Purple Hearts Game Novels & Stories

He is riding on a dark shinny horse he named as Hugo. I watched him as he went down, I choose not to look at how he will be going to redeem Harold. I’ve seen him redeem lives before and it always pity me to see human dying. But well, all should die. I wonder why they never let Harold see her sister, for many years they created a lot of obstruction. Those are the question I am curious with, but was afraid to ask because I can’t afford to lose my power again.

A heart would be shattered in this game. But whose?

I don’t know why I felt like this whole scenario would change my life entirely. But I wasn't so sure it’d be a good change. When I got home, the apartment was too quiet. I dropped my bag on the couch and double-checked the locks on the front door. Then I fell into the cushions and shut my eyes for one second. My phone buzzed again. Another text. Unknown Number: You should have married me when you had the chance. I stared at the screen, a chill running down my spine. I blocked the number. Then I deleted the text. Too late, though. My heart was already pounding. Lucas was playing a risky game. And I was beginning to wonder for how long I could keep evading him before he actually attacked.

"I doubt it. I can easily make you fall for me and just as easily break your heart." "Wanna bet?" Cleo asked, her eyes twinkling. "I'm listening." "Let's see... Whoever falls in love with the other before the hotel is completed has to admit it publicly on live TV and quit playing and their favorite hobby for a...year. Deal?" "Deal!... Get ready to be played Miss Reynolds." "On the contrary, you're about to be played, Mr. Simmons. Played real good." She said shaking my hand. I smiled. Let the games... BEGIN! T B C

North Dock, Spade Casino, the lake house--all of them shrank into blurred points of light. I had finally left the game.

The air is thick with the scent of desperation and greed. The room is a den of vice, with round tables scattered about, each one a battleground for high-stakes games of poker and blackjack. The green felt is worn and stained, a testament to the countless nights of excess. Stacks of cash and chips tower above the players, their faces set in determined lines, their eyes fixed on the prize. The chandelier above casts a yellowish glow, highlighting the tension etched on their faces. I spot my contact, a man, only a few years older than me, with umber skin and hazel brown eyes, his tattoos on full display.

The gold light pulses once, like a heartbeat. Like the Game itself remembers.

No matter the cost. “Her Majesty is not lost,” I said, voice low, almost to myself. “She isn’t.” But even as I spoke the words, I knew the truth. I was behind. She had always been a step ahead. Every plan I had made, every prediction, she had anticipated,,or forced me to reconsider. And this… this was no longer just a chess game. It was a war. A war of shadows and whispered promises and broken loyalties.

I guess I’m a loser for that, too. Shoulders slumped, I made my way into my room and as I locked the door behind me, my phone screen lit up. It was a notification. I leaned in and grabbed it to check who was texting me so late at night. As my eyes fell on my screen, my jaws dropped and my eyebrows shot up to the ceiling. Holy shit!!! Pstar7 just freaking replied my DM?!!!’

She is always with him, she plays like a child with him always, and that's just her, she plays a lot with little children. And that was what she is doing right now, although the TV was playing. But she and Nixon are not concerned about it, they are most focused on their local games. Although only both of them were inside the beautified parlor. A very big parlor, the center table is made of gold. The sofa chairs are well beautified as it was placed on each and every edge of the parlor. The big bulb was there, and the parlor was well decorated. Although only both of them were in there as they are playing counting, counting, and using their fingers on top of the table.