Lahat ng Kabanata ng A House Of Cards ~ The Marriage Gamble: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

The sun’s barely up when DeMarco strides into his penthouse office, suit immaculate, espresso in hand. The city sprawls beneath him, all glass and promise. He’s already scrolling through messages, voice humming with meetings, deliveries, and the usual complaints.His phone buzzes. He answers on the first ring. “Carmen. Tell me something good.”His sister’s voice is crisp. “You missed Sunday dinner. Again.”He sighs, leaning back in his leather chair. “Ma’s lasagna can’t compete with Sin City’s Saturday nights.”“Ma says you’re getting too thin. I say you’re getting too cocky.”DeMarco smirks. “Only one of those is true.”A pause. “Pops wants to see you. Today. Boardroom. Noon.”DeMarco’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his tone light. “Tell him I’ll bring cannoli.”“Just bring yourself, DeMarco, the man is talking about sending to another state.” She hangs up.He sets the phone down, gaze shifting to his reflection in the window. The face everyone knows: smooth, unruffled, untouchable. He

Sin City is at full tilt by midnight. The DJ cranks up a remix, and the crowd moves as one, hands in the air, chasing the next high. DeMarco moves through the club, his presence drawing smiles, waves, and the occasional bold wink. But tonight, every exchange feels like an audition—he can’t shake the sense that Ava is still watching, even when she’s nowhere in sight.He checks the balcony. Empty. Her reserved table? Cleared. He scans the bar, catching only the familiar faces of regulars and hopefuls. She’s gone—or at least out of view. The absence gnaws at him. You’re acting like a rookie, he scolds himself, but the thrill of pursuit is undeniable. He loves the challenge, especially when most women are chasing him.It was a nice change to hunt, instead of being haunted.At the corner booth, Steph and Nate are deep in debate.“I’m telling you, she’s trouble for more reasons than one,” Steph says, swirling her drink with a practiced wrist.Nate grins. “That’s the whole point. DeMarco wou

Sin City hums with anticipation after Ava's daring performance, which I wasn't expecting. DeMarco moves through the crowd, but his mind is restless, replaying the memory of her voice, her confidence, the way she owned every inch of the stage. He feels the urge to see her again, but fights to keep his composure.He’s the owner, after all—he’s supposed to be untouchable.As he glances toward the entrance, she appears, cutting through the crowd in emerald green, her dress hugging every curve with unapologetic elegance. Her gaze is cool, but tonight there’s a hint of heat—a challenge, a promise. DeMarco’s pulse quickens. He watches her, every step, every sway, every flicker of her lashes.Nate slides up beside him, smirking. “You look like a man waiting for a miracle.”DeMarco shrugs, eyes never leaving Ava. “I’m just admiring the scenery.”“Right,” Nate laughs, “and I’m just here for the appetizers.”Ava makes her way to the bar, her presence commanding attention. DeMarco’s usual confide

Ava’s behavior grew more suspicious with each passing week. Her weekends were a blur of parties and laughter, always ending with her stumbling in just as dawn broke. During the week, she waited until DeMarco had drifted into sleep before slipping out, only to return before his alarm sounded. He noticed the pattern, but dread knotted in his stomach. He wasn’t ready to ask questions; he wasn’t sure he wanted to be answered. Their marriage still felt fragile, as if a single confrontation could shatter it. Night after night, Ava came home at odd hours, her stories vague or nonexistent, leaving DeMarco trapped in silent turmoil. Monday night, the pattern repeated itself. DeMarco lay in bed, sheets tangled around his legs, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he listened to the faint sounds from the living room. Ava’s heels clicked against the hardwood floor, a distant jingle of keys, the soft thud of the front door closing. He waited—counted the seconds as the old radiator hissed and the apartmen

The secrecy was eating him alive. Every evening, every cold silence, every time Ava’s eyes darted away when he tried to meet her gaze—DeMarco felt something inside him unravel, thread by careful thread. He tried to ignore it, to tell himself that things would get better, that their conversation about trying again meant something. But the questions gnawed at him. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus at work. His mind spun with a thousand possibilities, each more poisonous than the last.He needed answers. Real answers, not the vague explanations or tired expressions that Ava offered. So, with trembling hands and a sense of shame he couldn’t shake, DeMarco did what he had always sworn he wouldn’t: he hired a private investigator.The man’s name was Garret. He was older, with a lined face and steady, unfazed eyes. He didn’t seem surprised by DeMarco’s story—just listened, nodding, scribbling notes in a battered notebook. “You want to know the truth,” he said, and DeMarco nodded, feeling hi