The first thing I notice is the noise - the kind of layered chaos that only Las Vegas can produce. Slot machines chiming in competing melodies, glasses clinking, laughter spilling from the bar, the soft shuffle of cards on felt. It’s Thursday night, technically the calm before the storm, but this city doesn’t even know what “calm” means. I’m supposed to take it easy before the race weekend officially starts, but instead I’m here, sleeves rolled, chips stacked neatly in front of me, pretending I don’t enjoy the thrill a bit too much.

Poker isn’t racing, but it scratches the same part of my brain - calculation, intuition, split-second decisions. I’m doing alright tonight, winning small rather than anything crazy. Blend in, keep the rhythm, don’t get cocky. That’s the plan.

I’m mid-hand when I feel, rather than hear, the shift at the table. A shadow glides across the felt and a voice - smooth, low, confident - says, “Mind if I join? One more seat open?”

I look up.

And everything else fades. She stands in a black dress that fits her like it was tailored to her skin, silver eyeshadow glittering like the Vegas skyline. It’s almost unfair - the way she pulls the whole room’s attention toward her like gravity.

The other guys react instantly - a few whistles beneath their breath, a couple of raised eyebrows. Someone mutters, “Lucky table tonight,” and the dealer straightens his tie. I force my jaw not to tighten, not to show anything. I’m an F1 driver, cool and composed, very not affected by a beautiful stranger sitting across from me. Sure.

She takes the open seat across from me, sliding into it with the kind of effortless grace that would fit straight into a Bond movie. She..yeah, she definitely could be the mysterious woman who ruins his plans. “Buy-in?” the dealer asks.

She pushes her chips forward with a slow, confident smile. “Let’s see if you boys can keep up.”

A couple of the guys laugh too loudly. I don’t. I’m too focused on the slight lift of her brow as she glances at me.

The next hand begins. She picks up her cards delicately and I raise my eyes at the same moment she raises hers. We lock eyes. Her lips tug upward.

“You any good?” She asks. I shrug. “Depends who’s asking.”

“Oh, I see,” she says, tilting her head. “One of those mysterious types.” “I try.”

“Trying and succeeding are different things.” She smirks. “We’ll find out which one you are.”

The table laughs, but she isn’t performing for them. It feels like the two of us are playing a separate game entirely - a quieter, sharper one.

A few hands later I bluff and she calls me on it instantly. “You hesitated,” she says with a triumphant little spark in her eyes.

“I did not hesitate.” “You did. Right when you lifted your chips. It was tiny, but I saw it.” I lean forward. “You’re watching me that closely?”

She mirrors me, leaning in until our arms almost touch across the felt. “Maybe I’m trying to figure you out.” I swallow, keeping my voice steady. “Any luck?”

Her gaze flicks down to my mouth for half a second - barely noticeable to anyone who isn’t studying her as much as I am. “Hmm..not yet. But I’m good at long games.”

She wins that hand. Then I win the next one. By the time half an hour passes, we’re trading smirks like chips.

She raises the bet on one particularly risky hand. “Call me,” she challenges, eyes glinting.

I hold her gaze. “You really want me to?”

“Yes,” she says softly, almost a whisper over the table noise. “I like seeing what you’ve got.”

I laugh under my breath, heat crawling up my neck. “Dangerous thing to say to a stranger.”

“Who said you’re a stranger?” She counters.

For the first time all night, I forget we’re surrounded by people. Forget Vegas, the noise, the cards. It’s just her - that black dress, that silver glow on her eyelids, the way she looks at me like we’re playing a game only we understand.

And as the dealer reshuffles and I prepare for the next hand, I realize she’s not just here to play poker.

She’s here to challenge me.

And I’m already losing - but in a way that feels a lot like winning.