He Always Let Her Win, Until I Played My Last Card

Vivian Hayes is the first one to break the silence after Olivia's little performance. "Liv, come on. Even if you've known Seb since you were kids, that joke was way over the line." She glances at me nervously. "Clara literally gave up nine times for her wedding. And she even prayed at church every time before her wedding. You can't just..." Olivia pops a grape into her mouth. "Too bad prayers don't fix a bad match." I look at Sebastian. "Your best friend just humiliated me in front of everyone. You have nothing to say?" He sighs like I'm being exhausting. "Babe, come on. A bet's a bet. You knew what you were signing up for." Something inside me snaps clean in half. I step toward Olivia. She barely has time to flinch before I grab her by the collar and shove her backward. She stumbles into the poker table, chips scattering everywhere. The room erupts. Sebastian is on me in a second, yanking me back. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" He's looking at me like I'm the problem. "Why did you lose on purpose?" I ask, my voice barely steady. "What?" "You never lose. You've never lost a single hand in your life. So why do you always lose to her?" Sebastian goes quiet. Then he runs his hand through his hair and says, like it's nothing: "Olivia gets upset when she loses. She has since we were kids. I promised her I'd never let her lose." I stare at him. When I was twenty, I got kidnapped by one of his family's rivals. He showed up covered in blood, fought through a dozen men to get me out. I was shaking, crying, and he held me so tight I thought he'd break my ribs. He said he'd never let anything hurt me again. I guess promises only count when they're made to Olivia. I'm done pretending. I reach down and unclasp my watch, a Patek Philippe, worth more than most people's houses, and set it on the table. "Olivia. One hand. High card. My watch against your little bet with Sebastian." The whole room stares. Nobody's ever seen me play. Every time Sebastian's friends came over for poker night, I just poured drinks and stayed out of the way. I told everyone I had zero interest in gambling. They all think I can't play. Olivia smirks. "You sure about this, sweetie?" "Flip." She draws a six. I flip mine. Nine. Dead silence. Olivia blinks. Then her face crumples, and she grabs her wrist. "Ow, Seb, my hand, I think she hurt my hand earlier when she pushed me—" Sebastian doesn't even hesitate. He's at her side instantly, cradling her like she's made of glass. "I'm taking you to the ER. Don't move." He scoops her up and heads for the door. Over his shoulder, he throws me one last look, annoyed, like I've ruined his night. "Clara, just... go home. I'll deal with you later."

They leave. The rest of the room clears out fast, nobody making eye contact. I stand alone in the penthouse. Champagne going flat. Cards scattered across the table. I pick up my phone and call West Group's legal department. "Draft the termination papers for my engagement to Sebastian Blake. I want them on my desk by morning." My assistant doesn't sound the least bit surprised. "Yes, Ms. West." ... I wake up to my phone buzzing nonstop. Twelve missed calls. Twenty-something texts. All from relatives, friends, vendors. "Clara, is the wedding still on?" "What happened? The florist is asking about the deposit—" "Girl, are you okay??" I'm halfway through typing replies when Sebastian finally calls. "Clara, handle the cancellation, will you? Put everything on my tab." His voice is flat. Distracted. "Olivia's not feeling well. I need to stay with her. I can't deal with wedding stuff right now." He hangs up before I can say a word. I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen. That's when I see it. A message from Olivia, sent at 2 AM. It's a photo. Sebastian is asleep on a couch, and Olivia is curled up against his chest. His arms are around her. Her hair is messy. His shirt collar is tugged open. There are marks on both of them that don't need explaining. She's added a little heart emoji. Nothing else. I block her number. Then I start packing. Three years I lived with Sebastian. Three years in the same apartment, and we never once shared a bed. He couldn't stand anyone in his space. Funny how that rule didn't apply to Olivia. My stuff fits in one suitcase. That's how little space I took up in his life. As I'm zipping it shut, something clinks on the floor. I look down. It's Sebastian's engagement ring. I designed it myself, had it made by the same jeweler who does pieces for West Group's private clients. The night I proposed, he teared up and said he'd never take it off. Last night he slipped it off and tossed it on the nightstand. Didn't want Olivia to feel awkward, probably. I pick it up. Then I pull off my own ring and throw them both in the trash. At the office, the termination papers are waiting. I sign every page without reading them. Then I open my phone and book a wedding appointment for tomorrow. I post to Instagram to announce my upcoming wedding. Ninety seconds later, Sebastian calls. "What the hell is this?" He's furious. "I told you to cancel the wedding, not post it all over social media. Are you trying to humiliate Olivia?" "This has nothing to do with Olivia." "Like hell it doesn't! She saw your post and she's upset—" "Sebastian." My voice is calm. Calm in a way that surprises even me. "I'm getting married. It doesn't involve you. You don't need to come." He scoffs. "Married? To who? You're gonna walk down the aisle by yourself? You'll be a laughingstock." Something sharp twists in my chest. "Oh," I say quietly. "So you did know. You knew I was a laughingstock. All nine times." The line goes dead. A few seconds later, texts start flooding in. I delete them without reading. That night, while I'm doing one last check of my things, I remember. Mom's emerald bracelet. It's still at Sebastian's place. That bracelet has been in the West family for four generations. It belongs to the woman who leads the family, my grandmother wore it, my mother wore it, and it was meant for me to pass on to the next. And I left it in the home of a man who threw our rings in a nightstand drawer. I have to get it back.