Taming My Sugar Mommy-Chapter 22: Game On and Beyond

The break shot scattered the balls across the green felt like stars across a dark sky. Two striped balls rolled into corner pockets—a clean break that made Roberts' smirk falter slightly.

"Stripes," Isabella announced, circling the table with measured steps. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor, a steady rhythm that matched the jazz still playing softly in the background.

Liam leaned against a nearby pillar, watching as she studied the table with the same intensity she used to analyze business contracts. The remaining balls were spread in a way that might look random to the untrained eye, but he could see the possibilities laid out like a chess board.

Isabella bent over the table, lining up her shot. The 11 ball sat just shy of the center pocket, a seemingly easy shot. Roberts' smirk returned as she appeared to struggle with the angle.

"Need some help with your form?" he offered, earning chuckles from his friends.

Isabella didn't respond. Her cue slid forward with perfect control, but instead of hitting the 11 directly, she caught it with just enough spin to create a subtle curve. The ball rolled in a gentle arc, tapping the 14 before both balls found separate pockets.

The smirk vanished from Roberts' face.

"Two more stripes," she said quietly, already moving to her next shot.

The 13 ball required a more complex approach, nestled against the rail with a solid blocking its path to any pocket. Isabella chalked her cue methodically, taking her time despite Roberts' impatient shifting.

"Some of us have dinner reservations," he muttered.

"Then you shouldn't have agreed to play." Her voice was cool as she lined up the shot. The cue ball struck with precision, jumping slightly over the interfering solid to clip the 13 perfectly. Another pocket, another stripe down.

Liam watched Roberts' knuckles whiten around his own cue stick. The man was starting to realize this wasn't going to be the easy victory he'd imagined.

Isabella missed her next shot—the 10 ball rolling just shy of the corner pocket. But Liam caught the slight curve of her lips and realized it was intentional. She'd left Roberts with virtually no clear shots.

"Your turn," she said, stepping back with a grace that made it look like she was granting him a favor rather than missing a shot.

Roberts approached the table like a man heading into battle. His previous cockiness had been replaced by intense concentration as he surveyed his limited options. The solid balls were scattered awkwardly, most of them blocked by stripes.

He attempted a bank shot on the 4 ball, but it hit too hard, bouncing off the rail at the wrong angle. The ball rolled to a stop in the center of the table, leaving Isabella with an even better position than before.

"Unfortunate," she murmured, returning to the table.

The game continued like this—Isabella making impossible shots look effortless, while Roberts grew increasingly frustrated with each turn. She wasn't just beating him; she was dismantling him with the same methodical precision she used in corporate takeovers.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

When she called the 8 ball in the far corner pocket, Roberts actually laughed.

"That's impossible," he said. "You'd need three rails and perfect spin to even come close."

Isabella adjusted her stance slightly. "Would you like to increase the stakes?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"When I make this shot, you not only apologize to Mr. Campbell, but you also leave Miami tomorrow morning. I hear London is lovely this time of year."

The bar had grown so quiet you could hear ice settling in glasses. Roberts' friends exchanged nervous glances.

"And if you miss?" Roberts asked, his voice tight with contained anger.

"Then you get your dinner. And I'll personally ensure your company's bid for the Anderson contract goes through."

Liam straightened at that. The Anderson contract was worth millions—the kind of deal that could resurrect Roberts' failing family business. It was also completely within Isabella's power to influence.

"Deal," Roberts said quickly, before his friends could advise against it.

Isabella nodded once, then turned her full attention to the table. The 8 ball sat near the center, surrounded by obstacles. Making this shot would require the kind of geometry that gave physics professors headaches.

She took her time, walking around the table twice before settling on her approach. The cue ball would need to hit the far rail first, then the side, gathering enough spin to curve around the 15 ball still on the table.

The bar seemed to hold its collective breath as she lined up the shot. Even the jazz had fallen silent, as if the universe itself was waiting to see what would happen next.

Isabella drew back her cue with fluid grace. The strike was so gentle it barely made a sound, but the cue ball moved with purpose. It hit the first rail at a seemingly impossible angle, then the second. The spin she'd applied made it curve ever so slightly, missing the 15 by millimeters.

The 8 ball rolled toward the corner pocket with the inevitability of fate.

It dropped without even touching the rails.

For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Then Roberts' cue stick clattered to the floor, breaking the spell.

"That's not... you can't..." he sputtered.

"I believe you owe Mr. Campbell an apology," Isabella said, placing her own cue on the table with delicate care. "And I'd book that flight to London soon. First class tends to fill up quickly."

Roberts looked like he might actually explode. His face had turned an alarming shade of red, and a vein pulsed in his forehead. But with all eyes in the bar on him, he had no choice.

"I... apologize," he ground out, not looking at Liam.

"Sincerely," Isabella added, examining her nails.

Roberts took a deep breath, visibly swallowing his pride. "I sincerely apologize for my earlier comments, Mr. Campbell."

"Accepted," Liam said easily, hiding his own amazement at what he'd just witnessed. "Have a safe flight."

Roberts and his friends retreated quickly, leaving behind an untouched bottle of expensive scotch and the tattered remains of their dignity.

As Isabella gathered her things, Liam's attention drifted to two men at the bar who'd been there since they arrived. Their glasses of whiskey remained untouched, and while they appeared absorbed in their phones, he'd noticed how their eyes followed the game's progression. 'Just another pair of bored businessmen, probably, but something about their stillness made his security instincts itch.'

"Paranoid much?" Isabella's voice cut through his thoughts. She was already heading for the exit, apparently oblivious to anything but her victory.

"Professional habit," he replied, falling into step beside her. But he couldn't shake the feeling that Roberts' humiliation wouldn't be the end of tonight's entertainment.

"The nuns teach you pool too?" he asked, deliberately casual as they waited for the elevator. His eyes tracked the reflection in the polished doors, watching the bar entrance behind them.

She glanced at him, a real smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "The nuns were very thorough teachers."

"And the Anderson contract?"

"Was never going to him anyway." The elevator doors opened with a soft ding. "But he didn't know that."

As they stepped inside, Liam caught movement in the reflection—the two men from the bar had finally decided to leave, walking with the unhurried confidence of people who knew exactly where they were going.

'Just coincidence', he told himself. But he positioned himself slightly closer to Isabella anyway, his body angled to face the doors.

"You're learning fast, Campbell," she said, her voice low as the elevator ascended.

"What ?" he asked.

But she didn't answer, and somehow, that told him everything he needed to know. Everything except why those two men's untouched drinks kept nagging at his thoughts.

The elevator continued its smooth ascent, carrying them toward whatever waited in the Miami night.