The game began in earnest.

This time, everyone played to win.

First hand — Damien won.

Serena raised her hand and pointed to the left. "Him."

I was pushed onto the man's lap to deal. His hand rested on my shoulder, lips grazing my cheek between hands.

The stench of alcohol against my ear made my stomach turn.

Second hand — Damien won again.

Serena picked someone else.

"That one looks like he'd enjoy it more."

I barely stood up before another pair of hands pulled me over.

Third hand.

"Switch."

Fourth hand.

"He hasn't had a turn yet."

Men's laughter filled the room.

One told me to lean closer while dealing. Another held his card between his teeth and made me bend down to retrieve it. Someone deliberately scattered chips across the table so I'd have to lean over to collect them.

After every hand, I was reassigned to a new lap — like a chip being passed around the table.

I lost count of how many men I'd been pushed onto. All I remember is the alcohol, the laughter, and the hands.

And Damien, sitting in the same seat the entire time, winning hand after hand, watching it all like it was live entertainment.

Finally, when I was shoved back to the edge of the table, he spoke.

"A natural-born plaything."

The table erupted in laughter.

I pretended I hadn't heard. I fixed my professional smile and dealt the next round.

"Next hand — begin."

Damien's gaze lingered on my face. Something flickered.

Then Serena sighed softly. "Darling, I'm bored."

She swept her eyes around the table. "I've pointed to every single one of them. I'm running out of options."

She looked at me and smiled — gentle, sweet. "Dealer, this time, why don't you pick? Whose lap do you want?"

The table went quiet. All eyes on me.

My grip tightened around the cards. My voice came out barely above a whisper.

"Anyone is fine."

The moment the words left my mouth, Damien's expression went dark.

He stood slowly, straightening his collar.

"Boring."

Like a man who'd grown tired of the show, he turned and offered his arm to Serena. "Let's go. Time to call it a night."

But Serena didn't move. She scanned the room. "Remember, gentlemen — the Don won. None of you touch her after we leave."

Then she pulled me close, reached into her clutch, and pressed a card into my hand.

"I had such a good time tonight. This is your compensation."

Her smile was bright and innocent.

As if she hadn't been the one feeding me to those men.

Damien walked away with her on his arm. She murmured as they left, "Being a dealer must be so hard. Lucky I was born into a good family."

I stared down at the card in my hand, something lodged in my throat.

Yes.

Being a dealer is hard.

But even this job — I'd gotten on my knees and begged for it.

Because the money here came fast.

Fast enough to buy my son a new heart in three months, so his life wouldn't end at seven.

I clenched the card tight and exhaled.

At least, thanks to Serena's parting words, the men at the table left me alone after that.

Except Bianchi, who slipped a business card into my blouse on his way out.

The other dealers saw everything.

So before I even made it backstage, I was cornered in the hallway.

The woman in front had murder in her eyes. She kicked me hard in the stomach.

"You conniving bitch — you've been here five minutes and you're already stealing my client?"

She grabbed my hair and slammed my head into the wall.

"Does your son know what his mommy does for a living?"

"Oh wait." She sneered. "He probably doesn't even know which man's bastard he is."

They closed in. A bottle shattered against my skull before I could dodge.

Blood and liquor ran down my face.

When they'd had enough, they finally scattered.

I braced myself against the wall and stood. Limped out of the casino.

It was pouring outside. I used the rain to wash the filth off my face.

Couldn't let Luca see me like this.

But somewhere along the way, the rain washed out tears instead.

I looked up with burning eyes — and met a gaze cold enough to stop my heart.

Damien stood by his car, umbrella in hand. His eyes were locked on the wound on my face, his voice dangerously low:

"Who did this to you?"

I dropped my gaze. "None of your business." I turned to leave.

The car door was wrenched open. I was thrown inside.

Damien pulled the first-aid kit from the back seat and pressed a compress against my wound.

Rough. Like he was taking his anger out on the gauze.

"Ow..."

I hissed through my teeth.

His hand paused for a fraction of a second, then he said flatly, "Fine. Don't tell me. The casino's covered in cameras."

A beat. "I'd like to see who had the nerve to ignore my fiancée's orders."

So that was all he cared about.

I couldn't help the bitter laugh.

Of course. The man who'd personally circulated my nude photos to the entire school seven years ago was never going to actually care about me.

The car tore through the rainy streets. We sat in silence.

Until I realized we were going the wrong way.

This road led to where I used to live.

Damien wasn't using GPS. He was driving from memory.

Something complicated stirred inside me. Then Damien broke the silence, voice cold: "Apparently the casino pays well."

He glanced at me, toneless. "Even Helen Colter's daughter is willing to do this kind of work."

"Damien."

I watched the rain streaking down the window and sighed.

"Since when does the Don talk this much?"

The car slammed to a halt.

Next second, I was pinned against the seat.

Damien braced himself over me, breathing hard.

"What."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Not happy to be in my car?"

His gaze dropped to the bruises on my neck — finger marks left by one of tonight's guests — and something in his eyes went black.

"Or maybe —"

"My fiancée ruined your business tonight. Wasted your whole evening."

I looked into those eyes — so unbearably like my son's — and gave a quiet hum.

"That's right."

"If it weren't for her little announcement, I'd have made good money tonight."

I held his gaze, perfectly calm. "Does that answer satisfy you, Don Ashford?"

His face twisted.

I was done. I shoved him off. "Let me out here. I'll walk the rest."

Damien stared straight ahead and let out a cold laugh. "Walk? By the time you get there, your clients will have gotten tired of waiting."

My hand froze on the door handle.

In his mind, that's all I'd ever be.

But if not for him, I wouldn't be here in the first place.

I reached for the handle — and he seized my wrist.

He pulled me against him.

