Chapter 12: A Dangerous Invitation

Natasha left the VIP lounge with Damian by her side, her mind still reeling from the calculated lesson Mr. Blackwood had taught her. The taste of defeat still lingered, but she had gained something valuable—his acknowledgment. That alone meant she was far from done.

The cold night air outside the grand casino was a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere inside. The city skyline stretched beyond, neon lights reflecting in the glass buildings. A gentle breeze brushed against Natasha's skin, but she barely noticed. She was still lost in thought, replaying every word spoken at that table.

Damian sighed beside her, running a hand through his dark hair. "You really shouldn't have pushed it that far."

She glanced at him, her lips curving into a small smile. "And what would you have done? Let them think I'm weak?"

His expression tightened. "It's not about weakness. It's about understanding who you're dealing with. These people—" He shook his head. "They don't play fair, Natasha. They don't lose."

"Then I'll learn how to win," she said, her voice unwavering.

Before Damian could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening. "We need to leave. Now."

She frowned. "What's wrong?"

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward his sleek black car. "No questions. Just get in."

The urgency in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn't argue. The moment they were inside, he sped off, weaving through the late-night traffic like a man on a mission.

"Damian," she tried again, her voice calmer this time. "What's going on?"

His grip tightened on the wheel. "Vincent just sent a message. Someone's been watching you."

Her stomach twisted. "Watching me? Why?"

He exhaled sharply. "Because you're not just some girl in college anymore. You stepped into our world tonight, Natasha. And that means someone is bound to test you sooner or later."

She turned to face him fully. "Then tell me what I need to do."

His eyes flicked toward her, unreadable under the glow of the passing streetlights. "Stay close to me. No more unnecessary risks. And most importantly—don't trust anyone."

The weight of his words settled in her chest. She had expected things to change, but she hadn't realized just how quickly the stakes would rise.

As they pulled into the underground parking lot of Damian's private residence, the atmosphere had shifted into something heavier. A black car was already waiting for them, its tinted windows revealing nothing.

The door opened, and a tall figure stepped out—Vincent Moreau, his usual smirk absent for once. "You're late."

Damian cut the engine. "Traffic."

Vincent ignored the excuse, turning his sharp gaze on Natasha. "We need to talk. Now."

She swallowed hard. Whatever was coming next, she had a feeling it would change everything.