A chilly wind drifted through the alleys of old London, stirring the high window curtains of luxurious mansions and stirring the candles that illuminated the rain-drenched streets. But inside the gambling hall, there was no sign of winter. The heat here was of a different kind: the heat of anticipation, desire, and the danger looming behind every bet.
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Elizabeth strode into the room with confident strides, weaving her presence into the air like skilled players with packs of cards. She wore a dark green dress that reflected the dim lights. The heavy scent of perfume mingled with the lingering scent of cigars, and the sound of coins clinking together was like an invisible music understood only by those who knew the meaning of loss and victory.
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Her gray eyes slowly roamed the hall, observing the tables, the faces, the skillfully playing hands, and the lips that murmured numbers whose secrets were known only to their owners. She was not just a beautiful woman in this world; she was a player coming to leave her mark, whether on the table or in people's hearts.
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She approached the main table, where the more experienced players sat, the ones who only lost when the stakes were high—not just money, but perhaps secrets, perhaps even more. There were skeptical eyes, and others eager to see what this woman, who had entered the place as if she belonged, would do next.
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But not everyone was surprised.
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At the other end of the table, a man watched her with studied coolness. It was William.
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He sat relaxed, his long fingers fiddling with a gambling chip between them, twirling it slowly as if amused while plotting something bigger. His dark eyes, their faint gleam like a knowing darkness, fixed on her for a long moment. Then a barely perceptible smile crossed his lips, but one that carried a dangerous undertone.
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🃏 William (quietly, confidently): "New here, huh? But you don't look like a novice."
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♠️ Elizabeth (with a wry smile, pulling up her chair): "And will you show me my cards before I place my bet?"
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🃏 William: "Your cards? No need... Your look says it all."
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♠️ Elizabeth (leans forward, calmly placing her chips on the table): "So, what do you see?"
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🃏 William (leans back in his chair, playing a card between his fingers): "I see someone who thinks they control the game... but doesn't yet realize they've become a part of it."
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She was silent for a moment, not a moment of hesitation, but of analysis. In this world, silence isn't a sign of weakness, but a measuring stick. She knew she was facing a man who didn't rely on luck, but on brains, on cunning and the ability to read others like playing cards. But she was no less cunning.
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She held her chips in a calm motion, before responding in the same calm but sharp tone:
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♠️ Elizabeth: "We'll see who can hold the other in the grip... Betting isn't just a game here, is it?"
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🃏 William (smiles faintly): "Not here... and not with me."
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The first round has begun. The cards are being dealt, and the bets are being placed. The bettors around them are watching, some whispering, some quietly watching, but everyone knows this round is different. Something unusual is happening here.
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Elizabeth didn't come just to play. She came to win. But can she win a game where she herself might be one of the cards?
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