Roxanne had been coming to Mulligan’s for two years, and nobody had ever quite figured out why.
She could have gambled anywhere in Halcyon City. Instead, she kept returning to a rundown bar off Sixth Street where the beer was flat, the furniture had seen better decades, and the dealer looked permanently bored. Her presence had become one of the few things the regulars took genuine pride in.
Mulligan’s capped its own bets at two thousand dollars. Anything above that went through Roxanne, thanks to a standing arrangement she had with the owner. She banked the larger wagers at the posted odds and took a cut of the action in return.
In this little corner of the city, that made her something between a local legend and the person who owned the place without actually owning it.
"So," Adrian said, slipping into the smooth voice he’d once used to charm dealers in Venturas. "What’s a beautiful woman doing in a place like this?"
"Collecting." Roxanne pulled out a chair and sat, crossing one leg over the other. Her amber eyes remained fixed on him.
"I watched three bets. The first was a loss you somehow seemed pleased about. The second was practically a coin flip. The third was a ten-to-one shot you called with a completely straight face."
She tilted her head, studying him. "That’s either a very lucky man or a very dangerous one. I want to know which."
"And how do you plan on finding out?"
She reached into her bag and placed a sleek black card on the felt. "The usual way." Her smile widened slightly. "We raise the stakes."
Adrian felt his pulse quicken.
Behind Roxanne, whispers were already spreading through the bar.
"She’s banking him?"
"She never banks newcomers."
Adrian heard the murmurs, but they barely registered. Some distant part of him recognized the feeling. This was how it had all started in Venturas. A glance. A challenge. A table that suddenly felt like the entire world.
The difference was that he wasn’t walking into this table empty-handed anymore. He had twenty-five thousand dollars in his account and a system that paid him whether he won or lost.
’Be careful.’ The sober part of his mind sounded almost like a warning from another person. ’This is where you ruined everything last time.’
Another thought surfaced beneath it, older and more reckless. ’Test the limits. What happens when you bet on something that actually matters?’
"Five thousand," Adrian said, looking directly at Roxanne.
"On a six and a three. Any order, any position."
[DING!]
[S Grade Gamble Detected.]
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. ’S Grade.’
Only one rank stood between that and the highest grade he’d seen listed. ’So what does it take to reach Divine?’
The bar erupted.
"He’s betting five grand on an exact pair?"
"If he hits that, somebody call the Feds!"
Roxanne merely laughed. It was low and pleased, as if she’d finally found something worth her attention.
"Bold," she said. "You know the payout is five to one, right? And the house edge on a pair belongs to me. I make money when men like you get brave."
"Then you should make money tonight." Adrian’s mouth curved into a faint smile.
"That’s what I’m hoping for." Roxanne held his gaze for another moment before reaching into her bag. She pulled out a card, tapped it against the dealer’s terminal, and locked her side of the wager at twenty-five thousand dollars.
The dealer collected Adrian’s card as well. A soft chime sounded as the money left his account.
The entire bar fell silent as the dealer picked up the dice cup.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Bang!
He lifted it, one die at a time.
"Three." A few people leaned closer.
"One." A long pause followed.
The final die rolled across the felt, it wobbled, spun, then settled.
"Six."
Someone dropped a glass. For one second, nobody moved, then Mulligan’s exploded.
"That’s witchcraft!"
"He’s blessed!"
"Somebody ask him when I’m getting married!"
Roxanne didn’t join the shouting. She was still smiling, but there was something different behind her eyes now. She’d just lost twenty-five thousand dollars.
Yet she wasn’t looking at Adrian like she’d lost money. She was looking at him like a professional who had just discovered a piece of equipment he’d never seen before and desperately wanted to understand.
"Who are you?" she asked quietly.
"Nobody." Adrian looked down at the money on the table. "Yesterday, I was less than that."
Roxanne’s smile faded slightly. "Yesterday, you weren’t calling pairs like this."
She stood and smoothed the front of her jacket. From her bag, she produced a plain white card and placed it on the felt. There was a name and a number printed on it.
Nothing else. "Call me, Mr. Vale."
Her gaze lingered on him. "When you’re ready to play somewhere that isn’t a bar."
She walked away without another word.
Through the front window, Adrian watched her step into a black G-Class and disappear down the rain-slick street. He barely had time to process what had happened before several pairs of hands grabbed him.
"Big Boss!" "Big Boss!" "Big Boss!"
The regulars hoisted him onto their shoulders, laughing and chanting as they carried him around the room, and despite everything, Adrian laughed with them.
It had been a long time since anyone had been happy to see him win. When they finally put him back on his feet, Adrian pulled out the thick wad of cash he’d won from the third bet and placed it on the counter.
"Drinks are on me tonight." The bar erupted.
The dealer counted a small portion of the money, then pushed the rest back toward Adrian. "Kid, that’ll cover the bar until Christmas." He gave him a tired grin.
"Keep the change." Adrian stepped outside into the cool night air
[DING!]
[Genuine Gamble Confirmed.]
[Victory Detected.]
[Cashback Activated.]
[Calculating Reward...]
[Cashback Multiplier: 1000%.]
[Reward: $50,000.]
[Victory Bonus Activated.]
[1000x Multiplier Triggered.]
[Congratulations! $5,000,000 has been deposited into your account.]
Adrian stopped dead on the sidewalk, five million dollars. A notification chimed on his phone, he looked down and saw the bank had confirmed the deposit.
There were so many zeroes that his brain refused to process the number at first.
’You owe Vince Rourke a hundred and forty thousand.’ He swallowed. ’And you have five million dollars.’
He could pay Rourke tonight. Then another thought struck him.
’Michelle.’ His expression changed. ’Oh, God. Michelle.’
The thought landed quietly, but the weight of it spread through him.
He’d taken the three hundred dollars she’d left behind so he could eat. He’d walked into a bar with it before the door had even finished closing behind her. And now that same three hundred dollars had somehow become five million.
His first instinct should have been triumph. Instead, shame settled over him, cold, specific. The woman who had believed in him for an entire year had finally given up. She’d left him money for food, and he’d used it to gamble before he’d even had dinner.
"Later," he muttered. He started walking again. "I’ll fix it tomorrow."
His stomach growled loudly, Adrian stopped and laughed. "Right." He rubbed his face. "I haven’t eaten."
He’d set out that evening intending to buy dinner. Instead, he’d somehow bought himself the most unbelievable night of his life.
By the time he reached his apartment building, he was already calling a delivery service. He pulled up a list of restaurants and stared at the screen. Two hundred options. He couldn’t choose.
After years of being broke, something as simple as ordering whatever he wanted had become strangely difficult. He stared at the menu for several seconds.
’What do I even want?’ He’d forgotten what it felt like to have choices. He was about removing his coat when three soft knocks came from his apartment door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Adrian stopped, he hadn’t been expecting anyone. He put his phone away and opened the door.
A petite young woman stood in the hallway, holding a plastic container with both hands. Her gaze was fixed firmly on the floor.
"H-hi, Adrian."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I made a little too much meatloaf, and I thought..."
She hesitated, cheeks turning slightly pink.
"Maybe you’d like some."
Adrian stared at her for a moment.
Chloe. The shy neighbor from across the hall. He’d lived there long enough to have exchanged perhaps forty words with her in total.
And yet, tonight, she was standing at his door with a home-cooked meal in her hands.