Chapter 485
Chapter 485:
She struck the opening chords of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C-sharp minor.
BUM. BUM. BUM.
The heavy, dark chords crashed through the room like thunder. It was aggressive. It was violent. It was a musical scream.
People turned from the slot machines. The VIPs stood up.
Lucian froze. He stared at her, his face a mask of confusion and rage.
Skye played with fury. She poured every ounce of her anger, her fear, her hatred for Lucian into the music. Her fingers flew across the keys. The music built to a chaotic, stormy crescendo.
She finished with a final, earth-shaking chord that hung in the air.
Silence.
Then, applause.
Thunderous applause.
Skye stood. She grabbed the microphone from its stand and looked directly at Lucian.
“Mr. Graves thinks I’m bad luck,” she announced, her voice booming across the casino floor.
The crowd murmured.
“He thinks I can’t win for the house,” Skye continued. “So I have a proposition p>
She pointed to the roulette wheel near the stage.
“One spin. I bet my compliance against the house p>
“What is she doing?” the new guard whispered from the sidelines.
“If I predict the outcome,” Skye declared, “everyone in this room gets a round of drinks on Mr. Graves. And I get to walk out the front door p>
The crowd roared.
“GRAVES! GRAVES! GRAVES p>
They loved spectacle. They loved free drinks.
Lucian was trapped. If he dragged her offstage now, he looked weak. He looked like he was afraid of a girl.
He walked up to the stage. His eyes were murderous.
“And if you lose?” he asked, his voice low—only for her to hear.
𝘖𝗻𝗹y 𝘤o𝗺𝗽𝗅𝖾te𝗱 𝗇o𝘃е𝗅𝘀 𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗅ո𝘰𝘃е𝗹𝘀.с𝘰𝗆
“Then I sign the papers,” Skye whispered back. “I sign over Oracle. Everything. No fight. I become the trophy you want p>
Lucian’s greed flared. Oracle Holdings—the prize he really wanted.
He grabbed the mic.
“Deal,” he said with a charming, fake smile.
The crowd cheered.
Skye stepped down. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst. She didn’t care about the roulette wheel. She didn’t care about the bet.
She just needed everyone looking at her. She needed him to look at her.
She walked toward the wheel. As she passed the bar, she scanned the crowd. The faces were a blur of excitement and greed.
Then her eyes locked onto a figure near the exit.
He wasn’t a waiter. He wasn’t hiding. He stood in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, holding a glass of scotch, looking like just another high roller.
But the air around him was different. It was charged with a predatory stillness.
Stormy gray eyes met hers—intense, familiar.
Alistair Thorne.
He was here.
He gave the slightest nod, his hand drifting to his jacket button, signaling he was ready.
Beside him, Felix had his hand on a wall panel that looked suspiciously like the emergency maintenance override.