The silence in the theatre-like hall was pierced by the sound of ceramic clinking against polished wood.The dealer—a poised woman with a professional grace and a face carved from calm—raised a single custom poker chip into the air. The chip gleamed under the lights, etched with the gold-trimmed insignia of Monte Carlo Gambling University. Its edges shimmered in hues of midnight blue and crimson velvet.“One chip will be worth ten million euros,” she declared, her voice smooth and clear, amplified just enough to be heard throughout the auditorium. “Now then…, how many would you like to start with?”Naomi didn’t hesitate. She smiled sweetly, folding her hands atop the table like a noble lady in court.“I currently have 310 million euros,” she said in a polite, almost too-innocent voice. “So, I’ll take 31 chips, please.”The dealer nodded, motioning to her assistants. A sleek black tray was brought forward, stacked neatly with thirty-one chips, each one glinting like treasure.Then the

Peter remained composed, outwardly calm, but inside his mind was a roaring storm of calculations and possibilities.He ran through the most plausible reasons Naomi might have for discarding two Tens—a strong starting hand in almost any version of poker.First possibility:She could simply be aiming for a deliberately weak hand. Something like:> 10-Heart, 10-Diamond, 7-Clover, 4-Diamond, 3-Spade.If she were betting on weaker hands winning, that would make sense. But not entirely.Showing your weakness openly is suicidal, Peter thought. Especially when victory depends on betting more aggressively than your opponent.Second possibility:A more dangerous one.> A-Clover, 2-Diamond, 2-Heart, 10-Heart, 10-Diamond.Maybe she originally had two pairs—Tens and Twos—and was throwing away the Tens to trick him. Or worse:> 7-Heart, 7-Spade, 7-Diamond, 10-Heart, 10-Diamond.Maybe she had a full house and was bluffing to bait him into choosing "Stronger."In that case, if Peter misread the situa

Risk made Naomi feel real. It reminded her she still existed — that she could still touch the world, and it could touch her back. But even with all the dares, the bets, the adrenaline highs, the near-death moments she laughed through… Something inside her stayed hollow. A part of her stayed cold. Like no matter how hard she ran, some piece of her was still trapped in that silent house, under a mother’s cold hand, waiting for a father who was never coming back. --- Until she met him. Until she met Peter. --- It was a cold, gray morning. The kind that makes the whole city feel dead. The sky was heavy with low, steel-colored clouds. The streets were slick with rain from the night before, the air sharp and damp. Naomi had her headphones in, lost in the beat of some reckless song — one that made her feel like she was the only real thing in the world. She didn’t see the bus. She didn’t hear the shouts. Didn’t realize the screaming wasn’t part of her music. Until — Hands.

The crowd exploded again.If Peter’s bet had been a bomb, Viktor’s was a nuclear strike.People screamed.Chairs clattered against the floor.Someone in the back actually fainted."TWO HUNDRED BILLION?!""IS THIS EVEN LEGAL?!""WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?!""THIS IS MADNESS!"It wasn’t just a gamble anymore.It was warfare on a scale none of them had ever witnessed.---And in the center of it all —amid the chaos and disbelief —Peter and Viktor locked eyes.No words.No smiles.Just two forces of nature colliding —and only one of them would walk away.The second Viktor’s voice cut through the air —"Two hundred billion." —the reaction was cataclysmic.The arena didn't just erupt — it detonated.It was as if the very walls trembled from the shockwave of noise.A thousand voices screamed at once, the sound bouncing off the ceilings and hammering into the floor.Some people laughed hysterically, others yelled in disbelief, and still more sat frozen, mouths gaping like broken machines."TWO

The 10-minutes break elapsed soon enough and the dealer reset the table.Cards shuffled. Chips stacked. The next round loomed like a guillotine blade, swinging lower and lower with each tick of the clock.Naomi’s fingers tapped lightly on the felt table. Her ruby necklace — the same fake one she’d worn since childhood — glinted under the spotlight. It was a small, meaningless trinket to anyone else. But to her, it was a reminder:You chose this life. You chose the gamble.Peter was silent, staring at his untouched chips.He had 75 billion left.Naomi had over 200 billion.It was a massacre waiting to happen.But Naomi didn’t look smug this time.She looked… hungry.“Shall we?” the dealer asked, almost too polite.They both dropped their participation chip for this round and the cards were dealt.Five each.No words exchanged.Peter peeked at his hand. Two pairs. Not bad. But nothing to write home about.Naomi looked at hers and — to Peter’s shock — laughed.Not a polit