Chapter 6

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. I saw the careful hope in his eyes, the tension in his clenched fists, the way his body leaned slightly forward as he waited for my answer.

He was giving me a chance. A chance to start over.

"A little bit." I answered carefully, my heart pounding.

Charlotte's smile instantly froze, but a spark flashed in Jax's eyes: "Then come along, I can teach you."

I saw Charlotte desperately wanting to intervene, but Jax stood up: "Sloane needs to see what the real game rules are at St. Grove."

At ten PM, I sat beside the green felt table in some Hampton mansion's basement, trying my best to look like a novice. The dim lighting, cigar smoke, tense atmosphere—it all felt too familiar.

My plan was simple: deliberately lose a few hundred dollars, then find an excuse to leave. I absolutely couldn't expose my real poker skills.

"Ante is a thousand," the dealer announced.

A thousand? I gasped. This was much higher than I'd imagined. I glanced at Jax, who was focused on organizing his chips, completely oblivious to my nervousness.

For the first two hands, I deliberately folded, playing the part of a nervous newbie. The other players began whispering:

"This rookie looks terrified."

"Jax brought a little lamb to slaughter."

Charlotte sat across from me, wearing a smug smile. She deliberately raised the stakes, trying to force me out of the game.

The third hand was dealt, and I got pocket aces. Just as I was about to bet cautiously, I suddenly heard Jax's low curse.

I looked up at him, and my heart lurched.

He was staring at his chips with a dark expression. There were already over fifty thousand dollars in chips on the table, and in front of him remained only one last thing—a vintage Rolex watch.

"This was my grandfather's," he clenched his fists, "worth a hundred thousand."

His grandfather's heirloom? That must mean everything to him. I saw the pain and struggle flash in his eyes, and all my rational thinking crumbled in that moment.

No, I couldn't let him lose that watch. It was important to him.

"I'll call," I heard myself say.

Everyone stopped, staring at me in shock.

"Sloane," Jax turned to me urgently, "you don't need to..."

"I said, I'll call. One hundred thousand."

For the next thirty minutes, I completely forgot I was supposed to hide my skills.

My gaze became sharp and focused, my fingers tapped the table, completely reverting to that girl who grew up in the trailer park—those nights when mom was drinking, playing cards with neighbors at broken tables until dawn, where I learned to read people's psychology, the only way I could earn pocket money.

Charlotte touches her earlobe when nervous, David unconsciously nods, another rich kid bites his lip—I could read all these tells. Those survival skills learned in the slums were now paying off in this luxurious basement.

Hand after hand, I precisely judged opponents' hand strength, bluffed without hesitation when needed, folded decisively when appropriate. Within thirty minutes, I'd won back Jax's watch and earned an extra eighty thousand dollars.

"This is fucking impossible!" One red-faced rich kid slammed the table, "How can a newbie be this lucky?"

I calmly collected my chips, but internally I was cursing myself frantically. I was exposed. Completely exposed.

"You sure you only know 'a little bit'?" Jax's voice sounded beside my ear, carrying complex emotions.

"Maybe I got lucky." I tried to make my voice sound innocent, but I knew it was too late.

The entire basement fell into an eerie silence. The other players looked at me with a mixture of shock, suspicion, and fear, as if I'd suddenly transformed into some dangerous creature.

Charlotte was pale, clearly not expecting this outcome. She'd originally wanted to humiliate me in front of everyone, but instead made me the center of attention.

"I think... I should head back." I stood up, pushing the winnings toward Jax, "This should be enough to buy back your watch."

"You don't want this money?" Jax looked at me in disbelief.

"I don't need it." I avoided his gaze, "I just didn't want to see you lose something important."

With that, I hurried toward the stairs. Behind me came the sound of a chair scraping as Jax followed.

"Sloane, wait!"

But I didn't stop until I was outside the mansion, breathing the fresh night air, when I realized my hands were trembling.

Minutes later, Jax emerged with car keys in hand: "I'll drive you back."

This wasn't a request—it was a statement.

The Aston Martin's interior glowed softly in the darkness. Jax drove in silence, and I could feel the tension radiating from him. When the car stopped in the school parking lot, I could barely breathe.

He didn't turn off the engine, instead turning to look directly at me. That gaze made me want to run.

"That kind of card reading isn't explainable by luck." His voice was low, dangerous, "Who are you really?"

I felt like I couldn't breathe. The car's interior suddenly felt cramped, his presence so intense I couldn't escape.

"I'm just me, an ordinary student."

"Ordinary students don't have that kind of look in their eyes," he leaned closer, and I could smell his faint cologne, "don't analyze opponents' psychology like that, and definitely don't win a hundred thousand dollars in thirty minutes."

"Maybe you don't understand girls as well as you think you do." I avoided his burning gaze, trying to stay calm.

But he wouldn't let me off. His slender fingers gently lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him: "From the first time we met, you've been impossible to read."

My heart was racing. This distance was too dangerous. I could see the complex emotions in his eyes—confusion, fascination, and a hint of hurt.

"How many years of practice does that take? How much real experience?" His voice was soft but carried undeniable seriousness.

"Maybe it really was just luck..."

"No." He interrupted me, "You read everyone's tells, calculated odds, controlled emotions... these aren't skills a scholarship student should have."

His thumb traced my cheek: "How does a girl from a small town have such dangerous skills?"

I felt him peeling away my disguise layer by layer, and I had nowhere to run.

"Maybe," I tried to make my voice sound casual, "you're overestimating me."

He stared at me for a long time, then slowly pulled back.

"Maybe." He restarted the engine, "But I'll figure it out, Sloane. I'll know what the real you is like."

When the headlights illuminated the parking lot, I saw the determination in his eyes that both terrified and thrilled me.

He wanted to know me. The real me.

And that was exactly what I feared most.