The three guys who each tossed in fifteen million couldn’t help glancing at Anthony as he calmly peeled an orange for Charlotte. Their nerves were shot. There was already over a hundred million on the table, but Anthony looked completely unbothered. They figured his hand had to be huge. After exchanging a quick look, all three folded. If they kept playing, they’d probably lose everything—including their boxers.
Now, only two players were left. One had a 10, 8, and 9—twenty-seven points. The other had a pair of nines and an eight—twenty-six points. Both were solid hands. They were feeling good, unless the other side had pulled something wild, like a face card—J, Q, or K, which counted as eleven, twelve, or thirteen points. But that was a long shot.
“Player Four, twenty million,” the dealer called out. “Player Five, twenty million.”
“Player Two, your move.”
Anthony kept peeling the orange, his voice low and relaxed. “Lottie, call.”
“Okay.” Charlotte wiped her hands with a napkin, then picked up Anthony’s cards. As soon as she saw the numbers, her lips curved into a tiny smile and her brows lifted.
“Forty million.”
The two guys across from her stared, stunned.
Most people just matched the bet, maybe doubled it if they were feeling bold. But forty million? You had to be crazy confident to throw down like that.
Forty million… If this round finished, the pot would be at least five hundred million.
Everyone here was loaded, but losing hundreds of millions in a few hands was enough to make even a billionaire sweat. Who were these two, anyway?
The two men hesitated, then called, slamming down their chips so hard it looked like they’d snap their cards in half.
“Eighty million.”
Charlotte popped a slice of orange into her mouth, then casually tossed in her chips.
Player Four couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed back his chair, dumped his cards with the dealer, and stormed off, his face like thunder. He was out.



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