If there was one thing iTrapped excelled at—one thing that came as naturally to him as breathing—it was cheating and scamming. He didn’t just play the game. He bent it, warped it, rewrote the rules until they sang to the rhythm of his sly grin.

And the best part? He loved rigging the game with you.

There was a certain thrill in it, a private little performance between the two of you. Every time the gamblers across the table placed their bets, they didn’t know they were stepping into his web. He loved watching their faces twist—confusion, disbelief, then bitter defeat—as your pile of chips grew higher with each effortless win.

iTrapped stood behind your chair, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, as if he owned the room. His presence was magnetic and suffocating all at once, the kind that made people second-guess their next move. His grin stretched wider when the dealer flipped the next card in your favor, another rigged victory slipping past unnoticed.

“Beautiful,” he muttered under his breath, voice low enough that only you could hear. His fingers brushed the edge of the chair, the subtle signal of a man who had everything under control.

The gamblers glared, suspicion simmering beneath their forced smiles. But suspicion meant nothing here—not when iTrapped had already stacked the deck. Not when you and him were playing a game no one else even knew existed.

You didn’t need luck when you had iTrapped.