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Selene’s POV

I sat at the poker table, back straight, while my own sex tape played in full glory on the giant LED screen in front of me.

My face might’ve been blurred—but my voice? Unmistakable. Every sigh, every moan, every breathless plea echoed through the hall like a scandalous symphony.

And this room? It was filled with power. Mafia royalty. Billionaire heirs. Politicians’ bastard sons. Tonight was supposed to be about deals, alliances, discreet flirtations over cards and champagne. Instead, it had become a show. A public humiliation starring me.

I turned slowly toward my husband.

Thorne. Unbothered as ever, swirling champagne in his glass like nothing was playing at all.

All around me, the whispers slithered.

“She looks just like Mrs. Alden…”

“Like? That’s her. See the birthmark? Right on her neck—same as Selene’s.”

“But who’s the man? Mr. Alden?”

“Doubt it. Who the hell records themselves like that?”

I wanted to scream. Wanted to rip that smug screen off the wall.

I knew exactly who was in that tape. That was our bedroom. Our moment. And Thorne—he’d made sure only I could be recognized. Blurring his face, shielding his identity… while leaving me to burn.

Why?

And then she walked in.

The girl from last year. The one who cried when I beat her at poker and took that tiara. I’d barely remembered her name—until I saw Thorne rise from his seat to greet her. A kiss on the cheek. Soft. Familiar.

It hit me like a knife between the ribs.

This was revenge. Thorne’s. For her.

As this year’s host, it was his job to give the welcome toast. And when he took the stage, I could already feel my stomach knotting.

He lifted his glass. “To everyone here—may tonight bring thrilling games and profitable partnerships. And for those intrigued by the little… cinematic surprise earlier? That tape is tonight’s grand prize.”

The room buzzed.

Thorne smiled coolly. “Anyone can compete for it. But only one will win. And with it… exclusive rights to the full video.”

As he stepped down from the stage, I stormed toward him. “What the fuck are you doing, Thorne?”

He draped an arm casually over my shoulder, his breath brushing my ear. “You like to win, don’t you, darling? I just thought I’d raise the stakes. But don’t worry—” he smiled, cruel and beautiful—“I’m sure you can win it back. You’re so lucky at the poker table, after all.”

A low whistle broke through behind me.

“If only we could win her for the night too.”

“She won’t put on a show for you, idiot,” another man muttered. “You think a woman like that comes cheap?”

Disgusting.

“Selene, right?” someone sneered. “I heard your family’s business is circling the drain. I could float you a few million—if you make me comfortable, like in that video.”

“And didn’t her casino in NYC just go bankrupt?” another voice joined in, too gleeful. “Poor girl doesn’t even know her husband hostile bought it out.”

My blood ran cold.

It was like Throne didn’t just want to punish me. He wanted to break me. Piece by piece.

How could my husband of all people to be the one behind that hostile buyout. That casino was my father’s hard work, and he knew it.

“You did it?” I asked, staring at him.

He didn’t deny it. Just offered me that insufferable smirk.

“All because I didn’t let your little mistress win a tiara?”

Still no answer. Just a clap of his hands as he turned toward the room. “All right,” Thorne called out. “Anyone who wishes to compete for the grand prize, please take your seat.”

I raised my hand. “I’ll play.”

I walked to Table 01, slid into the chair. And the bastard? He looked pleased.

“Who else?” he asked, surveying the room like a king about to start a war. “Who wants a shot at the prize?”

“All this fuss over one video?” someone scoffed.

Thorne’s grin widened. “Not just one, Mr. Clerk. There are twenty. Different backgrounds. Different angles. Let’s just say… quite the variety of poses.”

The room practically erupted.

“I’m in.”

“Me too.”

Of course they were. These men were bored, rich, and cruel. They enjoyed watching a woman unravel.

…

The rules were simple—no-limit Texas Hold’em. Best hand wins. A royal flush was the top, though no one sane counted on getting one. This game ran on bluff, guts, and ice-cold luck.

But Thorne, being Thorne, had added a twist.

Whoever won at the final table wouldn’t just win the tapes—they’d buy them with their final bet. If the pot was a dollar, the tapes would cost a dollar. If it was ten million? That was the price.

And with five tables running tonight, I’d have to win my own table and the final table just to get a chance.

And if they raised the pot high enough, even victory would mean defeat.

“Let’s not waste more time, shall we?” I said coolly to Thorne, then turned my attention to the table.

The dealer handed out the cards. I glanced down—diamond 7, spade 7.

A pair. Not magic, but with a little luck? Maybe four of a kind.

I scanned the table. A few players furrowed their brows. One smiled like he already knew how this would end.

“Place your first bets,” the dealer said. “Starting with this gentleman.”

“One million.”

“Call.”

“Call.”

“Fold.”

“Raise.”

My turn. I tapped my fingers lightly on the green felt. There was more than one way to win a hand. Sometimes, bluffing was stronger than any card.

“Raise,” I said smoothly.

“Fold.”

Already two players were gone. Just four left, and one of them—the bearded man—was wearing that smug, overconfident grin.

The dealer revealed the flop: heart 7, diamond 8, heart 10.

I nearly smiled. Three sevens. One more and I’d have four of a kind.

Second round. I raised. One player folded. The rest called.

The pot was climbing fast. No-limit always meant chaos.

The turn card: heart Jack.

Now it was just me and the bearded man. Still smug. Still sure he had me beat. “Going to raise again, Miss?” he asked, voice thick with an accent I couldn’t place.

I smiled, calm and dangerous. “Maybe,” I said, leaning forward. “I’ve got the best hand on the table.”

I paused, eyes locking with his. “Do you?” I asked, cool and poised.

The man leaned in slightly, that smug glint still lingering in his eyes. “Miss, how about this—you let me win, I buy the video, and I’ll give it back to you. Maybe take you to dinner while we’re at it, hmm?”

His tone was syrupy with mock kindness, but his gaze held nothing but condescension.

I smiled. “No need. I can win it back myself. But thank you… for the offer.”