My Dear Fiancé, It’s My Turn To Play the Dangerous Game

Clara's voice was quiet, but it carried a sticky malice that echoed through the dead silent cabin.

"That guest from Moscow, Mr. Boris."

She pointed a finger toward a fleshy man in the corner who was chugging vodka.

He was an envoy from the Russian mafia, notorious for his depravity.

"I order my dear sister Seraphina to give Mr. Boris a passionate kiss," Clara said, her body shaking with laughter. "It's 'diplomatic etiquette,' after all."

At her words, Boris's cloudy eyes lit up. He licked his lips obscenely, revealing teeth yellowed by tobacco.

I took one last look at Killian.

The fingers that had been drumming nonchalantly on the table stopped.

Killian's smile froze, the lazy mockery gone in an instant.

His jaw tightened. The poker chip he'd been toying with hit the table with a sharp crack.

Killian's gaze swept over Boris before finally locking onto me.

In that moment, I was sure he would save me.

He had known for a while that the Russian had designs on me, held back only by his respect for the Falcone family.

Leo sensed something was wrong and whispered a warning, "Boss, this joke is going too far. She's a Russo..."

"Shut up."

Killian tugged irritably at his tie, not looking at Leo.

I knew what he was waiting for. He was waiting for me to show the same vulnerability I always had, even just a little. Then he would flip this table and throw Boris into the sea.

But this time, I didn't.

Seeing my continued silence, the last trace of hesitation in his eyes hardened into the fury of being defied.

"A bet's a bet, my love."

He finally spoke, his tone anything but friendly. "I know you can handle it."

Those few casual words were like a poisoned blade, piercing straight through my chest.

So, he could tolerate Clara pressing against him. He could stand by and watch me be humiliated. He could even push me toward another man with his own hands.

A bitter irony and a bone deep coldness enveloped me.

I stared at his handsome but distant face and suddenly felt like I was looking at a stranger.

I stood up and walked numbly toward Boris.

The Russian, reeking of alcohol and sweat, had already scrambled to his feet, his fat, greasy hands reaching for my waist.

"Don't touch me."

I bit out the words. My voice wasn't loud, but it made Boris freeze.

I closed my eyes, held my breath, and planted a quick kiss on his greasy cheek.

A powerful wave of nausea rose in my throat.

Behind me, I heard a glass slam onto a table.

I didn't have to turn around to know it was Killian.

The cabin was terrifyingly quiet, broken only by Boris's unsatisfied, strange laugh.

I turned back, my eyes turning red against my will. "Is that good enough?"

Clara seemed to have been startled by Killian's reaction. She froze for a second before recovering, then burst into a triumphant, coquettish laugh. "Of course. The heir's wife is so generous, as expected."

Leo quickly stepped in to mediate. "Alright, alright, that's enough for tonight. Let's escort Miss Seraphina back to her room..."

"No."

I took a deep breath, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

All eyes were on me. Killian was staring at my smeared red lips, his expression thunderous.

But I no longer cared.

I finally understood I'd been nursing a viper. Sweet to my face, but her fangs were sharp the moment she had a man's attention.

It's always the quiet ones.

"You won that last round. You had the right to make a demand."

I stared into Clara's eyes and said, word by word, "Now, do you dare raise the stakes with me?"

Clara was stunned, then laughed as if she'd heard the most absurd joke. "Seraphina, you want to play against me? What's the bet?"

"The jewelry smuggling route to Europe that's under my name."

I had just dropped a bombshell.

It was the family's cleanest, most profitable artery, and it was my last bargaining chip.

Clara had coveted it for a long time.

The cabin erupted. Even Killian narrowed his eyes, his body leaning forward as if to stop me.

"If you win, the route is yours," I said, staring her down. "But if you lose..."

I pointed to the branding iron used to punish traitors, glowing red hot by the fireplace.

"I want you to brand the family's traitor mark on your chest. And you will be cast out from Killian's protection."

Clara's face went white. She instinctively looked to Killian, as if seeking refuge.

But Killian's gaze was fixed on me. Everything I had done tonight was beyond his expectations.

"I accept," he said, blowing out a ring of smoke, making the decision for Clara.

Clara was trapped. She could only bite her lip and nod. "Fine! I'll play one more round with you!"

The revolver was back on the table.

Clara's hand trembled as she picked it up. The lure of immense profit overcame her fear.

She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

An empty chamber.

Her eyes flew open, ecstasy flooding her face as she provocatively pushed the gun toward me. "Your turn, my friend."

My turn.

I took the gun.

In the cylinder, only two slots remained. One held the bullet.

Without the slightest hesitation, I pressed the cold muzzle to my temple.

Through the crowd, I saw Leo cover his eyes in terror. I saw Killian's hand grip his glass so tightly his knuckles were white. He was shaking.

Was he nervous? No, that couldn't be. He was probably just nervous about the shipping route.

I smiled bitterly. Even now, I was still being a fool.

I pulled the trigger.

Click. The firing pin struck an empty chamber.

Death had brushed past me once again.

I lowered the gun and looked at the ashen faces of Killian and Clara.

Six chambers. Four empty.

Now it was a fifty fifty chance.

I pushed the gun to the center of the table, my voice as light as a ghost's.

"Only one chamber left."

"Killian. Are you going to take the bullet for her, or let her face it herself?"