Two hours bled into each other in a blur of lights, noise, and adrenaline. Xavier had long forgotten the concept of time—he was buried deep in the high of the tables, in the sharp shuffle of cards, the spin of wheels, the clatter of dice. Each sound built into a symphony around him, with him at the center of attention and the man of action.

He started small—slots, roulette, blackjack—mostly leaning toward tables where the house took pleasure in breaking the confidence of rich idiots who thought money could bend odds. Xavier flipped that entire balance. Every round he joined ended with the same stunned silence, then clapping, then whispers. The house didn't lose; Xavier won.

By the time he moved to the high-stakes tables, word had spread. The upper balcony filled with men in suits and women in shimmering dresses, watching through their drinks. The pit below buzzed. Then someone, a corp brat with too much money and pride, stood up and shouted, "I'll play you myself!"

And that was how the evening turned into a full-blown tournament.

They brought out new tables, security cleared a section, and a crowd formed fast. People started placing bets on Xavier or against him, yelling odds, waving chips.

The first challenger chose poker. The man's face was cold and confident—until Xavier looked at him once and smirked, that quiet, unbothered smirk that said you've already lost. Five hands later, the man slammed his cards down and stormed off, calling Xavier a cheat.

The dealer looked panicked, but Xavier just leaned back, unimpressed. "Change the dealer then," he said. "Pick anyone. Doesn't even have to work here."

A random guy from the crowd stepped up, trembling a bit but taking the seat. Xavier played again—eyes half-closed, one hand resting lazily on the table—and still wiped the floor with the challenger.

Each opponent came with a new game: blackjack, dice, roulette, even one bizarre math-based puzzle game that no one had played in years. Xavier played them all, flawlessly. At one point, someone challenged him to cards, and Xavier said, "Fine," closed his eyes, and played blind. He still won. The crowd lost their minds.

"Impossible," someone muttered from the back. "No one reads the table like that."

"He's not reading the table," another whispered. "He's reading people."

Xavier didn't bother responding. He didn't need to. His hands moved like he'd seen these games a thousand times in a thousand timelines. It wasn't luck. It wasn't just some luck or cheating, but Xavier had just comprehended everything there was about these gambling and games that he couldn't be defeated unless something new came up or the rules suddenly changed or against his favor.

The more he won, the more people came. Some stormed off in anger, some laughed in disbelief, some lost everything and still shook his hand. The floor was chaotic; the upper balcony—where the true bigshots sat—was alive with amusement. They weren't playing, just watching, sipping vintage wine, whispering Xavier's name like a new legend had just stepped into their world.

By the time the last challenger folded, Xavier had stacked over eight hundred billion credits. He'd crushed entire legacies, someone's generational wealth, someone's pocket change—destroyed old money, humbled new money, and turned the casino into his own private playground.

The crowd erupted into noise—some cheering, some cursing, some laughing in disbelief.

Xavier just leaned back in his chair, arms folded, a faint grin curling at his lips. Lyra sat beside him, her tail flicking as she looked at him like he was something else entirely. Usually, Xavier would think that Lyra must be wondering how much food she could buy with 800 billion and how much she could eat, but today… she wasn't sure what's going on in her mind. And he wasn't going to guess it.

Up on the balcony, a few powerful figures raised their glasses toward him. His name was already spreading like wildfire.

Just as the crowd started to die down and the noise softened into murmurs, a woman in a sleek black suit approached from the upper floor balcony. She was one of the casino managers, and the way everyone stepped aside for her made it clear she wasn't just any staff member. She stopped right in front of Xavier, dipped her head slightly, and said, "Mr. Xavier, Miss Yelena would like to see you in her suite upstairs."

Xavier's grin returned, like he'd been waiting for that exact line. 'Knew she'd show up sooner or later,' he muttered under his breath as he rose from his seat. He pocketed a few chips, turned to Lyra, and said, "Let's go. Time to meet the queen."

The staff, the guards, even the gamblers parted as they walked through. The air up near the elevator was cooler, quieter. When they reached the suite floor, two guards were stationed at the grand double door, both wearing the crimson insignia of the Red Family.

One of them stepped forward, hand raised politely but firm. "Apologies, Mr. Xavier. Miss Yelena requests your presence alone. The lady will have to wait outside."

Lyra's tail stilled behind her, her expression dipping into a small frown. She didn't say anything, but Xavier caught the faint glimmer of disappointment in her eyes. She had followed him everywhere that day—shadow-silent, but close—and now this?

Xavier looked at the guards, then at her. He could've brushed it off easily, told her to wait downstairs or meet him later. But the thought of leaving her behind didn't sit right with him. So he simply spread his hands and said, "Then tell your Miss Yelena that if Lyra doesn't come with me, I'm walking out right now."

The guards froze. They weren't used to anyone speaking like that about Yelena—not even her business partners. One of them quickly disappeared into the room.

A minute later, the door clicked open again. "Miss Yelena says… you may both come in."

"Smart choice," Xavier said with a lazy grin, walking past them with Lyra right beside him.

The moment they stepped inside, the scent of wine, perfume, and polished wood filled the air. The suite was drenched in warm golden light—velvet sofas, crystalline bottles glinting on a bar cart, the skyline spilling through tall windows.

And at the center of it all was…her.

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