### Chapter 4 Anastasia As I stepped into the dimly lit chamber, a thick haze of smoke enveloped me like a suffocating blanket, and my throat constricted painfully. My eyes stung as I adjusted to the scene unfolding in front of me. There, ten men loomed, their faces cloaked in shadow as they focused intently on the large poker table before them. The unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke clawed at my lungs, and I fought the impulse to cough. The atmosphere crackled with tension; I recognized every figure around the table, men from our social sphere, though thankfully, none of them were especially close to my brother. The thought of him finding me here sent a shiver down my spine. What would their respectable fathers think if they knew their sons indulged in such debauchery? “I… I have to go,” I stammered, teetering backward as a solid wall of muscle blocked my escape. My back collided with Bash, his chin brushing the top of my head as I tucked beneath him, trying to retreat from the oppressive atmosphere. A deep chuckle vibrated through him as he steadied me with one warm hand. “What are you doing?” Eric, the newly dubbed saint of the Cromwell clan, exclaimed, rising from his seat. His disbelief echoed in the tense air as he placed both palms on the table. “You can’t bring someone like her in here.” Bash merely tilted his head, scrutinizing Eric with an amused glint in his eyes. “Can’t I? I can do whatever the hell I want. Besides, Stasia won’t say a word about this. Right?” “Don’t call me Stasia,” I retorted, fists clenching at my sides. “I won’t tell anyone. Just let me leave.” His expression morphed into a sly smirk. “I don’t think so. The longer you stick around, the more you become complicit. Trust me, it would be just as dangerous for you to tell anyone about this as it would be for us.” He threw a glance at the men gathered at the table. “Isn’t that right, boys?” They grunted in agreement, returning their attention to the cards, an unspoken rule evident in their demeanor. Bash was correct—defiance was not an option in the presence of a lord. I could feel the weight of the gamble hanging in the air, a dangerous lure that intrigued me. A sharp burst of laughter floated over from a nearby plush sofa, causing my gaze to snap toward the commotion. There, sandwiched between two women, a man was lost in a passionate kiss, and an unsettling tightness gripped my stomach. I realized I didn’t recognize either girl. The lavish fabric of their attire screamed that they certainly hadn’t come from any ball. Panic flared; I was ensnared in a shadowy gambling den of unspeakable indulgence. “Relax, Princess. Nothing’s going to happen here. Not with me around,” Bash murmured in my ear, and a shiver raced down my spine. My traitorous body responded too eagerly to his breath, awakening a longing I had never experienced. Despite my usual self-control, it slipped between my fingers like sand. When he wrapped his arm around my waist, guiding me deeper into the room, I snapped back to reality. I should fight against his hold, but with every eye on me, that was the last thing I wanted to do. I’d bide my time, and when Bash was preoccupied, I’d escape. A spark of inspiration struck, forcing a smile to tug at my lips. Perhaps this would turn in my favor; after all, a lord like him could lead me right to what I sought—the tiara. If I could gain his trust, this may come together more easily than I anticipated. As I scanned the room, it became clear there were no chairs available at the game table. I prepared to retreat to the seating area, but Bash’s imposing figure loomed over the players as he barked, “Move.” In an instant, chairs were vacated, opponents shuffling aside with little hesitation, lured away by the allure of scantily clad women. This was undeniably a man’s paradise, and a shudder coursed through me as I considered how many times these men had sullied this chamber. “I don’t think I can do this,” I muttered under my breath, just loud enough for Bash to hear. “Come on, have a little fun. You’re always so uptight,” he teased, leaning in closer, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I am not!” I shot back, scrunching my nose. “Yeah, you are. You glide through these events as if they’re beneath you.” He was undeniably mistaken. I did not pretend to be aloof; it was self-protection—a barrier shielding my turbulent past from those who might dare to look. “Have you been watching me?” I asked, feigning casualness. “Why? Did you want me to?” I laughed, unable to suppress the mirth bubbling within. “Are you always this ridiculous?” “Only when I try to make a beautiful woman laugh.” “Oh, so I’m simply a pretty girl to you?” I huffed, forcing down the pang of disappointment. What did I expect from a notorious playboy, the youngest Everette brother, who flaunted new conquests at every occasion? Bash flashed a glimmer of mischief before his tone turned serious. “Stasia, there’s something about you that’s different from anyone I’ve ever met.” A rush of heat ignited in my core, tingling down to my fingertips, and I clenched my palms to suppress the instinctive response to his words. Reacting to someone like him was a dangerous game. He was nothing but a rogue. “I told you not to call me that,” I reminded him sharply. “Aww… you’re making me feel like you don’t like me.” There it was—the knowing gleam in his gaze, a hint that he was all too aware of my body’s reaction. A man’s throat-clearing broke our moment, and I felt the heat flood my cheeks as the attention of the table turned toward us. “Are you two playing?” he asked, impatience creeping into his tone. My heart raced, anxiety rising. Forget questioning Bash; I had to find a way to make my escape before my embarrassment overwhelmed me. Bash smoothly pulled out a chair and directed me to sit, his firm hand on my shoulder warning me not to resist. He settled in next to me, and as I adjusted the skirt of my dress beneath me, an uneasy tension gripped my stomach. “I don’t have any money with me. I could just sit and watch,” I protested weakly. “Don’t worry about that. You’re my guest,” he