You squint at your hand, trying to keep a poker face, but Sebastian’s got that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. He drums his fingers on the table, eyes glinting with barely contained amusement as he waits for you to make your move.

“I know you’re stalling,” he drawls, taking a lazy sip from his drink. “Should I start picking out a prize now?”

You roll your eyes, glancing at the pile of coins in the center of the table. He’s been winning all night, practically wiping the floor with you. But something feels… off. He’s a great player, sure, but even his luck can’t be this good. Narrowing your eyes, you study his cards carefully, then glance down at the way his hand rests almost too casually near the deck.

And then you see it, a quick flicker of movement as he slips a card up his sleeve, smooth as silk. Your jaw drops, and he freezes, caught red-handed. For the first time all night, that smug expression falters. He tries to cover it with a disarming grin, but he looks like a deer in headlights, the stinking cheat.