Chapter 46: The Game Begins

Ethan knew the moment he stepped into the Westwood Estate that the night wasn't just about a party—it was a test.

A carefully curated battlefield, where the weapons weren't guns or fists, but influence, manipulation, and power plays disguised as casual conversation.

And Ethan?

He was walking straight into the lion's den.

---

The estate's grand ballroom was bathed in golden light, crystal chandeliers reflecting off polished marble floors. Guests—dressed in the finest designer suits and gowns—mingled in clusters, sipping from expensive crystal glasses while exchanging carefully calculated words.

The air smelled of wealth—aged whiskey, imported cigars, and the faintest trace of expensive perfume.

Ethan strolled in like he belonged.

Because he did.

Even if no one knew it yet.

Jordan had once told him that the wealthy were predictable. That they operated on unspoken rules, hidden games played behind polite smiles.

Ethan had spent years mastering those rules.

And tonight?

He was going to break every single one of them.

---

A waiter passed by, offering a tray of drinks. Ethan plucked a glass of champagne without breaking stride, his eyes scanning the room.

That's when he saw her.

Sophia Russo.

Dressed in an elegant black dress that clung to her figure just enough to make heads turn. She was talking to a group of socialites, laughing lightly at something one of them said—except her eyes weren't focused on them.

They were focused on him.

Ethan smirked.

So she had managed to get herself invited. Not surprising. Sophia was nothing if not resourceful.

Their eyes met across the room, and for a moment, the tension crackled like static.

Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, Sophia lifted her champagne glass in his direction before turning back to her conversation.

Ethan chuckled to himself.

He'd deal with her later.

For now, there were bigger threats in the room.

---

"Ethan Cross," a voice drawled from behind him.

He turned to find himself face-to-face with a man who radiated wealth and arrogance in equal measure.

Kairos Westwood.

Dressed in an all-white tuxedo, exuding the effortless confidence of someone who had never heard the word no in his life.

Kairos swirled the amber liquid in his glass, eyes assessing. "I was wondering if you'd actually come."

Ethan smirked. "And miss the opportunity to see what kind of trap you've set? Not a chance."

Kairos chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Trap? No, no. Just an invitation. A friendly gathering among… equals."

Ethan tilted his head. "We both know I'm not one of you."

Kairos's smirk widened. "Aren't you?"

Ethan remained silent.

"People are talking about you, Fleeting Fable," Kairos continued. "And I don't like sharing the spotlight."

Ethan grinned. "Then maybe you should shine a little brighter."

A flicker of irritation crossed Kairos's face before vanishing. "Tell me, Ethan—what exactly do you want?"

Ethan took a slow sip of his champagne, eyes locked onto Kairos's. "I don't play for money. I don't play for power." He leaned in slightly. "I play for the game itself."

Kairos studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled. "Interesting."

He gestured toward a secluded lounge area, where a group of elite guests sat in a half-circle around a luxurious poker table.

"Join me for a game?" Kairos asked smoothly. "High stakes. Real players."

Ethan chuckled. "Thought you'd never ask."

And just like that, the real game began.

---

The lounge was quieter than the ballroom, but the atmosphere was heavier.

A group of men and women, all draped in luxury, sat around a mahogany poker table, their expressions unreadable.

Kairos took his seat at the head of the table. Ethan slid into the chair across from him.

A dealer in a crisp black suit shuffled the deck with practiced ease.

"This is an exclusive game," one of the players—a man in his forties with sharp blue eyes—remarked. "We don't usually allow… outsiders."

Ethan smirked. "I'm honored."

Kairos leaned forward. "Rules are simple. No limit. No backing out once you're in."

Ethan nodded. "Sounds fair."

Kairos's smirk widened. "Then let's begin."

The first few hands were warm-ups. Bets were high, but no one was truly playing yet. It was a dance—analyzing opponents, gauging confidence, testing bluffs.

But Ethan?

Ethan wasn't here to test.

He was here to win.

---

By the fifth hand, Ethan had already started making waves.

He played aggressively—calling bluffs, pushing bets higher, making bold moves that put the others on edge.

The tension at the table thickened with every chip he won.

Sophia had wandered into the lounge at some point, leaning against a pillar, watching him closely.

Kairos, meanwhile, was starting to get annoyed.

By the tenth hand, Ethan had tripled his stack.

One of the other players—a woman with cold green eyes—sighed, tossing her cards down. "This kid is either insane or a genius."

Kairos's jaw tightened.

Then, he smirked.

"Let's raise the stakes."

He snapped his fingers, and a security guard stepped forward, placing something on the table.

A sleek, black envelope.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

Kairos leaned back. "An invitation. To something bigger."

Ethan picked up the envelope, studying it. There was no writing. Just a single silver emblem—a snake coiled around a dagger.

"The real game isn't played at poker tables, Ethan," Kairos said, his voice lower now. "It's played behind closed doors, in rooms where power is truly decided."

Ethan flicked the envelope between his fingers. "And you're inviting me because…?"

Kairos's smirk returned. "Because I want to see what you're really made of."

Ethan stared at him for a long moment.

Then, with a slow smirk of his own, he slid the envelope into his pocket.

"Looks like I just got my next challenge."

And with that, the night took a dangerous turn.