Andrew sat down slowly, his movements deliberate. He didn’t reach for the chips, didn’t crack a joke, didn’t flash a smile. He simply looked at the table, then at the man sitting opposite him—Mr. Davidson.The air thickened with anticipation.Davidson sipped his scotch without blinking. He hadn’t expected Andrew to accept the seat. Few ever did. Even fewer walked away untouched.The other men gave each other side glances—mocking, cautious, speculative. One of them leaned back, whispering something behind a cigar, and a low chuckle followed. But even that laughter felt manufactured, tight around the edges. Nobody wanted to show too much interest. Not yet.Andrew said nothing. He picked up the cards and flipped them neatly in his hand. His eyes moved from player to player—not with suspicion, but with the distant awareness of a man reading a room, not just watching it.The game began.It wasn’t poker. It wasn’t blackjack. It was a hybrid—an exclusive design with custom rules that had evo

Anastacia was sitting in the living room on her laptop, fingers lazily tapping across the keyboard as she scrolled through unread emails and half-finished tasks. Her phone vibrated beside her, lighting up with Dorothy’s name. She picked up, already knowing what the call was about. Dorothy, ever the timekeeper, was calling to remind her of their monthly dinner scheduled for later that night. It was the routine dinner held by her former classmates, a tight-knit circle that had evolved into business partners over the years. They created the club to stay connected and build stronger networks, mixing social bonding with subtle business talk. Anastacia had been a part of it from the start—before her life spiraled into unwanted headlines and whispered gossip."Dorothy," she muttered under her breath and picked the call."Hey Stacia ! You didn’t forget our dinner tonight, right?"Anastacia hesitated, her fingers frozen above the keyboard. "Dorothy... I thought it was next weekend."Doroth

Andrew showed his card to the security guard at the entrance, his expression unreadable, and without further questions, he was led into the restaurant.Andrew followed the waiter through the grand entrance, his steps steady, the click of his shoes muffled by the thick carpet. The restaurant exuded quiet opulence—golden chandeliers casting a warm glow over polished marble floors, crystal glasses catching the light like tiny prisms, and the subtle hum of hushed conversations blending with the gentle strains of a piano in the corner. He had no intention of being distracted, yet as they wove past a row of neatly dressed diners, his eyes instinctively scanned the room—and froze. There, sitting in an intimate corner, was the last person he had expected to see.Anastacia Ashton.She sat at a table with five others, all elegantly dressed, their posture and laughter carrying the air of people who knew they belonged. Her laughter, bright and effortless just moments ago, faded the second she s

Where’s your manager?! I need to see him.” Mirian’s voice came out sharp, each word carrying irritation that drew a few glances from nearby tables. Her tone was firm, almost commanding, and the staff at the reception desk immediately stiffened at her presence. She wasted no time explaining the entire situation, her hands gesturing animatedly as she turned halfway, ready to point out the waiter who had blatantly ignored her earlier. Her voice was fast, words tumbling out in an annoyed rush, as though the injustice she suffered could not be told in anything less than urgent detail.“Mirian, look,” Cynthia called suddenly, cutting through Mirian’s explanation. Her tone had a strange edge—half amused, half curious—which made Mirian’s brows knit in mild confusion.But just as she turned toward Cynthia, her movement froze mid-way, her gaze locking onto something that made her blink twice in disbelief. There, seated comfortably at a corner table, was the very man she had confidently mistaken