Damon followed the two security guards down the corridor with calm, almost lazy steps, as if he were simply strolling through another interesting part of the casino, and not being led directly to the center of something that had most likely been carefully prepared to receive him. The sound of his shoes against the polished floor echoed softly, blending into the controlled silence of that more restricted wing, where every detail—from the dim lighting to the precise distance between the doors—seemed to have been thought out to keep everything under control.

He observed.

Always.

The walls, the blind spots, the small details that betrayed surveillance. Nothing explicit, of course, but there were signs—too discreet for ordinary eyes, too obvious for someone like him.

“So…” Damon began, in a light, almost casual tone, tilting his head slightly as he walked right behind the security guard leading the way. “How long have you worked here?”

The man didn’t turn his face.

Nor did he slow down.

His posture remained impeccable, straight, each step perfectly measured.

“I can’t discuss my personal life, sir.”

The reply came quickly.

Clean.

Rehearsed.

Damon let out a small “hm” through his nose, as if more amused than frustrated, and shrugged nonchalantly, running a hand through his hair as he continued walking.

“Fair enough,” he replied. “I imagine it’s part of the package… silence, discretion, the face of someone who’s never had an opinion of their own in their life.”

No reaction.

Not even a slight deviation in the pace of his walk.

Damon smiled sideways.

“It must be kind of boring, right?” he continued, without losing his relaxed tone. “I mean, spending the whole day walking back and forth, escorting rich people, pretending not to hear half the things that go on here…”

Another step.

Another turn in the hallway.

And then—

“It’s my job, sir.”

Short.

Direct.

No beating around the bush.

Damon chuckled softly.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

He put his hands in his pockets, keeping the pace while leaning slightly forward, as if trying to peek at the man’s face, even knowing he wouldn’t succeed.

“But come on… aren’t you ever curious?” he insisted, now in a lighter, almost conspiratorial tone. “Like, ‘who’s this weird guy who just won a small fortune and is being taken to talk to the owner of the place?’ No questions? No theories? Not even a mental bet?”

Silence.

For a few seconds.

Enough for Damon to almost believe that, perhaps, he had gotten some reaction—

“No.”

The answer came curtly.

Final.

Completely ending any attempt at conversation.

Damon paused for a split second… and then let out a low, genuine laugh this time.

“Okay… fair enough. I tried.”

He raised his hands slightly, in symbolic surrender, before resuming his normal walk, shaking his head as if genuinely impressed.

“You’re good at this, I’ll admit,” he murmured. “If I’d had half that discipline in my past life, maybe I would have been promoted… or fired faster. Hard to say.”

No response.

But Damon wasn’t expecting anything more.

Still, the atmosphere wasn’t uncomfortable.

On the contrary.

It was… interesting.

Because the man’s silence spoke volumes—perhaps even more.

They walked a few more meters, crossing one last corridor where the atmosphere seemed even more isolated, more controlled, as if each step took them further away from the casino and closer to something completely different. And then—

The door.

Different from all the others.

More imposing. More elaborate.

The dark wood was adorned with delicate golden details, forming almost organic patterns that intertwined across the surface, like stylized vines or restrained flames, softly reflecting the ambient light. It wasn’t exaggerated. It wasn’t ostentatious.

But it was… important.

Damon slowed his pace slightly, his eyes analyzing every detail for a moment before stopping completely before her.

“Ah…” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “So we’ve arrived.”

The bodyguard finally turned to face him, maintaining the same neutral expression as always, but now with a slight added formality in her posture.

“The mistress is waiting,” he said, with a small nod.

No further explanations.

No further beating around the bush.

He then reached for the doorknob, turning it precisely before slowly opening the door, revealing the interior of the room beyond.

Damon watched for a second.

Just one.

But it was enough.

“Perfect,” he said, with a slight smile, walking past him naturally.

Before entering completely, he gave the security guard a light tap on the shoulder—not hard, not intrusive, just enough to make his presence known.

“Thanks for the company,” he commented casually. “You’re terrible at conversation… but excellent at your job.”

And then—

Without waiting for a response—

Damon entered.

Damon walked through the door with the same calculated nonchalance he had maintained since entering the casino, but a single step inside the room was enough for him to slow down almost imperceptibly, not from uncontrolled surprise… but from immediate recognition of the kind of environment he had just entered.

The contrast with the rest of the casino was striking.

Inside, everything was quieter, more intimate, more… carefully indulgent.

The lighting was low, filtered by elegant lamps that spread a soft golden light throughout the room, reflecting on the luxurious details of the furniture and creating an almost unreal atmosphere, as if that space existed outside of time and common rules. Thick carpets muffled any sound of footsteps, and the air carried a sweet, subtle, but constant perfume, something between exotic flowers and rare spices.

And at the center of it all—

Her.

Cherry.

Reclining on a long dark velvet chaise lounge, strategically positioned to dominate the room without needing to move an inch, she seemed less a person and more… a carefully placed centerpiece to be observed. Her pink hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, contrasting almost hypnotically with the black dress that molded her body with impeccable precision, highlighting curves that seemed drawn with deliberate intention.