"Vivienne." His voice was ice. "Don't forget — I won tonight's game."

Before I could react, I was pressed back into the seat.

One hand gripped my chin, forcing my face up. His eyes were black, his breathing harsh.

"One night."

"You're good at this, aren't you?"

And just like that, my mind split open.

Seven years ago.

He'd pinned me to the bed exactly like this.

The lights were low. He pressed his lips to my ear and whispered "I love you" over and over, so gently it felt like a prayer.

I melted into it, arched into him, believed it was love.

Then the image shattered.

My mother's hysterical screaming. The blinding hospital lights. Doctors barking orders. And inside an incubator, a baby threaded with tubes — all of it crashing back at once.

"Get off me!" I shoved him with everything I had, nearly screaming. "Don't touch me!"

Damien slammed back against the steering wheel. The horn blared.

He seemed to come to his senses in that instant. He stopped. Went rigid.

The car fell silent.

Nothing but rain hammering the windshield.

Dead silence.

I sat clutching my collar, exhausted beyond words.

After the photos, I'd been forced to drop out. My mother — a woman who'd spent her life upholding her reputation as an educator — was destroyed by the scandal.

She spiraled into depression.

I took care of her while juggling multiple jobs, running myself so ragged I collapsed on a public street.

That was the day I learned I was seven months pregnant. Too late for a termination.

The baby was born with a congenital heart defect — malnourished in the womb. For his entire first year, he survived on tubes and machines.

I went back to work less than a week after delivery. Not long after, I got the call that my mother had jumped from our apartment building.

When I heard the news, I dropped to my knees in the middle of a crowded street and screamed Damien Ashford's name like a curse.

But back at the hospital, when I looked into that incubator — when that tiny baby reached his fingers toward me, looking up at me with eyes exactly like his father's —

the despair went quiet. And I decided to live.

Then, just recently, Luca's heart took a sudden turn for the worse.

The doctors said if we didn't raise the funds for a transplant within three months, he'd die.

That day, for the first time, I swallowed my pride and went to find Damien. I didn't even make it through the gate — his bodyguards threw me out.

They said they'd seen plenty of women show up with sob stories.

I was at my lowest when a man stopped me.

He liked the way I looked. Offered me a spot at the casino.

"Offered" — that was the polite word. It was a transaction.

One night with him, in exchange for a way in.

I looked back at the Ashford gates, sealed shut against me.

And nodded.

A clean transaction was better than a rigged trap.

At least this time, I knew exactly what I was giving up.

Seven years ago, Damien had lured me into bed for one reason: revenge against my mother.

Because his first love, Rosalie.

Jumped from a building on his birthday.

And left behind a single letter. The only name in it—

was my mother's.

Rosalie was my mother's student, and the most beautiful girl in school. Almost every boy was in love with her.

Which made her a target.

The girls locked her in the bathroom, forced her to drink from the toilet, took turns slapping her, and eventually brought in thugs from another school to assault her.

My mother heard the commotion and went to check. But by the time she arrived, the bullies had already fled.

All that was left was Rosalie, stripped bare, and a man pulling up his pants.

My mother turned away and muttered under her breath: "Absolutely shameless."

She didn't know that one sentence sealed the verdict.

After that, no matter how Rosalie tried to explain, no one believed her. Rumors spread that she'd been selling herself.

With nowhere left to turn, Rosalie went to my mother — begged her to set the record straight.

But the bullies had already poisoned everyone's minds. My mother let out a long sigh:

"Rosalie, beauty is a gift. It's a shame you misused it. You'll have to live with the consequences."

She gave Rosalie some money, told her to "straighten up." That was the final straw.

Not long after, Rosalie jumped.

And from that day on, Damien — who had never once looked my way — suddenly came to me.

At the school dance, he walked past every other girl to offer me his hand. On Christmas, the entire campus erupted in fireworks just for me.

On my eighteenth birthday, he coaxed me into bed.

I thought love had finally found me. Then a stack of nude photos tore that fantasy apart.

I remember going to confront him. He was standing there, savoring the sight of classmates laughing over my photos.

He glanced at me — eyes red, face blank — and sneered:

"I wonder what your mother will look like when she sees these..."

"Think she'll point at the girl in the pictures and say 'Absolutely shameless'?"

That day, my mother fainted in her office. I begged him, sobbing, to make it stop.

He chuckled, then pointed out the seventeenth-floor window:

"Jump from here, and I'll end it."

All of it flashed through my mind.

I turned to Damien, swallowing the blood rising in my throat:

"Damien, I'll sleep with anyone. But you — never again."

A murderous fury ignited behind his eyes.

Then his phone rang.

Serena Langford.

Damien's voice went cold as ice: "Then get out."

I didn't hesitate. I walked back into the rain.

Damien watched me for a long moment, then floored the accelerator and disappeared, his tires spraying filthy water across my clothes.

Watching the taillights fade, I thought the night had never felt this cold.

I dragged myself to the bank. When I inserted Serena's card, I almost laughed.

Everything I'd endured — every shred of dignity I'd surrendered — amounted to pocket change for someone like her.

I withdrew the money, then threw my dealer's uniform in the trash.

But the next day, Damien returned to the casino. Marco immediately told him I'd quit.

"It was just a game. Why the drama? Clearly life hasn't knocked the fight out of her yet."

Damien frowned. "Knocked the fight out?"

"Oh yeah." Marco snorted. "Word is her mother jumped off a building a couple years back. And the kid's got some serious heart condition — probably won't last much longer either."

"Shame, really. I was planning to use the kid as leverage, keep her servicing VIPs. What a waste."

Damien went still for a very long time.

Then, finally: "A kid?"

"Yeah. If I'm remembering right, he's about to turn seven."