CHAPTER 25: CASSINO OF SHADOWS

(Evelina’s POV—Night of the Casino Event, Arrival)

The city glittered like sin wrapped in diamonds.

The car slowed to a stop before the entrance of Theo Vinter’s newest empire—Casino One—a towering monument of glass, gold, and danger. Light poured from it like a beacon luring moths to the flame.

Perfect place for someone to die. Perfect place for someone like me to live.

The valet opened the door.

A thousand flashes erupted—paparazzi, investors, and media—all hungry for a glimpse of the monsters walking in gowns and tuxedos.

I stepped out first.

Red dress trailing behind me like spilled blood. Shoulders bare. Chin high. Eyes cold. The crowd paused—not gasping, not cheering—stopping. Like a predator had entered the arena.

Then Rowan stepped out behind me.

Black suit.

Unbothered face.

A body built for violence.

Rowan walked behind me—and then—

CLICK!!!SHUTTER!!!FLASH-FLASH-FLASH!!!!!

The world exploded into blinding lights. I swear my brain, my soul, and my retinas left the chat simultaneously.

"MOVE—MOVE—LET ME GET THE WITCH’S PICTURE FIRST!!"

"STEP ASIDE, I NEED THE ANGLE OF HER SMIRK!!"

"BACK UP, IF YOU BLOCK THE VILLAINESS’S SHOT, I WILL END YOU—!"

Paparazzi shoved each other like they were in a warzone, and I just stood there in front of the chaos like:

...Did I accidentally become Beyoncé?

Behind me, someone shrieked, "Sera Hartgrave is here too—!"

One camera flicked toward her for a split second. Then immediately back to me.

"Oh please," one photographer groaned, "the saint can wait—WITCH FIRST."

I blinked.

Oh.

So being the witch was more interesting than being the cotton-candy heroine tonight.

Noted.

If the world wants a witch? I’ll be a spectacular one.

The cameras clicked wildly as I turned slightly—slow, controlled—striking my heel against the marble floor with a crisp sound.

Flashstorm intensified. Sera, behind me, whispered to Arden, "Why isn’t anyone taking our photos...?"

Arden awkwardly cleared his throat like someone just asked him to solve world hunger.

Meanwhile—Rowan stepped forward, and the man didn’t say a single word.

He didn’t push.

He didn’t threaten.

He glared.

Just one look from Rowan, and the paparazzi froze mid-shout, like someone slammed a pause button on the universe. They all stepped back in perfect synchronization.

Silence.

A walkway opened in seconds like the Red Sea parting for Moses—except it wasn’t parting for holiness. It parted for Rowan. For a man who looked like he’d snap necks first and apologize never.

I stepped forward and as soon as I stepped inside—

DING.

A system window sliced through my vision.

[System: Event Activated—Casino of Shadows. Difficulty: LETHAL. Threats Identified: Drink Spike | Knife Attack | Sniper Attempt | Sudden Kidnapping Route | Assassination Attempt]

[Reward: Authority to choose your own story route. Bonus Reward: Favor of the Strongest Man in the Game]

I wonder who this strongest man in the game is. But I can guess who it is... The Main Lead—Kael Valtore. But I do not need his favor; what I need is...a freedom to choose my own story route.

My lips curved.

This is what I came for.

The danger.The chaos.The chance to rewrite fate.

"Rowan..." I murmured without looking back.

He stepped closer—close enough to reach me in half a second if someone touched me. My eyes scanned the glittering casino.

Gold. Velvet. Crystal chandeliers. Champagne bubbling like temptation. Men in suits. Women in gowns. Power disguised as luxury.

And underneath it all?

A heartbeat of violence.

"You need to keep your eyes sharp tonight," I said, voice low. "Every clink of glass. Every whisper. Every smile could be a threat. Here...every person is a suspect."

He didn’t respond—not immediately. His eyes swept the room like a sniper searching for targets. Then, "...Even your own family, Miss?"

The question hit like a bullet.

Not mocking.

Not shocked.

Just assessing the battlefield.

I turned my head just enough to meet his gaze—golden eyes locking onto steel-grey.

"Yes, Rowan," I said slowly, coldly. "Even my own family."

There was no hesitation.

No doubt.

No warmth.

I would not die for them. I would not die because of them.

His jaw tightened the slightest degree—the closest thing a man like him has to emotion. Then he spoke, "As you say, Miss."

Not a question.

Not concern.

An oath.

Music pulsed through the room—soft, seductive, and laced with danger. People laughed. Glasses clinked. Every face was smiling.

But not one soul here was safe.

My heels hit marble—slow, deliberate—echoing through the tension.

"Then," I said, lifting my chin with a confidence sharp enough to cut, "let’s go."

Because tonight?

I am not prey. I am the storm walking into the lion’s den. And I am not leaving without my victory.

...Well, that was the goal, but—the moment I actually stepped inside, it felt like I walked into a luxury hell.

Gold.

Velvet.

Champagne waterfalls.

Ten chandeliers.

A literal floor so polished I could see my face in it.

And—

"Lily cakes?" I mumbled and blinked at a dessert tower overflowing with pastel pastries. "Who the hell bakes a lily into a cake?"

The cakes even had petals woven in like edible art. Rowan glanced down at where my attention lingered. "Should I get you one, Miss?"

I cleared my throat and crossed my arms instantly. "No. I was just... observing."

He nodded once—silent, obedient, unshakeable. And then—a deep voice rolled through the air like gunfire.