The neckline was deep, but elegant.

The waist, defined.

The posture… completely relaxed.

But there was nothing sloppy about it.

It was control.

Pure.

Her gaze, when it met Damon’s, showed no surprise.

Nor exaggerated curiosity.

Just… interest.

As if she already knew exactly who he was before he even crossed that door.

And as if that… was expected.

But Cherry wasn’t alone.

Two women were with her, positioned almost choreographed around her, wearing delicate pink lingerie that, although technically covering their bodies, left very little to the imagination. The fabrics were light, translucent in some places, too tight in others, creating a provocative aesthetic that seemed to be as much a part of the setting as the furniture or the lighting.

One of them was leaning beside Cherry, holding a small crystal goblet with carefully selected grapes, bringing one to the woman’s lips with slow, precise, almost ritualistic movements. Cherry accepted without haste, biting the fruit gently while keeping her gaze fixed on Damon, as if that small gesture had absolutely nothing intimate about it—just… natural.

The other was positioned lower down, near her feet, her hands gliding carefully over the exposed skin, performing a slow and steady massage, as if completely focused on the task, although her eyes occasionally rose, curious, analyzing the newcomer with silent interest.

Damon paused for a brief second.

Not long.

But long enough.

His eyes quickly scanned the room, absorbing everything—the position of the people, the possible exits, the details of the room—before finally returning to Cherry.

And then—

He smiled.

A slight smile.

Amused.

Almost as if he had just entered a game even more interesting than the last.

“Well…” he said, putting one hand in his pocket as he took a few steps inside, without any sign of hesitation or discomfort. “I have to admit… you know how to receive your guests.”

His voice was calm, carrying that relaxed tone that had become his trademark, but there was something behind it—attention, calculation, intention.

Cherry didn’t answer immediately.

She finished chewing the grape calmly, gently wiping the corner of her lips with her fingertip before resting her head slightly on her hand, tilting her face as she observed him.

“And you…” she said finally, in a soft voice, but full of presence, “definitely know how to get attention.”

A slight smile appeared on her lips.

Not exaggerated.

But meaningful.

Damon took a few more steps, stopping at a comfortable distance, neither too close to seem invasive, nor far enough to appear cautious.

“I try,” he replied, shrugging. “Sometimes it works better than I expect.”

Cherry let out a soft, low, almost musical laugh, while making a small gesture with her hand. The woman beside her immediately understood, pushing away her glass of grapes for a moment, though she remained close.

“Seventy thousand coins in one night…” Cherry continued, her eyes still fixed on him. “Without apparent effort. Without mistakes. Without hesitation.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Either you’re extremely talented…” she paused for a second, analyzing him more closely. “Or extremely dangerous.”

Damon arched an eyebrow slightly, as if genuinely considering the options.

“Couldn’t it be both?” he replied, with a half-smile.

The woman massaging Cherry’s feet let out a soft, muffled laugh, but quickly returned to her neutral expression when she noticed the casino owner’s brief glance.

Cherry, on the other hand… seemed to like the answer.

“Maybe,” she said.

There was a brief silence.

But not an uncomfortable one.

It was the kind of silence laden with assessment, where every detail was observed, every gesture analyzed. Cherry then shifted slightly, adjusting her position on the chaise lounge, enough to show interest, but not enough to lose the aura of absolute control she maintained.

“Tell me…” she continued, now in a slightly more direct tone. “Did you really come here just to play games?”

Damon let out a small sigh through his nose, as if pondering the question, and then briefly glanced around before returning to her.

“If I say yes… do you believe me?” he asked.

Cherry smiled.

Slowly.

“No.”

“Great,” Damon replied immediately. “Because neither do I.”

This elicited a wider smile from her.

Small.

But genuine.

The two women around exchanged a quick glance, as if beginning to understand that this interaction was unusual.

Cherry rested her elbow on the arm of the chaise lounge, leaning her body forward slightly now, just enough to reduce the symbolic distance between them.

“Then let’s save time,” she said. “You draw too much attention to be just a player… and I don’t usually invite people here without a good reason.”

She paused briefly.

“What’s yours?”

Damon watched her for a second.

Two.

And then smiled again.

But this time—

There was less playfulness.

And more intention.

“Curiosity,” he replied. “And a certain… interest in influential people.”

Cherry’s gaze didn’t change.

But something there… intensified.

“And you think I fit into that category?” she asked.

Damon tilted his head slightly.

“I think you’re much more interesting than that.”

Silence.

Again.

But now—

Different.

More dense.

More… direct.

Cherry held his gaze for a few seconds, as if trying to pierce through each layer of words and get to the truth behind them.

And then—

She smiled again.

This time… more dangerous.

“Careful,” she murmured. “Too much interest can lead to places… that are difficult to escape.”

Damon shrugged.

“Funny,” he replied. “I was thinking exactly the same thing about this place.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep