The high-limit salon fell into a suffocating silence.
Every eye in the room shifted between Roxanne, the two black plaques resting on the felt, and the ivory ball nestled comfortably inside Black 24.
"Where the hell did she come from?"
"Wait a minute. That was two hundred thousand dollars on a single number!"
"Thirty-five to one? That’s seven million in winnings!"
"Hold on. Isn’t she the woman who came in with that kid who just lost his entire stack?"
"Don’t tell me the whole thing was planned!"
Whispers spread through the room, growing louder by the second. Disbelief quickly gave way to suspicion. Some patrons stared at Roxanne as though she’d materialized out of thin air, while others turned toward Adrian, trying to piece together what they’d just witnessed.
Adrian simply leaned against the padded rail, a sharp, infuriatingly smug grin playing across his face.
He paid the crowd no attention.
His eyes remained fixed on the dealer.
’Got you.’
The croupier’s carefully maintained composure crumbled. The color drained from his face, leaving his skin an unpleasant shade of gray. His jaw clenched, and the muscles in his neck tightened until the tendons stood out beneath his collar.
’You little bastard.’
There was nothing he could do about it.
The bet had been placed before the dealer called for bets to close. The plaques were genuine, and the spin had been conducted in full view of the table.
Nine Dragons catered to some of Halcyon City’s wealthiest and most influential people. Refusing to honor a legitimate win in front of such an audience would cause a scandal far more expensive than the payout itself.
The house had to pay.
[DING!]
[Victory Detected!]
[Congratulations, Host! You have been awarded a 40% controlling stake in Northwind Interactive!]
Adrian’s eyebrows twitched.
Northwind Interactive?
The name immediately caught his attention. It was the very technology giant Chloe had spent the entire morning worrying about because of her streaming contract.
The timing was almost comical.
While she was struggling to secure an entry-level sponsorship, he’d just been handed a controlling stake in the company itself.
Before he could explore the implications, a familiar, perfumed presence entered his field of vision.
"Mr. Vale."
Roxanne approached with a velvet tray carrying seven million dollars in payout chips. Her voice remained composed, but the amusement dancing in her eyes betrayed her genuine interest.
"You really are an extraordinary piece of work."
"Heh..."
Adrian rubbed the back of his neck. His smug expression disappeared, replaced by an awkward, almost boyish grin under her scrutiny.
"Just a lucky read, that’s all."
"Of course. Pure luck."
Her dry response made it clear she wasn’t buying a word of it.
"So, how exactly are we splitting the spoils?"
Roxanne had earned her share. She had understood his unspoken signal, put up the necessary stake, and delivered the decisive blow at precisely the right moment.
Without her intervention, Adrian’s trap wouldn’t have worked nearly as well.
She wasn’t leaving empty-handed.
"I’m thinking a clean five-to-two split," he announced, puffing out his chest with exaggerated seriousness. "Naturally, the mastermind deserves the lion’s share."
Roxanne gave him a flat look.
"How generous of you."
Still, she made no objection.
"Fine. I’ll take the tray to the cage."
Cashing out at a high-limit casino wasn’t as simple as exchanging chips for a bag of money. Every substantial win had to be verified, and the larger payouts were typically handled through bank transfers or certified cashier’s checks rather than stacks of physical cash.
With seven million dollars involved, the private cashier’s window was the obvious destination.
Roxanne carried the tray toward the teller’s booth while Adrian followed a few steps behind, his hands in his pockets.
The adrenaline from the game still coursed through his veins. A familiar voice stirred at the back of his mind, whispering that the night was far from over.
He could keep playing.
The system was on his side, and with his newfound advantage, there was no telling how much more he could win.
For a moment, the temptation was almost irresistible.
Then he pushed it aside.
His earlier loss of ninety-nine thousand dollars had already triggered the system’s Recovery Rule. Any subsequent wager made purely to recover that loss wouldn’t qualify for the cashback safety net.
More importantly, he knew where unchecked greed had taken him before.
Five million dollars was more than enough for one night.
’Pigs get fed. Hogs get slaughtered.’
He had no intention of becoming the latter.
By the time the cashier finalized the transfers, Roxanne had slipped back into her usual professional composure. She tucked the receipt into her clutch and turned toward Adrian.
"Your share should be on its way to your account. Goodnight."
"Whoa, hold on!"
Before she could leave, Adrian reached out and gently caught her by the wrist.
"We just took seven million dollars from the house, and you’re seriously going to leave without celebrating?"
Roxanne glanced at his hand, then slowly raised an eyebrow.
"Mr. Vale, I have an early morning briefing tomorrow. I don’t have the luxury of drinking whenever I please."
She gave her wrist a small tug, but Adrian held on just long enough to finish his argument.
"Come on. You’ve been wound tighter than a clock spring since we met outside. One drink won’t kill you. We’ll be done by ten. Scout’s honor."
Roxanne stared at him.
A headache was already forming.
In the space of an hour, she’d watched this man behave like a reckless amateur, expose a crooked dealer, walk away with millions, and then turn around and pester her like an overgrown teenager begging his mother for ice cream.
’Does he ever behave like a normal human being?’
"Fine."
She finally freed her wrist with a resigned sigh.
"One drink. There’s a decent place a few blocks down the avenue. Meet me there."
"Hehe..."
Adrian scratched his cheek, suddenly looking rather sheepish.
Roxanne’s eyes narrowed.
"What now?"
"There’s a minor complication."
He cleared his throat.
"Jacob took my Ferrari keys. Knowing him, he’s probably three drinks deep in some VIP booth by now. Looks like I’ll have to ride with you in the G-Wagon."
Roxanne stared at him in disbelief.
’Is this man capable of changing personalities at will? How does the fearless high roller keep turning into a complete freeloader?’
"Nine forty-five," she said flatly. "The moment the clock hits 9:45 p.m., I’m leaving."
"Deal!"
Adrian beamed as though she hadn’t threatened him at all.
Roxanne shook her head, already wondering which unfortunate ancestor she had offended to deserve this.
...
Five minutes later, the matte-black G-Wagon pulled up outside Davies Bar.
Unlike the suffocating exclusivity of Nine Dragons, Davies was a relaxed neighborhood lounge that made no attempt to pretend it was anything more. Warm amber neon shone through rain-streaked windows, beaded curtains swayed whenever someone opened the door, and a wall-mounted television behind the counter broadcast a tense baseball game in its final innings.
A handful of exhausted workers and local regulars occupied the barstools, nursing their beers while keeping their eyes fixed on the screen. Conversations rose and fell between the clinking of glasses and collective groans whenever a batter struck out.
It was the sort of place where people came to unwind after a long day without worrying about appearances.
Adrian and Roxanne stepped inside.
A few patrons glanced their way, most lingering on Roxanne’s elegant figure and luxurious fur wrap before returning their attention to the game.
In a bar like Davies, a beautiful woman might earn a second look, but the bottom of the ninth was a different matter.
Their indifference lasted about four seconds.
Adrian walked straight into the middle of the room, drew a deep breath, and bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"LISTEN UP, EVERYBODY! THE ENTIRE TAB IS ON ME TONIGHT! ORDER WHATEVER YOU CAN SWALLOW!"
The entire bar froze.
The bartender stopped mid-pour, a bottle suspended above a glass. Two men with peanut shells between their fingers turned toward the entrance as though someone had hit the pause button on their lives.
Even the most devoted baseball fans tore their eyes away from the screen.
Every face turned toward the grinning young man standing in the middle of the room.
For one glorious second, absolute silence reigned.
Then the place exploded.
Cheers and whistles thundered through the bar. Patrons raised their pints, strangers slapped each other on the back, and half the room surged toward the counter, shouting out increasingly expensive orders.
"You’re a legend, man!"
"Bring out the good stuff!"
"Bartender, make mine a double!"
The bartender, having recovered from his initial shock, hurriedly put the bottle down and began preparing drinks at a speed that suggested he’d just received the best news of his working life.
Beside Adrian, Roxanne slowly raised a manicured hand and pressed it against her face.
She dragged her palm down over her features, her expression one of pure exhaustion.
’Does this lunatic cause an earthquake everywhere he goes?’