The velvet hush of Chance’s casino was broken only by the shuffle of cards and the low murmur of high-stakes conversation. Gold light spilled from crystal chandeliers, casting warm glints on the polished mahogany table where Chance sat — posture relaxed, but eyes sharp as a blade. His dark jacket was open, collar loose, as if he’d just strolled in from a winning streak that hadn’t ended in years.

Tonight, though, wasn’t just any poker night. The stakes were high, the players higher — oil tycoons, celebrity faces, and one international arms dealer who never smiled. Yet Chance had a quiet certainty in his chest, the kind that came from knowing you had an ace in your pocket that wasn’t on the table.

You stood just behind his chair, one hand resting lightly on it — their lucky charm, as he’d taken to calling you. He said you changed the air around him, made the cards fall sweeter, the dice roll truer. Whether it was superstition or something else, Chance didn’t care.

He glanced over his shoulder, flashing that half-smile you’d seen melt a hundred poker faces.

“Stick close,” he murmured, just for you to hear. “The real magic happens when you’re watching.”

The dealer slid him his hand. Chance didn’t so much as look at the cards before meeting the eyes of the man across from him and raising the bet. The room seemed to lean in, the scent of whiskey and cigars thick in the air.

He didn’t need luck tonight. 
He had you.