Chapter 2A Queen Never Gambles. She Deals

Selene’s POV

My refusal clearly bruised his ego. His expression twisted, smugness slipping into something nastier. “You keep raising like that and you’ll just embarrass yourself. Desperation doesn’t look good on a woman. Especially not one who’s… average at best.”

I leaned forward slightly, meeting his gaze without blinking. “Then why are you so sure I’ll lose?” I lifted my cards, eyes scanning them. “I’ve got a pretty damn good hand.”

He sneered. “Then I call.”

“Raise,” I answered without pause.

Even Thorne’s eyes flicked toward me in surprise. He hadn’t expected me to go all in like this. And certainly not with the kind of bet I’d just dropped on the table.

If I won, I’d have to pay that price to buy the tapes. He knew I didn’t have that kind of cash liquid.

The final card hit the table—a spade 8.

Full house.

I had it.

But the man across from me was still grinning like the devil knew something I didn’t. It was the kind of smile that made you doubt yourself—almost.

He tilted his head. “So what now, Miss? Raise? Call? Or are you going to fold and keep a sliver of your dignity?”

God, he was exhausting.

I leaned back, calm as ever, then smiled sweetly. “Why don’t you go first?”

He glanced at his cards, whispered something in a language I didn’t recognize to the man beside him.

The whispers started.

“She’s really going all out. If she loses, she won’t even make the final table.”

“Even if she wins, I heard she’s short on money. How’s she going to buy the video?”

“Why would her husband do this to her?”

“Hush. She humiliated his mistress last year. This is payback.”

“But still…”

The room was alive with murmurs and judgment. My name on every tongue. But I didn’t bother to listen. I just concentrated on this poker game in front of me.

Finally, the bearded man turned back to me and smiled. “You’ve got nerve, Miss. I admire that. Raise.”

“Raise,” I said immediately, slapping my chips onto the felt. “Let’s see it.”

The final showdown.

He leaned in again, voice oily. “Shall we make this more exciting? Show our cards together. Add a little thrill.”

I arched a brow. “Fine by me.”

I had a full house. It would take a four of a kind, a flush, or a royal flush to beat me.

I liked my odds.

And then—of course—Thorne appeared at my side. “You can still fold,” he said, voice low. “Your bet’s too high. You don’t have enough money to buy the video.”

I turned my head, locking eyes with him.

“Would that make you happy?” I asked. My voice wasn’t sharp—it was quiet, steady, slicing deep. “Seeing me humiliated like that? Watching me win… only to not afford what’s mine?”

His jaw tightened.

The bearded man gave a long, obnoxious whistle, clearly performing for his pack of hyenas. “If I win, I’m buying that video and playing it for the whole damn room. I bet the rest is even juicier than the preview.”

Laughter rippled through the filth.

I didn’t even blink. “Show your cards.”

We revealed them at the same time.

And just like that, it was over.

He had a flush—all five cards the same suit. A decent hand. Strong, even. He thought it made him invincible.

But I had the full house.

The moment the dealer confirmed the win, his smirk dropped like a guillotine. The crowd stilled for half a heartbeat, then erupted again. He sat there stunned, because he’d thought he had it in the bag.

Naïve as hell.

…

Then came the final round. The winners from each table stepped up to claim their seat at the last game. This wasn’t a table of amateurs anymore. No more idiots to bluff into folding.

And I saw Elara.

She settled into her seat across from me, all practiced poise. “Mr. Alden’s taught me a few tricks this past year,” she purred. “I’m here to help you win your videos back, Mrs. Alden.”

Her smile was sugar-coated malice.

I didn’t reply. I just needed to let her see the fire in my eyes.

Just as the dealer shuffled, another video lit up the LED screen—me and Thorne, in the pool this time. The scene was hotter. Wilder.

The men went feral.

“I want that!”

“Is it too late to join?!”

Thorne stood there with a drink in hand, amused by the chaos. He caught my gaze, eyebrows raised in mock sympathy. “Looks like you better bring your A-game, babe. The men at your table seem very... motivated.”

Cards were dealt.

I glanced at mine—and my heart skipped.

No. It can’t be.

At this stage? These cards?

The man beside me noticed my sudden stillness and sneered. “Bad hand, huh?”

I snapped out of it, schooled my face, and shot him a cool glare. “Mind your own business.”

The first round of bets started.

Everyone called—until me.

“Raise.”

He gawked. “You’ve got nerves, sweetheart.” Then he leaned in with a leer. “I like that. How about you ditch Thorne and come with me? We could film our own little collection.”

I didn’t even look at him. Disgusting, predictable, pathetic.

The flop landed.

And my stomach dipped again. My fingers tightened on my cards.

Could it be…?

The man noticed. He leaned in again, voice low and sleazy. “I’ve got a solid hand. We could work together, you know. Make sure I win it.”

Elara chimed in, her voice sweet as poison. “If your cards are that bad, we could collaborate.”

Right.

Thorne’s little twist to the game: cheating wasn’t technically against the rules.

They could all gang up. Manipulate the pot. Rig the game.

And yet—I smiled. “No thanks,” I said, voice like silk-wrapped steel. “I’ll play fair and square.”

Thorne let out a soft laugh, raising his glass. “To Mrs. Alden,” he said, voice rich with amusement. “Always so stubborn. Still believing in luck.”

Round after round, players fell away.

By the fourth, only three of us remained—me, Elara, and the leering bastard beside me.

I raised again. Bold. Ruthless.

The pot surged to one hundred million.

The man blanched. No way he could afford that video now. Even if he won, it would ruin him.

He folded, face tight with regret.

And then it was just me and Elara. One-on-one. Exactly how Thorne had planned it and how I wanted it.

We stared at each other like we had a year ago—only this time, Elara wasn’t the girl sobbing over a lost poker hand.

Tonight, she wore a designer dress that clung to her curves, smoky eye makeup done to perfection, and a slick, venomous red lip. She’d come back, not to play, but to avenge herself. And she wanted to do it with my humiliation in her hands.

If I lost this game... she’d win the videos. All of them.

I didn’t imagine she’d keep them hidden. No, she’d share them—pass them around like party favors, laughing with her new friends as they watched me fall apart.