Natasha followed Mr. Blackwood up the grand staircase, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Damian was right behind her, his jaw clenched in frustration. The VIP lounge loomed ahead, a place reserved for the elite—a world she was about to step into, whether she was ready or not.
As they entered, the atmosphere shifted. The scent of expensive cigars and aged whiskey filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of jazz music. Plush velvet couches and gold-trimmed tables created an aura of exclusivity, and the guests here were different from those in the ballroom. These were the power players—the ones who decided the fate of businesses, families, and reputations with a single conversation.
Mr. Blackwood took a seat in a high-backed chair, gesturing for Natasha to do the same. She sat down, feeling the weight of a dozen watchful eyes on her.
A man in a tailored navy-blue suit leaned forward, his sharp gaze assessing her. "So, this is the girl? The one Damian thinks is worth bringing into our world?"
Natasha met his gaze without hesitation. "And who might you be?"
A smirk played on his lips. "Vincent Moreau. An old family friend. You'll find that in circles like these, names mean everything. Tell me, Natasha, what does yours mean?"
She knew this was another test. If she showed weakness, they'd eat her alive. "My name means whatever I choose to make of it. And I intend to make it unforgettable."
A few amused chuckles rippled through the room, but Mr. Blackwood remained impassive. "Confidence is admirable, but it means nothing without power. Do you have power, Natasha?"
She leaned forward slightly, her voice steady. "I have something more dangerous than power."
Vincent arched an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"
She smiled. "The ability to make people underestimate me."
Silence stretched between them before Mr. Blackwood let out a low chuckle. "Interesting. Let's see if you can keep up."
With a snap of his fingers, a waiter approached, placing a deck of cards on the table. The tension in the room thickened.
"A game of skill and risk," Mr. Blackwood said smoothly. "If you want to be part of this world, Natasha, you have to be willing to gamble."
Damian shifted beside her, clearly displeased. "Father, this isn't necessary."
Mr. Blackwood ignored him. "A single round. High stakes. Win, and you'll earn a shred of respect. Lose, and you walk away knowing exactly where you stand."
Natasha glanced at the cards, then at Mr. Blackwood. This was more than a game. It was another power move, another test of control.
She reached for the deck, her fingers steady. "Let's play."
The room held its breath as the first card was dealt. This night was far from over.