Zeke's eyes swept the room as he accepted his cards from the dealer—a sharp-eyed woman in a sleek black uniform who arranged the deck with mechanical precision. A dense circle of spectators had closed around their table, drawn by the magnetic pull of high stakes and bigger names. They were the main attraction now, every flick of a card watched with bated breath.
His gaze returned to Mr. Sim, who sat poised and relaxed. But Zeke didn't miss it—the slight tilt of Sim's head, the almost imperceptible tap of a finger against the felt, the way his eyes flickered toward a well-dressed man lingering near the roulette wheel.
So he's planning to cheat, Zeke thought, a cold clarity settling over him. He kept his expression neutral, almost bored. Let's see how it goes.
The first round of betting began. Sim played confidently, raising boldly. Zeke matched him, studying not just his own cards, but the ecosystem of the table—the dealer's rhythm, the shadows at Sim's back, the reflection in the polished onyx surface.
On the second draw, Zeke saw it: the man near the roulette wheel adjusted his cufflink exactly as Sim received his new card. A signal.
Instead of reacting, Zeke leaned back slightly, a faint, unreadable smile touching his lips. He didn't need to expose the cheat—not yet. He just needed to understand it. And then, he needed to use it.
"Mr. Sim," Zeke said coolly as the second draw began, "we never did talk about what happens to you if I win."
Sim looked at him with a glittering, arrogant confidence. "You state it, then. What do you think is a good... punishment for me, should you somehow pull it off?"
Zeke didn't blink. "How about this: if I win, I decide what to do with you. On the spot. No objections."
A flicker of amusement passed over Sim's face, then settled into pure conceit. He was so sure of his advantage, so convinced his hidden signals and stacked odds would carry him.
"Agreed," Sim said smoothly, as if humoring a child. He leaned in slightly. "But let's be real—you're not winning this round."
The cards were dealt again. Sim's eyes briefly darted to his accomplice near the pillar. Zeke noted it, his own expression unreadable. He didn't need to cheat to win—he just needed Sim to grow careless in his certainty. And nothing made a cheater more careless than the belief he couldn't lose.
Zeke purposely let his guard appear to slip—just a slight, almost imperceptible misdirection of his gaze, a subtle shift in posture that telegraphed uncertainty. He knew Mr. Sim's accomplice was watching, and he discreetly fed the man exactly what he wanted to see.
A series of silent signals were passed—a touch of an ear, a slow exhale. Sim, reading his partner's coded message, grew visibly more assured. A slow, triumphant smirk spread across his face as he confidently raised the bet higher and higher, pushing the pot into staggering territory.
"I think this," Sim announced, his voice slick with certainty, "this means I've won, Mr. Zeke."
With a dramatic flourish, he set down his cards: a King-high flush, shimmering under the low light.
The crowd murmured—impressed, but not surprised. Sim never lost.
Zeke remained still for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, without a word, he laid down his own hand, one card at a time.
A modest pair of Fours.
A Seven of Diamonds.
An Opal-blue Queen.
Sim's smirk didn't fade—until Zeke placed the final card.
The last card wasn't a Seven or a Queen. It was the Ace of Spades, sharp and dark as a betrayal.
But it wasn't the Ace alone that sealed it. It was the fifth card—the quiet, forgotten Ten of Hearts that now completed the sequence.
Zeke hadn't been playing for a high hand. He'd been steering the game somewhere else entirely.
"A Diamond flush," Zeke said softly, his eyes locking onto Sim's. "Queen high."
The table froze. Sim's flush was Clubs. Zeke's—heart by heart, diamond by diamond—was pure. And it was one rank higher.
Sim's confidence shattered like glass. His eyes darted toward his accomplice, then back to Zeke, realizing, too late, that the signals he'd received hadn't been intercepted—they'd been authored.
"Now," Zeke said, leaning forward, his voice low but clear in the dead silence. "About my prize."