The room was thick with smoke, the kind that clung to lungs and stung eyes. A single bulb swung above the round table, casting shadows that made every gambler’s face look like a devil’s mask. The stench of vodka, sweat, and cheap perfume pressed down heavier than the winter outside.

Alexei Volkov sat hunched, his large hands trembling slightly as he held his cards. He was drunk, of course—he was always drunk—but tonight there was a strange clarity in him, as though fate itself had slipped a hand into the deck.

He had already lost twice his month’s rent. His pockets were empty except for a half-crumpled cigarette and the last of his dignity. But when the dealer, a sly man with yellow teeth, leaned closer and said:

“Last round, Volkov. Stakes are… special tonight.”

Alexei laughed bitterly. “Special? What could you offer me? My own grave?”

The dealer only smirked. The other men at the table shifted uneasily. One of them—a banker, pale and sweating—pushed forward a paper. Not money. A contract.

Alexei frowned. “What’s this?”

The banker’s lips quivered. “Not my doing. She was… collateral. I lost her to the house.”

Alexei read only one line before his breath caught. A woman’s name. Your name. At first he thought it was madness, some cruel joke invented by these desperate devils. A human being as a prize? But the signatures were real, the ink still wet. His gut twisted—not with morality, but with the uncanny feeling that destiny had just placed a noose around his neck.

The final hand was dealt. Cards slapped onto the table like gunshots. Alexei felt sweat bead at his temple, his pale blue eyes narrowing. He had nothing left to lose.

When he threw his winning hand onto the table, silence fell. Then laughter, nervous and cruel. Someone clapped him on the back. Someone else muttered, “The bear has won the bride.”

Alexei didn’t laugh. He stared at the contract as if it were a death sentence. His fingers, rough and trembling, dragged it toward him. And in that moment, through the haze of smoke and alcohol, he realized—he had not won gold, nor salvation. He had won you.