The Anderson empire collapsed faster than anyone could have predicted.One week, Raven Anderson was pacing in smoke-filled rooms, plotting Darren Johnson’s ruin, rallying the remnants of his father’s contacts in Italy, and whispering with mercenaries about how many bullets it would take to end a man’s career.The next, his empire was on fire.It started with whispers: odd phone calls, quiet visits by men in dark suits who didn’t belong to his world of fast cars and penthouse girls. Then came the warrants. Tomas had pulled every lever Krystal instructed, feeding the authorities documents, account ledgers, and bloodstained trails of money that tied the Anderson family not only to illegal offshore accounts, but also to trafficking, weapons, and assassins for hire.The timing was perfect — and merciless.Police raided the Anderson offices. Politicians, who had once smiled at their cocktail parties, cut ties overnight. Reporters swarmed like vultures. And when investigators stormed the man
Raven’s POVAnderson HQ was no calmer.The assassin had delivered proof — photos of Darren’s trashed apartment, the threats to his family. Raven should have been satisfied. Should have felt vindicated.But he wasn’t.He wanted more.He wanted Darren to suffer in ways money couldn’t measure. He wanted him humiliated, broken in public, crawling on his knees begging for forgiveness he would never get.Raven slammed a fist against his desk. “If that coward thinks hiding behind McLaren’s daughter will save him, he’s even dumber than I thought.”The thought of Krystal twisted his insides in a different way. Once, she’d been his — the girl who believed in him, who had stitched pieces of his pride back together. And now she was siding with Darren Johnson? Helping him?No.He’d ruin Darren, and when the time was right, he’d drag Krystal down with him.“Tell the assassin I want it public,” Raven ordered one of his men. “No more shadows. I want everyone to see what happens when you cross an Ande
Darren’s POVBy the time I reached her penthouse, my nerves were shredded. My shirt stuck to me with sweat, my throat was dry, and my eyes kept darting over my shoulder like a hunted animal. Because that’s what I was.The doorman looked startled when I barged in at nearly 3 a.m., muttering Krystal’s name like a prayer. I didn’t even care about appearances anymore. I needed her. Needed her to anchor me before I lost my mind.When the elevator doors slid open to her floor, I half-expected silence. Darkness. Maybe even rejection.Instead, the double doors opened, and there she was.Krystal.Barefoot in silk pajamas, robe tied loose at the waist, hair falling in lazy waves. She looked like something soft and untouchable — not the sharp, cunning heiress I had pegged her as.And for a second, my chest tightened.“Darren?” Her voice was a blend of surprise and sleepiness, though something in her eyes flickered quick. “What happened to you? You look like hell.”I tried to laugh, but it came o
The Next Few DaysThe city woke up choking on gossip.Anderson stocks were in freefall, bleeding value by the hour. One of their flagship clinics had shuttered overnight under “sudden violations.” Permits pulled, deals stalled, and whispers of mafia debts tangled like vines across every business table in Manhattan.It was like the Anderson empire had been set on fire — and someone had poured gasoline instead of water.Inside the Anderson mansion, the storm hit hardest. Raven’s father — a man who had built empires on blood, bribes, and menacing handshakes — was livid. He smashed glasses against the wall, his voice a whip lashing across the entire household.“Darren Johnson!” he roared, spittle flying, veins popping in his temple. “That bastard thinks he can humiliate me? He’ll pay with his life!”No one dared argue. No one even breathed too loudly. Within the hour, calls were made — quiet, deadly calls. Word rippled through the underworld, spreading like wildfire:A contract was out.T
Krystal Hunter – POVHe thought it was luck. That coffee — one sugar, one cream, not too hot, not too bitter. A perfect accident.But of course, it wasn’t.I smirked inwardly as Darren lifted the mug to his lips like it was manna from heaven, his sharp lawyer’s eyes narrowing for just a second before softening. He suspected something, but he didn’t know. Not yet.That was the art of it. To make a man like Darren Johnson, who prided himself on control, feel as though he was still holding the reins while I was quietly stitching the bridle.I’d planned it all: the laugh with the chef, just loud enough for him to overhear and feel like he’d stumbled into something real, intimate. The bacon and eggs instead of green juice — because I knew what kind of man he was. Darren didn’t want luxury for breakfast, he wanted comfort. And comfort was the one thing men like him never admitted they craved.And then there was me. Fresh from the shower, hair still wet, cheeks pink from steam, looking as na
Krystal Hunter – POVThe thing about men like Darren Johnson was that they always thought they were leading. Always thought the world bent for them because they leaned the right way.But I knew better.I knew him.Because this wasn’t the first life where Darren walked into my orbit. I’d seen his moves before—the charm, the steel-eyed ambition, the way he could make a woman feel like she was the only one in a room full of billionaires. I’d also seen where it ended. Betrayal. Blood. The deal with the McLarens that cost me everything. My fortune, my family, my life.But this time? This time the board was mine.He didn’t know that while he was smirking at me over popcorn and calling me beautiful under the dim flicker of a zombie movie, I was already counting his breaths, cataloging the tilt of his eyes, the slip of hesitation in his voice. Every word, every glance, every little moment where he thought he was clever — I filed it away. A weapon for later.The movie ended past two. He was st