2025-03-03 20:27:01
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Chapter 226: Calculated Revenge
The fourth hand began like the lighting before a storm—quiet, charged, thick with anticipation.The dealer resumed their mechanical poise, shuffling with elegant precision.Peter shifted forward in his seat. “Now that Logan has his tools back…”Chloe nodded. “Viktor drew first blood, but Logan’s playing the long war.”She leaned closer, eyes sharpening as the screen above displayed a shift.Floating around Logan’s figure now were light-blue statistical overlays. Transparent data projections hovered around his temple, pulling from every available source—weather patterns, betting behavior of the audience, Viktor’s micro-expressions, the current velocity of card shuffles.It was like watching a machine come back online.No.Something smarter than a machine.Something human refined by data.King’s Draw — Round Four.Three cards. Each player.Logan received his cards first.He didn’t even blink.Queen of Hearts. Six of Diamonds. Eight of Clubs.Peter squinted. “Not great. Not awful.”Chloe
Chapter 125: The Empire Strikes Back
Viktor sat still for a long moment, his fingertips tapping a slow rhythm against the velvet table. The crowd had gone quieter now, sensing something dangerous shifting in the air. A storm rolling in.Logan calmly collected the pot without fanfare.That made it worse.Viktor’s eyes rose, and when they met Logan’s, something unspoken passed between them—something dark.He tapped the table once.“Next hand.”The dealer nodded and began to deal again.Three cards. Face down.This time, Logan didn’t glance at the cards immediately. He was watching Viktor instead, observing the tiny movements—the flex of a jaw muscle, the way Viktor leaned a little more to one side.Calculating. Always calculating.Viktor, however, smiled wide. Too wide.He cracked his neck, then stretched his fingers as if preparing to play an instrument. “So, Logan,” he said casually, “tell me something. When was the last time you truly lost?”Logan didn’t blink. “To someone better? Never.”The crowd let out a low ooh.Vi
CHAPTER 123: The First Blood
The dealer’s voice rang out over the silence.“First round — cards drawn. King’s Draw has begun.”The crowd leaned in. Cameras zoomed. Chips clicked beneath tense fingers.Viktor gave a lazy smile as he picked up his cards. He didn’t even look at them right away. Instead, he sipped from his champagne flute, lounging in his seat like the game was already his.Logan, on the other hand, lifted his cards with the precision of a surgeon, reading each face without a flicker of emotion.Peter leaned forward.“They both have three cards,” Chloe whispered. “And now they can either raise, call, or fold. But folding in the first round?” She smirked. “Neither of these men would let pride allow it.”“Right,” Peter said, eyes scanning the table. “So what’s the play here?”Chloe glanced at him, amused. “Depends on what they drew… and more importantly, what they want the other to think they drew.”Viktor chuckled, finally glancing at his hand. He slid his cards apart just enough to see them, then tap
CHAPTER 123: Opening the Arena
The Monte Carlo Academy’s central rotunda pulsed with a heat and electricity that could rival a championship boxing match. The air buzzed, thick with anticipation. Students in tailored blazers and thousand-euro shoes shoved through marbled archways, desperate for a glimpse, a whisper, a moment of what would become legend.The crowd had gathered not because they were invited. No. This wasn't just any scheduled match up.This was different.This was sacred.Two undefeated gamblers were going head-to-head.And nobody — nobody — wanted to miss it.Peter stood at the upper balcony of the rotunda beside Chloe, elbows resting on the marble rail as he peered down into the grand circular arena below. His hood was drawn low, partly to avoid attention, partly because he wasn’t ready for it. Whispers still followed him like shadows since the Naomi match, and he wasn’t in the mood for worship or inquiry.Not tonight.Tonight, he was here to watch.To study.To learn.But part of him — the bruised
Chapter 121: Collision Course
