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Chapter 5
publish date:
2026-04-21 04:58:08
Latest chapter
Blackjack Chapter 5
♣️ HOOK LINE AND SINKER ISABELLA.I stroll in casually into the garage, having driven here all on my own cause I needed to see where he worked, and maybe see his face again. So imagine my surprise- and disappointment when I see that he is not alone- there’s a girl there with him, and another guy who looks to be about his age, but shorter and bulky. But the girl…I’m interrupted from my thoughts when someone clears their throat, calling my attention.“Miss, a bit of a surprise seeing you here. Need a fix? Is the car acting up again?” Daniel asks, now fully facing me. He has that cool air that reverbrates around him that I just can’t describe- it’s pissing me off, but intriguing at the same time.“Not at all. I’m only here because I feel indebted to you. So it’s only natural that I give you what you had rejected earlier on”. I say, pulling out a wad of cash from my purse.In all honesty, I wasn’t here to give him the money- though I would if he eventually takes it- I want to test hi
Blackjack Chapter 4
♣️ Dystopian Feelings.Something is wrong with me.If there was one thing I disliked more than inefficiency, it was unpredictability.And yet, I found myself arriving at brunch ten minutes early.I never arrived early.I stepped out of the car, handing my keys to the valet without a second glance before walking into the restaurant.It was one of Sofia’s favorites. Minimalist, expensive, and filled with people who pretended not to stare while doing exactly that.I didn’t notice them.I was still thinking about him.That in itself was a problem.“Isabella.”I looked up.Sofia was already seated, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of wine in hand despite the time of day.Her red hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the light like fire. She looked effortless, composed, dangerous in a way that matched me but expressed itself differently.Where I was quiet—Sofia was not.“You’re late,” she said, raising a brow.“I’m early.”She checked her watch.Th
Blackjack Chapter 3
The Woman They Fear♣️♣️ ISABELLA'S POVI don’t sleep much.Not because I can’t.Because I don’t need to.The city stretched beneath me in a quiet glow, California alive even in the early hours of the morning. Lights flickered in the distance, cars moving like slow streams of gold across the highway. From up here, everything looked small.Manageable.I lifted the glass to my lips, taking a slow sip of red wine as I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of my bedroom.White silk brushed against my skin, my robe loosely tied, barely clinging to my frame. The air was cool, but I didn’t feel it. I rarely felt anything I didn’t choose to.My phone buzzed against the glass table behind me.I didn’t turn immediately.I already knew who it was.It rang again.Persistent.I sighed softly, placing the wine down before walking over, picking it up on the third ring.“Uncle.”“You didn’t call.”Straight to the point.Always.I moved back toward the window, resting my hip lightl
Blackjack Chapter 2
The Woman He Built 🖤♣️ The tarp lifted, and the world returned in a flood of light.Isabella blinked once, adjusting, her pupils shrinking against the brightness. The man standing over her did not move like the others. He did not startle. He did not shout.He simply looked.Mateo Reyes.She recognized him immediately. Not because she had seen him often, but because she had been trained to remember faces that mattered. Her father had shown her photographs once. Not with affection, but with purpose.“If anything ever happens, you find him.”Now she had.Mateo’s gaze was steady, heavy, assessing. His face carried the same bones as her father’s, but age and experience had carved deeper lines into it. Where her father had looked controlled, Mateo looked hardened. Less restrained. More dangerous.“You got on my boat,” he said.His tone was not angry. It was factual.Isabella pushed herself up from beneath the tarp, dust clinging to her dress. She stood in front of him, small
Blackjack Chapter 1
🖤♣️The Collapse🖤♣️“Isabella, put away your Barbie dolls and come to the dinner table.”Her mother’s voice floated through the wide halls of the mansion—warm, steady, familiar.Seven-year-old Isabella Marisol Reyes sat cross-legged on the polished marble floor, her dolls arranged in careful, deliberate rows. Not scattered. Never scattered. Even at her age, there was order in everything she did.She tilted her head slightly, studying them.One doll sat apart from the others.“Not you,” she murmured, adjusting it with quiet precision. “You don’t belong there.”Her small fingers moved with surprising certainty, placing each figure exactly where she wanted them. A game, to anyone else. But to Isabella, it was something else—control. Structure. A world where nothing happened unless she allowed it.“Isabella,” her mother called again, a little firmer this time, though still gentle. “Now.”She sighed softly, the sound far too measured for a child her
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