Chapter 239
“Tell him it’s a private game,” Gaston said, his voice cold and flat.
“He says he heard ‘the Collins’ is here,” the waiter said, “and he’s invoking his founding member charter rights to join. Our hands are tied, sir.”
Gaston looked at Jocelyn. “Do you want him here?”
Jocelyn thought about the reunion. About the ER. About the years of carefully constructed manipulation.
“Let him in,” she said. “I want to take his money.”
Gaston’s smile spread slowly — dark and shark-like.
“You heard the lady,” he said, nodding to the waiter. “Let the sheep in.”
The door opened. Kieran Douglas walked in wearing a suit that cost more than most people’s cars, and he wore it like armor — confident, arrogant, his chin slightly raised.
He saw Gaston and nodded. “Collins.”
Then he saw the woman sitting beside him.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗻 𝗴𝗮𝗹𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘀.𝗰𝗼𝗺
Jocelyn turned her chair slightly and held his gaze over the rim of her sparkling water.
“Hello, Kieran. Late as always,” she said.
Kieran stopped dead. “Jocelyn? What are you doing here?”
“She’s my plus-one,” Gaston said. His hand settled on her shoulder. “And my luck.”
Kieran’s face twisted.
“Sit down, Douglas,” Vance said, pointing to the empty chair. “Buy-in is five hundred grand.”
Kieran sat. His ego wouldn’t allow him to leave. He pulled out a marker.
He stared at Jocelyn across the green felt. “Aspen said this whole marriage was a sham. A PR stunt to make me jealous.”
“Aspen says a lot of things,” Jocelyn said, picking up her cards.
The game proceeded. Kieran played recklessly — betting big on weak hands, trying to bully the table into submission.
“You don’t know this game, Jo,” he sneered after winning a small pot. “Stick to slots.”
“I learn fast,” she said.
It came down to the final hand. The pot was enormous, chips piled high at the center of the table.
Kieran went all in. “I bet you’re bluffing.”
Gaston folded. It was down to Jocelyn and Kieran.
She glanced at Gaston. He gave the smallest of nods.
“I call,” she said, pushing her stack into the middle.
Kieran slammed his cards down with a triumphant crack. “Full House. Kings over Tens. Read ’em and weep.” He reached for the chips, a smirk already spreading across his face.
“Not so fast,” Jocelyn said.
She had spent a decade studying the map of his deceit. She knew the subtle twitch at the corner of his eye when he was overconfident, the way his fingers drummed the table when his hand was good — but not unbeatable.
She flipped her cards over, one by one.
Ace. Ace.
The board held two more aces.
Four of a Kind.
The table erupted. Xavier let out a low whistle.
Kieran went pale. He stared at the cards, then at the chips moving away from him. He had lost face — in front of the only people whose opinions still carried weight in this city. The money was an afterthought. The humiliation was the real wound.
“Beginner’s luck,” he said.
.