Ethan awoke to the muted hum of the city filtering through the thick glass of his apartment windows. His body was heavy with exhaustion, his mind drifting between the haze of sleep and the sharp edges of waking. The scent of jasmine lingered, blurring the line between dream and reality. A fleeting image surfaced—bare skin, a whispered name. Vera.

He could see her even now—the tilt of her head, the sharp intake of breath, the way every part of her seemed to call out to him without a single word. It was a pull that refused to fade, raw and hungry. She wasn’t done. She wanted more. She wanted him.

He shook his head sharply, forcing himself to stand. His gaze landed on the laptop sitting on the nearby table, and with a heavy breath, he opened it. The screen glowed faintly in the dim light as he logged in. There it was: an email from Victor’s office, subject line “Your Role in the Future”.

Ethan clicked it, the document opening with a faint whir of his laptop’s fan. The first file was labeled “Tournament Format and Rules”.

The tournament was divided into three phases, starting in two weeks.

Phase 1: Online Qualifiers

* Each participant would compete in a series of six-max tables online.

* One thousand hands would be dealt identically and sychronously to multiple tables over the course of three days, allowing for statistical analysis of player and AI decision-making.

* 6 top-performing humans and 6 top-performing bots would advance to the semi-finals.

Phase 2: Semi-Finals (Streamed online play)

Phase 3: The Final Table (Televised Live Event)

Ethan’s eyes flicked to the section detailing the prize money.

* Prize Pool: $10 million. Winner takes all.

He leaned back, exhaling slowly. This wasn’t just poker—it was a spectacle. The kind that would dominate headlines and attract global attention, especially with the inclusion of the AI-focused angle. No wonder Victor was so confident this event would be a game-changer.

The second document, his contract, was the longest and most daunting. Ethan opened it, bracing himself for pages of dense legal jargon. He wasn’t disappointed.

The contract was a labyrinth of words, clauses upon clauses layered with precision that made it almost impenetrable. He scrolled slowly, trying to make sense of the language, but the intent was clear: participation in Victor’s tournament came with more than just a hefty payout.

Before he could delve further, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen. It was Mike Lin.

***

Ethan pressed the phone to his ear and leaned back in his chair. The morning light spilling through the window did little to dispel the weight on his shoulders.

“Mike. You’ve got good timing,” he said, trying to keep his tone steady.

“Do I?” Mike’s voice came sharp and clear on the other end, laced with humor but carrying an edge. “Or are you just in deep enough that anything sounds like good timing?”

Ethan let out a dry chuckle. “Victor offered me a job.”

“A job?” Mike shot back, his tone shifting to disbelief. “What, he wants you to be his poker coach?

“Almost.” Ethan hesitated, glancing at the email on his laptop screen. The subject line, Your Role in the Future, stared back at him like a challenge. He exhaled and pushed the words out. “He’s hosting a tournament—humans, AI bots, and hybrid models. Some of the big tech players are involved—Google, Microsoft—and startups too. He wants me to help train his AI and play in the tournament.”

There was a pause on the line before Mike responded. “Figures. He’s setting up a gladiator ring—let the contenders fight it out while he collects the spoils. But you and I both know these kinds of events aren’t just about what happens on the felt.”

“You mean the private bets?” Ethan asked, shifting forward in his chair.

“Exactly,” Mike said without hesitation. “Side action’s where the real money is—bets on who wins, who flames out, even specific hands. But here’s the twist: when you’ve got companies like Google and Microsoft in the mix, the stakes aren’t just poker chips. It’s reputations, credibility, and potentially billions of dollars in market value.”

“That’s legal?” Ethan asked, frowning.

“The private bets? Sure, technically,” Mike said, his tone calm but clipped. “As long as they’re offshore or private, they’re fine. But the moment someone manipulates outcomes to profit off those bets? That’s when it gets dicey. If Victor’s tilting the scales to favor one player or bot over another, that’s fraud.”

Ethan tapped his fingers on the desk, the rhythm irregular as his mind churned. “And what about us? I mean… talking about Victor if I work for him. Could this become a problem for you?”

