Then Ciel felt the typical heaviness of an alpha using their pheromones to warn someone. With Grayson’s impeccable control, only Ciel could feel it; Neville could briefly smell it, but that’s it.

Ciel quickly snapped his gaze back to the table so fast his neck cracked.

"Right," he said to no one, rubbing his shoulders for comfort. "Side bets. Great. Love them."

Lilianna’s lips curved. Then she placed her fingers on the shoe and began to deal.

The cards whispered across the felt.

Card by card, until each player received their two cards face-up.

Then Lilianna placed her own face-down card.

Lilianna’s face-up card was the King of Spades.

Bryan looked at his cards. Then his chair scraped back as he half-stood, whipped around.

He grabbed Iris by the waist and kissed her—hard, fast, in excitement.

"I KNEW IT!"

Iris made a muffled noise of protest against his mouth.

Bryan pulled back just enough to brandish his cards at the table.

"Queen of hearts and ace of hearts! Natural blackjack! On the first hand!"

He playfully tapped Iris’s nose.

"Beginner’s luck! I told you! I told you it works!"

"You—" Bryan kissed her again.

"MY LADY LUCK."

"Sit down, Bryan." Sarah’s begrudging voice was heard. "Some of us are trying to play."

She was just right beside them and was in the front row of their affection.

Ciel rolled his eyes.

Julius tried not to look anywhere other than the cards.

Iris wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, her hair slightly askew after Bryan continuously showered her in fleeting kisses.

There was a faint pink blush on her cheeks, which might have been embarrassment or might have been from when she rubbed it.

"If you do that again," she said flatly, "I’m leaving."

Bryan sat down, still grinning, and arranged his hands behind his head in extreme satisfaction. His 52,000 was about to become 78,000, plus the blackjack bonus.

The holographic display above his seat pulsed green—WIN.

However, the rest of the table was not so fortunate.

Sarah turned over an ace and a seven. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

Eighteen. Solid enough.

She tapped the felt once—stand.

Julius had a ten and a nine.

Nineteen. Even more solid.

He didn’t even bother with the tap. Just a curt nod toward Lilianna, and the dealer moved on.

Neville looked at his cards.

Nine and four. Thirteen.

Behind the glasses, his eyes didn’t waver.

Thirteen was bad.

Not terrible, but the kind of number that sat in the dead zone.

It was too low to stand, too high to hit without risk.

And that was the problem.

He had already known this was going to be a problem when he recalled the card’s position.

He couldn’t exactly choose what he was dealt—but he needed to plan his move.

The first five rounds, maybe fewer, needed to look unremarkable.

Losses or small wins.

He needed something that wouldn’t make others suspicious of him. Because if he started winning immediately, someone at this table would definitely notice.

After all, the people at this table were the kind of people who noticed just everything.

The three players ahead of him had all stood.

Sarah had eighteen, Julius had nineteen.

If Neville stood at thirteen, it would look weak.

Worse—it would look suspicious.

After all, he was the one who essentially suggested this game.

Standing at thirteen on the opening hand didn’t match a person confident enough to propose blackjack at a high-stakes table.

He had to hit.

"Hit."

Lilianna drew from the shoe. A two slid across the felt and settled beside his nine and four.

Fifteen.

Still bad. But it’s fine.

Neville tapped the felt once.

"Stand."

He already knew what the next card in the shoe was. The next card would’ve helped him raise his card number. But taking it now would change the sequence for Ciel, and that would introduce variables he couldn’t control.

So he stood at fifteen, and he did not let his expression change.

Ciel looked at his hand.

Five and a jack.

Fifteen—identical to Neville’s final count.

But where Neville had chosen prudence, Ciel chose Ciel.

He had watched Neville hit on thirteen and pull a two.

A two.

The shoe number was on the lower side, which meant—in Ciel’s estimation—the next card had decent odds of being small as well.

"Hit."

The card came out.

A three.

Eighteen.

Ciel leaned back with satisfaction that he had expected nothing less. He was beaming with an unknown feeling of superiority, gut-punching in secret.

Bryan, still high in his natural blackjack, whistled. "Nice hit."

"Skill," Ciel said simply, showing a smug smile at Thiago.

Thiago smiled so transparently fake that it practically came with a warning label.

It vanished into a scowl half a second later, but Ciel had already turned back to the table and missed it.

Lilianna flipped her face-down card.

A four.

King and four—fourteen.

Everyone at the table leaned in collectively, even the ones pretending they didn’t care.

Lilianna drew.

A six.

Twenty.

Dealer stands.

The holographic display updated in real-time, green and red flashing across each player’s position.

Bryan’s blackjack held—his section blazed green, the payout calculated and displayed: 78,000 from the original 52,000, plus the three-to-two bonus.

Sarah’s eighteen—lost.

Julius’s nineteen—lost.

Neville’s fifteen—lost.

Ciel’s eighteen—lost.

Every single player except Bryan had been swept in a loss.

Bryan smiled so wide it nearly reached his ears.

Ciel stared at his diminished chip stack.

The 888,888 had become 838,888.

While that was objectively barely a dent in his budget, the loss still stung. He turned a flat glare on smirking Bryan at the other end of the seat.

"One hand," Ciel said, his voice dangerously even. "You only won one hand."

"One beautiful hand," Bryan corrected, fake inspecting his fingernails. "And I won. Some of us don’t need five rounds to warm up."

"Some of us," Thiago chimed in, "will lose everything by round five."

"Whose side are you on?" Bryan asked.

"The head of my household."

Sarah shoved Bryan’s shoulder. "Stop gloating and let her deal."

Neville watched his five thousand disappear from the display, along with his thousand in side bets.

Seven thousand gone.

A small price to pay, strategically speaking.