Chapter 78 79
Darren POV
The storm outside hadn’t let up. Rain hammered the wide glass windows of the restaurant, streaking the city in silver lines, turning headlights into halos in the darkness. Inside, the warmth of golden lamps and the quiet hum of jazz only made the divide sharper—out there was the drowning city, in here was the illusion of control.
And across from me sat Krystal.
Her dress was black silk, simple but devastating, clinging in places that made my throat tighten. A slash of red on her lips. Diamonds, but small ones—strategic, subtle, as if she didn’t need to prove wealth when her very presence screamed it.
The waiter returned with dinner—roasted duck glazed with honey and citrus, seared scallops with saffron, a side of wild truffle risotto. Dishes I couldn’t even pronounce, let alone afford.
She carved her duck delicately, her fingers precise, her nails painted a dark, expensive shade of wine that matched her lips. I couldn’t stop watching her hands, the easy confidence in every movement.
“So,” she said at last, cutting through the silence. “You want your hundred dollars.”
“Yes,” I admitted, hating how raw my voice sounded.
“And you’ll do whatever it takes to earn it.”
“Of course.”
Her smile was feline, slow, deliberate. She set down her fork, leaned back, and let her gaze pin me to my chair. “Good. Then I have something for you.”
I tensed. “What?”
“The McLarens,” she said softly, rolling the name on her tongue like poison. “They’re getting too comfortable again. They’ve started poking their claws into a few ventures that… don’t belong to them. I want you to remind them that everything they touch turns to ash.”
I blinked. “And what do you want me to do?”
Her lips curved. “Mess with their business. Quietly. Nothing too dramatic—just enough to make investors nervous, deals falter, contracts slip.”
My pulse picked up. This was dangerous. Illegal. But then again, what wasn’t at this point?
She reached for her wine glass, tilting it toward me as her voice dropped lower. “And when you’re done with that…”
I swallowed hard. “Yes?”
“I want Raven Anderson ruined.”
The name hit like a stone in my stomach.
“Raven—your ex?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.
Her eyes glittered. “My ex. The one who thought he could use me. The one who thought my bloodline was a thesis project. I want him stripped, humiliated, begging for scraps in the gutter. And you—” she leaned in, close enough that I caught the faintest trace of her perfume, something smoky and floral, intoxicating—“will deliver it for me.”
My breath hitched.
“And if I do?”
Her smile sharpened like glass. “Then you’ll get another hundred.”
A hundred. Just like that. My gut twisted with humiliation. It was crumbs. Insulting. But it was also… lifeline.
Because the mayor was on my back, calling every night for his missing millions. Because loan sharks were circling. Because I had nothing, no one, and nowhere else to go.
“I’ll do it,” I said, forcing steel into my voice. “The McLarens. Raven Anderson. Whatever you want.”
Her gaze lingered on me, studying me, and for the briefest moment I thought she might laugh. But instead, she leaned back, sipped her wine, and said simply: “Good boy.”
The words burned.
But her approval—just that little curl of satisfaction in her smile—lit something in me I hadn’t felt in weeks. Power. Or at least, the echo of it.
I picked at the risotto, barely tasting it, while my mind ran in frantic circles.
She thought she was using me. Maybe she was. But I could flip it. I could play the part of her obedient little pawn, do her bidding, and while she trusted me—while she let me close—I’d take everything from her.
Her money. Her empire. Her heart.
If I made her fall for me, if I made her believe I was the only man who could understand her, then maybe, just maybe, I could climb out of this hell.
She’d already given me a hundred. Soon it would be thousands. Then millions.
All I had to do was keep her close.
Her lips glistened under the low light as she finished her wine. She dabbed her mouth delicately with the napkin, eyes never leaving mine.
“Do you know what I like about you, Darren?” she asked suddenly.
I forced a smirk. “Enlighten me.”
“You’re desperate.”
The word stung, but she said it like a compliment. Like desperation was a kind of weapon.
“And desperation,” she continued, her voice soft but cutting, “makes men useful.”
I leaned forward, letting the hunger—part real, part calculated—show in my eyes. “And what about loyalty? Does that make a man useful too?”
Her gaze flickered to my mouth, then back to my eyes, slow and deliberate.
“Loyalty,” she murmured, “can be bought. Just like anything else.”
And then she smiled again, red lips curving like the edge of a blade.
The storm outside cracked with thunder, rattling the windows. Rain streaked down the glass, drowning the world in silver.
In here, the room felt suffocating, hot, filled with the scent of truffles, wine, and her perfume.
She had me. Hook, line, sinker.
But I wasn’t done yet.
If she thought she could play me like a pawn, she was wrong.
Because I’d take her money. I’d take her power. And when the time was right—I’d take her heart.
And once I had it, once she believed I was hers…
She’d never see the knife coming.
Few hours later and by the time I left the hospital and trudged back toward my penthouse, the city felt heavier. Manhattan’s skyline was supposed to inspire men like me — power, wealth, steel reaching for the heavens. But that night it looked like jagged teeth ready to swallow me whole.
Everything was spinning out of control. My brother’s debts, my mother fading in that sterile hospital room, the humiliation of a bounced check — problems that should never have touched me. Problems I’d built walls of money and influence to keep away.
And yet… here I was.
Krystal’s voice echoed in my head as I loosened my tie and poured another glass of bourbon the second I got home.
“Raven Anderson needs to burn. Him. His company. His family.”
The way she’d said it — calm, deliberate, with that little spark in her eye like this wasn’t just business. No, this was personal. I’d seen plenty of people want blood in the boardroom before, but Krystal… she had a way of making revenge sound seductive.
I downed the bourbon and sat at my desk. The city lights glittered outside the window, reflecting off the polished glass like a thousand watchful eyes.
I picked up the phone.
“Marco,” I said when my old contact answered. “I need a favor. Actually, I need several.”
Marco laughed. “It’s been a while, Johnson. You finally admitting you can’t keep up with the sharks?”
“Just shut up and listen.” My tone came out colder than I intended. Maybe that was good. Maybe I needed to be cold tonight.
I gave him Raven Anderson’s name. Told him to dig. Not just into the business, but into the family. His wife, his kids, his charities, the skeletons in his closets. Friends of friends. Associates who owed me favors. Enemies who’d sell him out for a check.