Mike’s voice dropped, the humor evaporating. “Depends on what you say next. Ethan, if you tell me something about those companies that isn’t public—like Victor’s AI is underperforming in the trials—and I act on it? That’s insider trading. I could lose my license, my job, and probably my freedom.”

Ethan’s chest tightened. “So we can’t talk about the tournament?”

“We can talk,” Mike said, a sharp edge in his voice. “But if you go for it, keep it general. I don’t want specifics about how those AIs are performing unless it’s public knowledge. Anything else could get both of us in hot water.”

“Got it,” Ethan replied, his voice low.

“Good.” Mike exhaled audibly on the other end, his tone shifting back to his usual brisk cadence. “And just so you know, hedge funds don’t usually care about poker tournaments. We’re not betting on hands or winners. What we do care about is what this tournament signals. If a big player like Microsoft dominates, it’s great PR—investors love that. Stock price gets a bump. But if they choke? Even a symbolic failure could rattle the market. That’s actionable.”

“And the startups?” Ethan asked.

“Startups are trickier,” Mike admitted. “We don’t invest directly—it’s too risky, too illiquid. But they’re not invisible to us. If a startup blows everyone else out of the water, it could signal a disruptor. That’s when we start paying attention. Maybe they get acquired by a big player, or they become the hot ticket in the next funding round. Either way, it shifts the market.”

“So Victor’s set up a goldmine for someone like you,” Ethan said, leaning back again.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“Maybe,” Mike replied. “But it’s a minefield too. Victor’s not just running the show—he’s collecting data on everyone. Every move those bots make, every decision the players choose—it’s all feeding his system. He’s sitting on insights that could tilt the market for years. That’s leverage I don’t want to mess with.”

“So you’re not going to his game in New York?” Ethan asked, eyebrows raised.

“Most probably not,” Mike admitted after a pause. “But I’ll tell you this—if I go, I’m not going to be the guy who gives Victor more data to work with. And neither should you.”

Ethan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re already part of the data, Ethan,” Mike said, his tone softening just enough to let the weight of his words sink in. “Every hand you play, every decision you make—it’s all being logged. Victor needs you for this tournament, but that means you’ve got leverage. Don’t sign anything until you know exactly what you’re agreeing to—and what you’re giving up.”

Ethan sat in silence for a moment, the phone warm in his hand. “Got it. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Call this lawyer.” Mike rattled off a name and a number. “She is a tech attorney. Sharp as hell. If there’s a trap in Victor’s offer, she’ll find it.”

Ethan nodded to himself. “Appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mike said, his tone lightening slightly. “And Ethan—play smart. Not for Victor. For you.”

***

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet precision, revealing the dim expanse of Victor’s office. Vera stepped inside, her expression composed, though a flicker of tension tightened her jaw.

“Vera,” Victor said without turning, his voice smooth and inviting, though there was always an edge beneath it. “I want an update on Ethan Reed. What happened yesterday?”

She paused, gathering herself. Victor could always watch the footage from the room cameras if he truly wanted every detail. His request wasn’t about the facts. It was about her interpretation, her insight—and her performance.

Her mind drifted to last night.

***

When Vera opened her eyes, Ethan was still there, his expression unreadable. She pushed herself up slightly, brushing her hair back from her face as she studied him.

“Well?” she said, her voice a little steadier than she expected. “Satisfied?”

Ethan’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, but it wasn’t smug. If anything, it was tired. “You tell me,” he said.

She held his gaze, searching for something—mockery, judgment, anything she could use to regain her footing. But there was nothing there. Just quiet.

When he finally turned to leave, Vera didn’t stop him. She sat there, her legs curled beneath her, her body still warm and humming, and she realized she didn’t know who had won. Or if this was even about winning.

And as the door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone in the soft, golden light, she wondered if it even mattered.

***

“He remains cautious,” she began. “He responded to my vulnerability but maintained distance. Physically, he was restrained; emotionally, guarded.”

Victor’s lips curved into a faint, almost mocking smile. "A cautious man is just a gambler waiting for better odds. They think their hesitation makes them unreadable, but it’s just another tell." He swirled the liquid in his glass. "Did he blink at all?"

