Chapter 19: Luck, huh?

"Shall we continue?" I asked, tapping the green felt with a single finger.

The dealer swallowed hard, nodding rapidly as he wiped cold sweat from his forehead. "O-Of course, Miss. Which game would you like to tackle next?"

I glanced over my shoulder, surveying the floor. Roulette was out of the question—that wheel relied far too much on pure luck, and given the abysmal hand fate had dealt Brianna Wells so far, relying on chance was a fool’s errand.

I needed games where human error, mechanical rhythm, and cold calculation dictated the outcome.

"Blackjack," I declared, sliding my massive stack of chips toward the high-stakes table to my left. "And let’s bump the limits."

The news of a scrawny kid sweeping the Hold’em table while flashing Edgar Morningstar’s personal crest spread through the floor like wildfire. By the time I cleared my third consecutive game, an entire crowd of patrons, gamblers, and off-duty guards had formed a tight ring around my table. Thankfully, no Jayden.

Whispers rippled through the spectators as my stack grew higher and higher. They cheered with every win, completely enthralled by the sheer absurdity of a kid in oversized clothes systematically dismantling the house.

"Fifteen thousand..." someone in the back gasped. "The kid’s sitting on fifteen grand!"

"Man, if I had that much luck, I’d probably have quit gambling a long time ago,"

Luck, huh? Fifteen thousand dollars—one hundred and fifty credits. A absolute fortune for someone living in the slums of Grey Moon. But I doubt this much was enough to drive that wrecked family completely out of their debts. Well, it’s not like I planned to pay it all at once with gambling money anyway.

One step at a time.

Naturally, a winning streak like mine couldn’t go unchallenged. Midway through the Blackjack run, a floor supervisor intervened, suspecting I was utilizing a concealed concealment artifact or a mana-tracking device to read the deck.

I didn’t argue. I casually stepped away from the table, raising my hands and letting two female guards conduct a full, thorough pat-down right in front of the crowd. Cooperating made cashing out infinitely smoother down the line—and proved my absolute innocence to every witness in the room.

The guards searched every inch of my baggy clothes. The only item they retrieved from my pockets was a single, crumpled fifty-dollar bill—the pawned necklace cash—alongside Edgar’s black chip.

With dozens of eyes locked onto me, the supervisor had no choice but to bow, apologize profusely, and allow the game to proceed. There was no magic, no artifact, and no trickery. Just pure, lethal observation.

The casino manager, standing near the VIP balcony, was growing visibly pale, frantically whispering into his earpiece as my chips edged closer to the twenty-thousand-dollar mark.

I stacked my chips with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a cold smirk playing beneath my cap.

Still hiding, Edgar?

He thought he could brush me off, huh? Well, I wasn’t that easy to get rid of.

Let’s see... If twenty thousand dollars was what it took to draw the tiger out of his cave, I was more than happy to play one more hand.

"Deal,"

Before the croupier could even touch the deck, a heavy, suffocating vibration rippled through the floorboards. The crowd’s excited chatter died instantly. A golden aura spilled across the high-stakes floor like a tidal wave, crushing the breath out of the surrounding Betas.

The sea of spectators parted without a word, bowing their heads in sheer terror as an imposing figure strode through the gap.

He didn’t spare a single glance at the pale casino manager or the mountain of chips on the green felt. He pulled out the heavy leather chair directly across from me and sat down, his massive frame completely taking over the table.

"I was wondering who dared to place five hundred dollars on my tab and cause such a massive disturbance in my casino," his gravelly voice purred.

His golden eyes met mine beneath the brim of my cap, a sharp, dangerous smirk playing on his lips.

I grinned right back, completely unbothered. "Took you long enough to notice. I thought I had to sweep your entire casino clean before you’d bother to show up."

"Oh, I noticed," Edgar murmured, leaning back casually. "I just didn’t expect this little play of yours to go on for quite this long."

The croupier’s hands trembled violently as he laid out the deck, looking like he was ready to faint at any moment.

Edgar leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. He interlocked his long fingers, resting his chin right on top of his hands as those burning golden eyes locked onto mine with terrifying focus.

"In this round, you play with me," he said, his voice dropping into a low, smooth register that sent a shiver down the back of my neck. "Same rules as before, right? The winner gets whatever they want."

His words hit me like a lightning bolt. A sharp thrill flared in my chest, fueling an adrenaline rush I hadn’t felt since my past life. This was what it meant to go head-to-head with a literal boss.

"You’re on, Mr. Edgar," I said, my voice dripping with deliberate mockery as I threw the honorific back at him just to get a rise out of him.

A dark, dangerous flicker flashed in his golden eyes at the ’Mr.’, his smirk sharpening into something lethal as the dealer began to distribute our cards.

Game on!

Edgar didn’t blink as the dealer nervously distributed two cards face down to each of us.

His golden eyes remained glued to mine, completely ignoring the plastic-coated cards lying in front of him. "A twenty-thousand-dollar stack on a single hand," he noted, his voice smooth and dangerous. "You’re either terribly suicidal, or exceptionally arrogant, little cat."

"I’m just a girl who knows how to count," I replied smoothly, picking up my hand.

A Jack of diamonds and a five of spades. Fifteen. A garbage baseline, but mathematically workable depending on the shoe’s remaining density.

I glanced across the felt. Edgar casually flipped his top card over, revealing a King of hearts—a solid ten points staring right back at me. He didn’t even bother checking his hidden card.

In his mind, the game was already decided. He was an Alpha in his own lair, backed by raw power, immense resources, and decades of dominance. The idea of an unawakened sixteen-year-old girl beating him at his own table wasn’t even a statistical possibility to him.

Perfect.

Arrogance was the easiest flaw to exploit in a high-stakes target.

"Hit me," I instructed flatly, tapping the felt.

The dealer slid a card over. A three of clubs.

Eighteen.

The surrounding crowd let out a collective, nervous murmur. Eighteen was respectable, but against an Alpha holding a face card, standing on eighteen was practically handing over my entire twenty-thousand-dollar pile.

"Standing so soon?" Edgar taunted softly, his dark eyebrows arching up in quiet amusement. "Or are you going to push your luck and draw again?"