Peter was walking home with his head bowed, shoulders tense, every step dragging like dead weight. His thoughts spun in circles—tight, suffocating loops. What the hell am I going to do?His mind was spiraling.Chloe.The next opponent. The next mountain. The next storm.He didn’t have a plan yet—and time was running out.He should’ve been planning his next move, preparing for the third gamble — against Chloe, of all people. But instead, his brain kept looping one question:What the hell am I going to do?Suddenly—BAM.A sharp shoulder clipped his arm. Peter staggered a step back, instinctively glancing up. The person who hit him was already gone, sprinting past with barely a glance.Peter blinked, dazed.Before he could even process what happened—THUMP.Another body collided with him. This one stopped.“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” the person said, breathless and wide-eyed.“It’s fine,” Peter muttered, brushing himself off and glancing around.And that’s when he noticed—people.Every
Chapter 221: The Girl Behind the Collar
Peter didn't move for a long time.Not when Viktor disappeared into the eastern wing with Naomi trailing behind.Not when students passed him with hushed whispers.Not even when the tower bells rang noon with ceremonial chimes that usually made him feel like part of something bigger.Now, everything felt… smaller. Quieter. Sharper.Like reality was being stretched thin around the edges.Eventually, he moved. Slowly. Deliberately.Each step echoing with guilt he hadn’t yet dared to name.He followed—not because he planned to fight Viktor, not even because he thought he could change anything.He just needed to see her.Really see her.Naomi.Not the Wild Red.Not the gambler.Not the girl with fire in her eyes.Just the person.He found her alone on the rooftop balcony.The chain was gone, though the collar still hugged her neck like a bruise. She leaned against the railing, her back to him, eyes fixed on the horizon like she might be able to spot a better version of herself somewhere i
Chapter 220: The Price of Victory
Two days.It had been two days since Peter had left the hospital.The doctors told him to rest, to recover — to take it easy.But how do you take it easy after gambling your sanity across shattered timelines?How do you sleep when you’ve lost track of which version of yourself crawled out alive?Peter stood now at the edge of the Monte Carlo Academy’s east plaza — the same place where it had all started. Where the gates loomed tall and gilded, where students once brushed past him without a second glance. Back when he was just another debt-ridden nobody in a wrinkled suit and scuffed shoes.Now, they all turned to look.Eyes followed him. Voices lowered. The air itself seemed to ripple around him.> “That’s him.”“Peter Donovan.”“The kid who beat Naomi.”“Survived Viktor.”“Bet his soul, they say.”“Didn’t he die? Twice?”“Is it true he rewrote the rules?”“Who is he?”Peter didn’t flinch.He didn’t slow.He kept his gaze forward, shoulders squared, posture unshakable — like he hadn’t
Chapter 119: Ghosts in the Static
Darkness.It wasn’t peaceful.It wasn’t quiet.It wasn’t rest.It was static.Peter floated, not in a dream, but in a screaming void of white noise and glitching memory. A limbo that pulsed like a corrupted signal, a space between versions of himself. Between decisions. Between timelines. Time didn’t flow here. It spiraled. Rewound. Fractured.His body had shut down.But his mind hadn’t followed.Inside that rift, his consciousness unraveled like a film reel melting in a broken projector. Reality blinked in slivers—memories, possibilities, hallucinations. He saw versions of his life playing out in contradiction:Naomi, not as the bitter opponent on stage, but as she once was—her lips stained with hot chocolate, her laughter bubbling in winter air, untamed and genuine. A time before pain rewrote her smile.Logan, staring down at him across the final table—not with judgment, but the quiet kind of sorrow reserved for watching someone you respect destroy themselves.His mother, skeletal u
Chapter 118b – “Second Chance”
The game continued, a quiet ritual of motion and memory. The soft rustle of card flips, the occasional muttered curse, and the rhythmic patter of fingertips brushing cardboard. The grid on the table had thinned — only six cards left. Three pairs. It was the final stretch.Ace reached across the table with a lazy grin, flipping over a card. 4 of Spades.Peter followed, matching it with a 4 of Spades just to his right. A match.“That’s mine,” Peter muttered.Chloe narrowed her eyes but said nothing, flipping two cards that didn’t match — a Queen and a 9. She sighed and leaned back. “Your turn.”Ace rubbed his hands together. “Man, this is freaking mind-blowing. You’re like Kronos but with playing cards — the god of time, Peter! Like, do you rewind five minutes? Five hours? How the hell does that even work?”Peter smiled — not with amusement, but with the worn-out expression of someone carrying too much. His eyes, still heavy with lingering fatigue, didn’t quite meet theirs.“If you win…
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