fun with it.”
I smirked. “You looked too good to waste energy on mediocrity.”
She laughed, low and dangerous. “You like defending me, don’t you?”
“I like you,” I said. “The defending part’s just extra.”
She arched a brow, stepping close enough that her perfume clouded every thought I had. “And what if I wanted to handle him myself?”
“Then I’d sit front row,” I whispered, “and cheer.”
Her grin widened. “God, I love it when you go full CEO warlord.”
“You should see me in mergers,” I murmured.
She clinked her glass with mine. “To never being someone’s second choice again.”
“To being the woman they can never afford to lose,” I said, eyes on her.
Krystal Hunter—the girl who was dumped, mocked, and replaced—just owned the goddamn gala.
And everyone in it knew it.
Meanwhile…
Monday Morning Misery
The glass doors of Anders & Doyle Capital, a penthouse-level firm once fawning over McLaren connections, slid open with a professional swoosh. Venice McLaren strutted in like a peacock in fake dark Prada—heels clacking, cheap perfume clouding the air, resume clutched in one manicured hand. Era followed, still editing her LinkedIn headline: “Visionary Strategist. Results-Driven Leader. Harvard…adjacent.”
They had always believed their market value was eternal—etched into the marble pillars of Manhattan. Krystal’s name may have been whispered across boardrooms now, but they were the original IT girls. The McLaren sparkle, the family pedigree, the champagne legacy. Right?
Wrong.
The receptionist greeted them with a wide, artificially sweet smile. “Welcome. Please wait here for HR.”
Venice smirked. “Tell Carter we’re early. He’ll want extra time with me.” She added a wink for good measure.
The receptionist simply smiled tighter. “Carter is no longer with the firm.”
Ten minutes later, a tall woman in a sleek pantsuit approached, holding two folders and a tablet. “Venice and Era McLaren?”
They stood like a pair of heiresses waiting for a red carpet.
“I’m Ava, Head of People & Culture.” She glanced at their resumes and gave the sort of smile people reserve for toddlers showing crayon drawings. “We’ll be in touch.”
There was a beat of silence.
Venice blinked. “I’m sorry, that’s it?”
Ava gave a crisp nod. “Yes.”
“But... I practically hosted your Christmas gala two years ago,” Venice protested. “We had shrimp towers! I made your recruitment slogan!”
Ava’s smile didn’t falter. “And we appreciated that. Have a great day.”
It was code. Not polite rejection—permanent exile.
As the glass doors slid shut behind them, Venice spun on her heel in the lobby, nostrils flared. “This place used to BEG for me!” she snapped, startling a passing intern.
“They still are,” Era muttered under her breath, tapping furiously on her cracked phone. “Just not for your skill set. Maybe your blood donation.”
Venice glared. “You think you’re doing better? You listed ‘PowerPoint animations’ under certifications.”
“I’m pivoting,” Era hissed.
Two days later, they tried another firm.
Rejected.
Then another.
Ghosted.
Eventually, the news reached them like whispered thunder—Krystal was everywhere. Her consulting firm had ties with every major player. She was the mysterious name behind staffing audits, merger approvals, and investor filters. Her influence was quiet but lethal. Like a queen moving across the chessboard while her opponents still figured out how to castle.
Krystal had told no one to blacklist them. She didn’t have to.
Their reputations had always been smoke and mirrors. Once the mirrors cracked, the smoke vanished too.