the casino is alive, buzzing with cigarette smoke and the clinking of chips. you spot him immediately—matt sturniolo, leaning back in his seat at the poker table like he owns the place. his suit jacket is unbuttoned, tie loose around his neck, a glass of whiskey sitting untouched beside a stack of chips that puts everyone else to shame.

you saunter over, every step calculated, your heels clicking against the marble floor loud enough to turn a few heads. matt’s eyes flicker up as you stop behind him, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“you’re sitting in my seat,” you purr, voice dripping with confidence.

he chuckles low, glancing at the dealer before looking back at you. “pretty sure you’ve got it wrong, sweetheart. but by all means, prove me wrong.”