There were only two players left at the poker table, each with one million in chips.
The stakes were higher than money—it was a battle of egos, with everything on the line.
The dealer shuffled the deck and dealt the flop: two 9s and a 10 of hearts.
Both players glanced at their cards.
"All in," Mr. Adams declared without hesitation, pushing his entire stack forward with a triumphant smirk.
His hand was strong—two 9s and a deuce, giving him four of a kind. Victory, to him, was inevitable.
Ross glanced down at his hand: a 3 and a 4 offsuit. The worst possible combination.
For a mont, he remained silent, his expression unreadable.
The dealer, anwhile, was struggling to keep a straight face.
He’d been in this situation countless tis before and knew the ga was rigged.
Every hand he dealt was carefully orchestrated to ensure Mr. Adams always won.
No matter the opponent or the stakes, the outco was predetermined.
That was why, when Ross finally spoke, his words sent a ripple of shock and mocking through the room.
"Call," Ross said calmly, his voice unwavering as he pushed his chips forward.
The dealer hesitated for a fraction of a second before dealing the turn card.
It was the Queen of Hearts. The tension in the room thickened as everyone’s eyes darted to the table.
Before the river could be revealed, one of Mr. Adams’s n approached and whispered sothing in his ear.
His grin widened, his confidence surging.
"It seems like this is my lucky night, Mr. Oakley," he chuckled, clearly savoring the mont.
"…" Ross did not utter a reply and was in deep thought at this ti.
Adams leaned toward his man and murmured a command.
The man nodded and left, returning less than a minute later with an extraordinary sight—a stunningly beautiful girl clad in a black skirt dress.
Her appearance imdiately captured everyone’s attention. The dress clung tightly to her figure, revealing more than she seed comfortable with.
Her trembling hands repeatedly tugged at the hem of her skirt, trying to cover herself.
It was obvious she wasn’t used to wearing such revealing clothing, and the situation was clearly overwhelming for her.
A chorus of whistles erupted from the group of n watching, their lecherous gazes fixed on her.
Her face turned crimson, and her wide eyes glistened with unshed tears.
It seed as though she might break down at any mont, but she bit her lip hard, forcing herself to stay composed.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she stepped forward tentatively, her every movent betraying her fear.
She stopped in front of Mr. Adams, her eyes filled with terror. She looked at him as though she were staring into the face of a wild beast, and in many ways, she was.
Adams leaned back in his chair, his grin stretching even wider.
"So you finally made up your mind, huh?" he sneered, his eyes running up and down her trembling form.
Before the girl or anyone could respond, Ross’s voice cut through the room like a blade.
"I also want her to be part of our deal," he said, his calm, authoritative tone shattering the lewd stares of the n around him.
The girl’s wide, fearful eyes darted to Ross, a flicker of hope lighting in them despite her overwhelming anxiety.
The room fell silent, all attention now on the man who had just rewritten the stakes of the ga.
"A bit late, don’t you think, Mr. Player?" a rude remark ca from the back, drawing the room’s attention.
One of Mr. Adams’s n leaned casually against the wall, a smirk plastered across his face.
His voice was loud and mocking, his tone dripping with contempt.
The other goons erupted into laughter, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
They were thrilled to witness the culmination of the night, confident in their boss’s inevitable victory.
For them, this was just another ga, another conquest.
They all knew Mr. Adams would be the first in line to claim his prize.
But as a "generous" leader, he always allowed his n to share in the spoils—once he’d had his fill, of course.
Over the years, they had lost count of the won who’d been caught in their sadistic twisted gas.
Yet tonight’s target seed to surpass them all, making this their most exciting catch to date.
The laughter grew louder as the goons exchanged glances, looking at Ross as though he were the biggest fool they’d ever encountered.
"…" Mr. Adams raised a hand, silencing them imdiately. The room fell quiet, the air suddenly heavy with tension.
"My apologies for my n’s behavior," Mr. Adams said with a faux smile, his tone dripping with condescension.
"Uneducated monkeys, the lot of them. It’s hard to train animals to act like humans."
The n around him chuckled nervously, unsure if his words were ant as a reprimand or a jest.
Mr. Adams prided himself on conducting business with an air of civility, even as he thrived on corruption and depravity at the sa ti.
The bad stuff all remained in the dark.
"I’m used to animals, Mr. Adams," Ross replied calmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Should I euthanize them for you? Help clear up so of the useless space in your inventory?" His words were polite, almost friendly, yet they carried an undercurrent of nace.
The room stilled. Mr. Adams’s n bristled, their earlier amusent replaced with unease.
Mr. Adams, however, rely shook his head, maintaining his composed deanor.
"No need," he said smoothly, as though Ross’s suggestion hadn’t fazed him in the slightest.
"They serve their purpose—as always."
Ross gave a faint nod, his expression unchanging. His gaze shifted briefly to the girl, Jessica, who stood trembling by Mr. Adams’s side.
"As for Jessica," Mr. Adams continued, flashing Ross a broad smile, "yes, you can have her—provided, of course, that you win." His confidence was palpable, his tone almost taunting.
He leaned back in his chair, fully convinced of his victory.
"Of course," Ross replied, matching Mr. Adams’s smile with one of his own. It was calm, collected, and sharp enough to cut glass.
"Let’s see the river card, then."
The dealer nodded, his hand trembling slightly as he revealed the final card. Read the latest on .Côm
The room held its breath, all eyes locked on the table.
***
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