Chapter 34

He had his phone to his ear.

His face said, "What the actual hell is going on."

I could tell by the way his fingers flexed. His jaw clenched. His eyes squinted in disbelief, like he was looking at an apparition. Not one woman, but three—each one tearing apart the night again like a well-dressed typhoon.

He turned his back toward the gaming floor and spoke low into his phone.

To Alec.

I knew it.

I didn’t need confirmation.

He was probably saying, “Boss… you’re not gonna believe this, but the three biggest distractions I’ve ever seen just walked in again and are bleeding the tables dry. One of them… is the brain.”

Me? BRAIN? OF COURSE I AM THE BRAIN. I AM DEATH with big boobies.

I am the ghost. The problem.

Then I smiled wider, like a woman who had never committed any crime worse than smiling too much in public. I waved at him.

Mick flinched.

The poor bastard flinched and pretended he wasn’t looking at me. He turned back around, but his cover was blown.

Mylene noticed. “Hey, Cath... that bald dude’s having a panic attack.”

“That's Mick,” I replied without moving my lips. “He’s calling the monster.”

Jhing Jhing tilted her head. “You mean Alec Darrow?”

“Mhmm.”

“Oh, goodie,” she muttered sarcastically. “Drama.”

The croupier looked nervous.

Again.

By now, we were winning too much. Far more than probability allowed. But not enough to outright accuse us. Not yet.

Because see, I wasn’t dumb enough to bet big every time.

No. I danced.

Again. Red 19, then nothing. Split 17-20, then skip a round. Small bets, big wins. Delay. Misdirect. Then a sweet gentle smile. Sip. Joke.

And of course… flirt. Subtly.

At one point, the older gentleman who'd been watching us sent over champagne.

I didn’t drink it. I smiled and toasted with water.

“Trying to court a queen, is he?” Jhing Jhing whispered.

I smiled. “Poor man doesn't know this queen came to raze the kingdom.”

The whispers grew louder. More eyes turned. Security started to linger too close.

“Should we worry?” Mylene asked, feigning innocence as she leaned closer.

“No,” I said coolly, touching her hand like a doting friend. “Let them watch. That’s the point.”

And they did.

They watched us like we were a headline unfolding in real time. Every man in the room saw not just three beautiful women—but danger. They saw luck too perfect, laughter too free, movements too precise.

And still, none of them could stop us.

They didn’t dare. Not yet.

At the bar, Mick ended the call. His face was pale.

I knew what Alec said on the other end. I could almost hear it.

"Don’t touch her. Watch her. Record everything. I’m coming."

Perfect. I turned back to the table and picked up a fresh stack of chips.

“Ladies,” I said, fire in my throat, “Let’s win another hundred grand.”

Jhing Jhing squealed. Mylene flipped her hair.

And the house—the very one I built—trembled.

Few minutes after yet another red wine we laughed and pretended we couldn't handle alcohol. Of course, the girls couldn't. But I could.

An hour later, the lights above the high-stakes poker table shimmered like stars in a galaxy built on vice and victory. The velvet-lined chairs groaned under pressure, the polished mahogany table practically pulsed with tension. This was no ordinary game. This was war disguised as glamour.

Mylene clutched her designer clutch like it was a rosary. Jhing Jhing, already sweating, whispered in Tagalog, "Ate, are you sure? One million pounds? That’s not just winning the lottery, that’s... that’s resurrection-level gambling!"

"Trust me," I said, voice a cool caress. "This is my cathedral. And tonight, we’re saying mass."

Across the table, he emerged.

Alec.

But he didn’t move.

Not yet.

He just stood there, watching me with the kind of patience only a predator could possess. His clothes were immaculate—dark, tailored perfection, the kind of wealth that radiated power in subtle, undeniable waves.

And the bastard was grinning like he already owned me.

The man who once begged me for a dog, the man who knew me from head to toe—and yet, nothing at all.

He wore black. Of course. Always so dramatic. Tailored suit. Gold Rolex. Eyes that once made me soft now only made my rage sharper. And yet, he paused. The moment he saw my eyes, everything about his confident stride wavered for half a second.

Admiration.

Pure. Undeniable.

In his eyes, I wasn’t just beautiful—I was divine. A vision in emerald silk and victory, a goddess resurrected from her own ashes.

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Something else. Longing. Or maybe hatred or admiration.

And I let him look. Let him drink it in. Let him feel the full impact of what slits, cleavage and vengeance.

Because he will beg.

But not now. Not yet.