Vera allowed herself a small smile, though something tightened in her chest. Ethan’s steady gaze surfaced in her mind, and for a fleeting moment, she could almost feel the weight of it again—his quiet intensity that somehow felt sharper than Victor’s calculated charm. She shook off the thought and nodded. "He seemed most affected by moments of authenticity. When I… faltered, he responded more openly. That appears to be a key point of engagement for him."

Victor swirled the liquid in his glass, his expression contemplative. “Interesting. And yet, I wonder—do you think he’s playing you?”

She stiffened almost imperceptibly, her gaze steady. “It’s possible. He reads situations well, better than most. But if he is, he hasn’t shown his hand yet.”

Victor chuckled softly, setting his glass on the edge of the desk. “Of course not. Ethan believes he’s the only one not playing the game. Which, of course, makes him a player by default."

Vera hesitated, her mind flickering back to Ethan again. The quiet certainty in his voice, the way he had refused to yield to her usual tactics—it had left her off balance, yes, but also… intrigued.

“What if he’s waiting to play a trump card we don’t see?” she asked, her voice deliberately light, testing the waters.

Victor’s smile widened, his tone smooth but edged. “That’s the beauty of a controlled game, Vera. You don’t let anyone hold a card you haven’t given them. But I’m starting to think we’ve kept you on this project long enough. Perhaps it’s time to shift your focus elsewhere.”

Vera froze for the briefest moment, her composure faltering. “Elsewhere?” she repeated, carefully neutral.

Victor’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her with pointed attention, as if searching for a crack in her facade. “There are higher priority projects now.”

She nodded, though the ache in her chest spread like a slow, creeping shadow. The thought of leaving unsettled her in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Ethan had gotten under her skin, and the idea of handing him off—of someone else finishing what she had started—was more than uncomfortable. It felt wrong. She almost formed an objection in her head, but Victor’s voice pulled her back.

“Now, to the matter at hand. I need you to execute some trades for me.”

***

As Vera rose and left the office, her thoughts churned with a quiet intensity. She stepped into the elevator, her reflection staring back at her in the polished doors. As the elevator began its descent, Vera leaned back against the cool steel wall. Her thoughts churned, tangled between two men who represented entirely different worlds.

Victor. She could still hear his voice in her mind, low and velvety, as it had been all those years ago. "You have to feel it," he’d said, guiding her hand. "Power isn’t about taking—it’s about making them want to give."

She had been eighteen then—barely more than a girl. And Victor had seen something in her, something no one else had. Not her professors, not her peers. He had pulled her aside after that first deal she’d fumbled, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as though to steady her. “You’re smart, Vera,” he had said, his voice like silk. “But smart is just the start. Let me teach you the rest.”

And he had.

Victor had opened her eyes to everything she could be. How to let her silence speak louder than her words. How to command attention without asking for it. How to let her body become an extension of her power. The first time he’d touched her, it had been almost reverent. He’d guided her fingers over his skin, his breath deepening as if savoring her uncertainty, until the heat between them left her trembling.

It wasn’t just what he taught her about men. It was what he taught her about herself.

Even now, she couldn’t think of him without her chest tightening. He had been her first—her first everything. The first man to see her, the first to touch her in ways that made her feel both powerful and powerless, the first to show her that her body wasn’t just hers—it was a weapon, a tool, a masterpiece.

Occasionally, on nights when the air felt too heavy to breathe, Victor reminded her of the power he had once unlocked in her. It wasn’t something she could plan for or resist—just a fleeting moment that stretched into hours, leaving her hollow before the dawn. She told herself it meant nothing, even as she stayed.

Victor’s words lingered in her mind: “Don’t get too attached to Reed.” But it wasn’t attachment that left her hollow. It was the quiet betrayal of her own heart—the way something long-buried within her stirred to life, demanding to be felt. This awakening felt unfamiliar, untamed, and it terrified her.

Her fingers brushed the edge of her phone, where she had carefully recorded Victor’s trading instructions. She had executed the orders without question, as she always had. But for the first time, doubt gnawed at her. Why those trades? Why now?

She straightened, a quiet resolve settling over her. She would look deeper into those trades, into what he wasn’t telling her.

As the elevator doors slid open, Vera stepped out, her heels clicking against the marble floor. For the first time, she felt the weight of a choice she wasn’t sure she wanted to make.

But she knew she couldn’t look away anymore.