Small tiger

During the years when I ascended to the pinnacle of gambling, I was enveloped in a world where luck intertwined seamlessly with strategy. The thrill of risk was my constant companion, and every hand dealt was an opportunity to weave a tale of fortune and fate.

In those vibrant nights, the casino lights flickered like stars, each glimmer promising untold possibilities. The air was thick with the scent of anticipation and the intoxicating perfume of ambition. My every decision was calculated, and executed with precision, as I danced with the tides of chance, confident in my ability to bend them to my will.

I became known not only for my remarkable skill but also for a certain charisma that drew others to me. Players regarded me with a mix of admiration and trepidation, for I was not merely a participant in the game—I was its master. The cards whispered secrets to me, and I understood the language of the dice as if they belonged to a realm where I reigned supreme.

Yet, amidst the glamour and glory, this intoxicating world concealed its shadows. The very allure that elevated me to greatness also harboured treachery and deception. I found myself ensnared in a web woven by those who coveted my prowess, eager to see me fall from grace.

In those years, I walked a fine line between triumph and disaster, relishing every victory while remaining ever-vigilant against the unseen perils that lurked in the shadows.

The Years I Was The Gambling God

Kristin’s place opened for business at noon. 


and hailed a taxi straight to the venue. 


Usually, this time of day was pretty quiet. 


I saw seven or eight cars parked at the entrance, 


each filled with bodyguards in suits and sunglasses. 


The place was sparse, with only a few patrons playing low-stakes games. 


I didn’t spot Auntie Wyatt anywhere, 


so I headed straight for Kristin’s office with the money. 


I knocked and entered, but froze the moment I opened the door. 


her chubby face twisted into an unpleasant expression, 


Auntie Wyatt stood beside her, face cold. 


On the sofa across, a woman sat there. 


She was unlike any woman I’d seen before. 


the top two buttons of her white shirt undone, 


Chapter 468: The Thug’s False Righteousness