The Rival Hearts

Chapter 7

The first round began, and Harrison and Philip laid down their cards with matching smug grins. Their hands were strong—better than mine—and they knew it. Confidence radiated off them like heat, their self-assuredness almost palpable as they leaned back in their chairs, savoring what they believed was an early advantage.

"Fold," I said, tossing my cards onto the table without a second thought.

They exchanged triumphant glances, their confidence swelling with each small win. By the second round, Philip had outplayed me again. Laughter spilled across the table, their arrogance filling the room like smoke. But I stayed calm, my gaze steady as I watched them closely, letting them revel in their so-called victory—for now.

"You're not doing too well," Harrison taunted, glancing at William. "Looks like this is going to be easier than we thought."

Philip nodded in agreement. "At this rate, it's practically a done deal."

I smiled. "The game isn't over yet. There's still plenty to play for."

As I spoke, William leaned closer, his hand settling on the back of my chair, his fingers brushing lightly against my shoulder. He lowered his head, his breath warm against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

"They have no idea who they're up against," he murmured, his lips grazing just beneath my ear—a barely-there kiss that left a lingering warmth. His quiet confidence seeped into me. Keeping my gaze locked on the two men across from us, I let my smile widen, the fire in my eyes growing.

William's lips brushed the curve of my neck again, lingering just long enough to make my pulse quicken.

"I'd be careful if I were you," he said, his smirk cutting sharp as his gaze shifted to Harrison and Philip. His thumb traced a slow, teasing line along my shoulder, his calm dominance making a statement all its own.

But before I could fully lean into the moment, a man from the crowd stepped closer, his presence unwelcome and cocky. He ignored William entirely, leaning in far too close to me. His hand brushed my shoulder as he tucked a stray lock of my hair behind my ear.

"If you lose," he murmured, his voice slick with self-assurance, "maybe I'll take you out to dinner." His fingers lingered on my shoulder, an unwelcome touch that immediately set my teeth on edge.

Before I could react, William's hand shot out, his grip iron-tight as he caught the man's wrist mid-touch. In one swift, fluid motion, he twisted the arm, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Touch her again," he said, his voice a low, menacing growl, "and you'll be leaving here on a stretcher."

The man barely had time to blink before William slammed his head down against the table, the impact echoing through the room. With a final shove, William sent him stumbling backward, his face pale as he stammered a hurried apology before retreating into the wide-eyed crowd.

I placed a gentle hand on William's arm, grounding him, feeling the tension ease under my touch. "Hey," I murmured, offering a soft smile. "Don't lose your cool for idiots. I need your eyes on me all the time, Montgomery."

His gaze softened as he looked at me, his hand settling protectively over mine for a brief moment. With a final warning glare toward the crowd, he exhaled and turned back to the table, refocusing on the game as the cards were dealt again. My lips curved into a confident smile as I watched them place their bets, each move revealing the cracks in their composure. When the moment was right, I made my move—going all in.

Harrison and Philip exchanged uncertain glances but eventually matched my bet. I revealed my hand—a straight flush. The collective gasp from the crowd was deafening, their reactions confirming what I already knew: the round was mine.