declared as he tapped the table, signaling the dealer to bring forth chips for both of us. My breath caught at the sight of the small fortune stacked in front of me—surely over a hundred grand. “What if I lose it all?” I faltered, dread creeping into my words. He chuckled lightly. “I’ll consider it money well spent.” “I won’t pay you back,” I warned, fully knowing the debt would never truly be settled. He shrugged, unconcerned. “Something tells me this will be worth every penny,” he teased, a hint of confidence radiating from him, making me feel exposed. As two cards were dealt to everyone around the table, adrenaline surged through me. I focused on maintaining a neutral expression, observing my opponents. Cromwell drummed his fingers pensively on the surface of the table, color rising to his ears—easy tells for a player like me. The mood pulsed with anticipation as Wallace, the first man across from me, offered a false reassurance. “Don’t worry, we’ll go easy on you,” he said, though I immediately sensed deception lurking beneath. For the first time since entering this den of iniquity, a thrill coursed through my veins. I had spent my life besting my brother at poker, and now I felt poised to do the same. As the game started, three men folded, and I exhaled, relaxing slightly in my chair. Wallace hesitated before calling $6,000, the pace of the game quickening. Cromwell’s sneer was aimed at me as he raised the stakes, showing a hint of overconfidence in his every move. “Fold. It’s your turn now, Princess,” Bash said, leaning back to observe. Cromwell's intense stare made my skin crawl; his demeanor oozed entitlement. But I wouldn't back down easily. Matching his raise of $12,000 felt risky, but I was willing to gamble, especially with Bash’s money. After the dealer shuffled and dealt the next three community cards, my heart raced. The sight of another nine sent adrenaline flooding through me. I had trips—a formidable hand. Cromwell raised again. “Raise another $12,000.” The challenge shimmered in the room, and I met his gaze with determination. I hesitated, considering my next move. His arrogance was palpable, and I doubted his confidence stemmed from skill. “All in,” I declared, my voice steady. Bash’s expression remained inscrutable beside me, an amused glint in his eyes urging me forward. I pushed all my chips into the pot, excitement bubbling within me. Cromwell’s bravado cracked as I laid my cards face up, revealing my triumph. The dealer flipped the river card, sealing Cromwell’s fate as another nine surfaced. “Unbelievable!” Bash laughed. “She wiped the floor with you, Cromwell.” Cromwell’s face twisted with rage before he stormed out, the remnants of his confidence vaporizing in defeat. As the next round commenced, our table dwindled, the only remaining players were Bash and me. His relaxed demeanor masked the intensity of his focus. “Are you watching me now, Stasia?” he asked, provokingly. “It’s all part of the game,” I countered, attempting to hide my growing unease. As the tension in the room thickened, a sultry woman sauntered over, carrying bottles and enough glasses to satisfy the remaining players. I watched as men showered their attention on her, some grasping too tightly, causing her to stiffen beneath their grip. It was disheartening, but this was their reality—a maze of indulgence and manipulation. Grabbing a bottle, I poured a generous amount of whiskey into Bash’s glass before filling my own, plotting as ambition simmered within me. The true game was not just the cards—it was the secrets lurking behind these eyes. “Careful,” he warned, his brow slightly furrowed as he sipped his drink. “You sure you can handle it?” Feigning confidence, I took a swig from my glass, the fire igniting in my throat. I coughed but quickly composed myself, adopting a sweet smile. “It’s just quite strong,” I said, pouring more whiskey into his glass. His gaze narrowed, but he didn’t hesitate to toast me, draining the contents of his glass and inviting me to follow suit. One round bled into the next as chips accumulated before me, building a small fortress of wealth. “You’re cheating,” Wallace hissed, muscles tense, a storm brewing within. Bash rested his elbows on the table, an insistent glimmer in his eyes as he turned to Wallace. “Stasia is my guest. I’d watch what you say next.” I felt a surge of warmth at the possessive note in his voice, a thrill sparking as the atmosphere thickened with unspoken tension. Wallace retreated sheepishly, mumbled excuses tumbling from his lips as he fled the table. Once he left, I turned toward Bash, who lingered lazily in his seat, his expression still playful yet somehow profound. “How about we switch to blackjack?” he proposed, tossing down the remaining cards. “I’d love to.” I grinned like a predator, knowing this was my game. As we faced off, my anxiety resurfaced, but a thrill surged through me. I laid down my cards, striking with a queen and a six, trying to maintain composure against his king and seven. Bash’s gaze bore into me with an intensity that made my pulse race. If I didn’t soon find a distraction, I would be in over my head. I needed to steer this game in my direction—or better yet, into uncharted territory. “Let’s up the stakes,” I challenged him, feigning nonchalance as I met his curious expression. A faint crease formed between his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t want to win all my money.” “Let’s make it a little riskier,” I suggested, casual but resolute. He leaned closer, intrigued, a wolfish grin spreading on his lips. “Okay, I’m listening.” I leaned back in my chair, outwardly calm while my heart raced. “Loser takes off an item of clothing.” Bash’s laughter echoed, low and genuine, as he accepted my challenge. “You are definitely not what I expected. I’ll take it.” Inside, I braced myself. For this scheme to work, I had to lose just enough rounds to keep his attention in my direction. After all, the stakes had just been raised far higher than I had initially intended. In this game of gambling and desire, I had to keep my wits about me—this was only the beginning.