"Finally."

The music dimmed. The crowd paused.

I turned.

And there he was.

Theo Vinter.

Silver hair sharper than a blade. Black suit tailored like sin. Bodyguards flanking him like shadows with rifles—not handguns—rifles. That smirk—arrogant, slow, lethal—curved like a promise and a threat.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Theo Vinter," I said with a calm, professional smile.

He didn’t return the smile. He didn’t blink. He stepped toward me—hands in his pockets — eyes locked on mine like I owed him the night.

"I’ve been so much waiting for you—"

He didn’t get to finish.

Rowan moved.

No sound.

No hesitation.

Like a ghost turning into a shield.

He stepped forward and stood between Theo and me, blocking the mafia king with his entire body.

"Step back, Miss," Rowan said, voice low and sharp enough to cut glass. "This man is armed."

Armed? Weren’t those normal rifles?

I peeked from behind Rowan’s shoulder and—oh.

Theo’s bodyguards weren’t carrying neat, corporate Rifles. They were carrying military-grade rifles.

Inside a casino.

...Yes. Exactly what you’d expect from a mafia boss casually attending his own party.

Before I could tell Rowan that I wasn’t in immediate danger, Theo walked closer—closing the distance like he didn’t know the meaning of "stop."

He stood in front of Rowan, unblinking, fearless.

Then, in a voice low enough to set fire to oxygen, he asked:

"And who," he drawled, each syllable a threat dipped in silk, "the hell is this bulldozer?"

Silence detonated.

Theo’s bodyguards tensed, reaching for their weapons. Casino security shifted. Guests froze.

Rowan didn’t flinch.

He didn’t bow.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t break eye contact.

"I am her bodyguard," Rowan said. "And I don’t care who you are. If you get too close to her again, I will remove you."

Theo’s smirk sharpened—slow, entertained, and predatory.

"Remove me?" he repeated, voice dangerously soft. "That’s cute."

Rowan’s voice didn’t rise, didn’t tighten—only deepened.

"It wasn’t a threat," he said. "It was an instruction."

The temperature of the room plunged. People stopped breathing. Two forces—a mafia king and a trained killer—standing inches apart, staring like the first man to blink loses.

I had exactly three seconds before this became a dead-body situation.

So I did the only logical thing a mentally stable person wouldn’t do —I stepped between a mafia king and a trained killer.

My heels hit the marble like gunfire

.One step.Two.Three.

And I placed myself right in the blast radius. Both men froze — Rowan because I commanded, Theo because he didn’t expect it.

"Alright. Step back before you two turn this event into a war zone."

The shocking part?

They obeyed.

Rowan immediately took one step behind me, Theo scoffed under his breath — but moved. The crowd exhaled like they’d been underwater.

I turned first to Rowan — cool, composed, utterly in control.

"Rowan," I said evenly, "this is Theo Vinter — the host of the event. Which means he is not a threat... for now."

Rowan’s jaw unclenched ever so slightly. He nodded once. Precise. Accepting the information.

Then I shifted to Theo — professional smile activated, the type businesswomen use when they have knives hidden in their sleeves.

"And Mr. Vinter," I said smoothly, "this bulldozer — I mean this man — is my bodyguard. So I hope you don’t mind if he reacts when he sees... your men carrying high-tech rifles."

Theo blinked once.

Then he glanced behind him — at his literal army of bodyguards gripping lethal rifles inside a social event — and realization hit him like a lightning bolt.

"...Ah," he muttered. "Right. I forgot they were behind me."

Forgot. He forgot an entire firing squad?

Of course he did.

His men stood there like silent death, and he acted like they were confetti.

I guess, it’s Just another Tuesday for Theo Vinter — strolling into a party with enough firepower to invade a small nation.

His smirk returned — dark, curved, and trouble-shaped.

"I suppose it makes sense your bodyguard reacted," he said, lowering his voice. "It means he’s doing his job."

Rowan didn’t blink. Theo continued, leaning in slightly — eyes locked on mine, not Rowan:

"But next time, Miss Hartgrave... " He tilted his head, dangerously amused. "...I hate when other man who blocks my beautifully dangerous view."

I — smiled.

Not sweet.

Not polite.

But like a queen who already won the game everyone else is still learning.

"Good to know," I said softly, stepping forward just enough to reclaim control. "But I don’t exist for your view, Mr. Vinter."

Theo’s smile froze — not offended, but intrigued.

Dangerously intrigued.

And Rowan?

He remained one step behind me, shoulders squared, eyes scanning the casino like a sniper tracking targets — not a bodyguard... a warning.

Then, without breaking formation, Rowan reached forward, caught my hand gently — and lifted it.

Warm lips brushed the back of my hand.

Low.

Slow.

Unapologetically possessive.

"This is the first time," he whispered so only I could hear, voice deep enough to stain my pulse, "that I... waited for someone’s arrival. I am honored by your presence, Miss Evelina."

Every camera swung toward us.

Every whisper rose.

Every eye watched.

A mafia king in front of me.

A trained killer behind me.

And I stood at the center — the pivot point of danger.

Theo’s eyes sharpened — not with jealousy, but with interest so sharp it could bleed.

And then I lifted my eyes —A soft blue shimmer hovered above Theo’s head.

[Theo Vinter — 15%]

Of course.

Just as I thought.

His affection doesn’t rise when I smile at him. It rises when I don’t bend, when I don’t flinch, when I don’t obey.

He’s drawn not to sweetness...but to defiance.