Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

’If Ivy Sherwood could actually pull a fast one right under his nose without him noticing, then that would be a testament to her skill.’

Elijah Hawthorne gestured for her to begin. Ivy Sherwood picked up the cards from the table and began to shuffle.

She shuffled the cards normally, cut the deck, and dealt three cards to herself and Elijah Hawthorne.

The game was incredibly simple—it was just a matter of comparing the value of their hands.

Straights, pairs, or flushes were all valid hands to compare.

Ivy started with a terrible hand, unable to form anything, while Elijah Hawthorne had a pair and won the round instantly.

Although she had three chances, losing the first one already put considerable pressure on her.

Ivy Sherwood shuffled, and soon it was time for the second hand. The cards now lay on the table, but Ivy dared not pick hers up.

She had no confidence, especially with the overwhelming pressure emanating from Elijah Hawthorne across the table.

For Elijah Hawthorne, it didn’t matter whether he won or lost this gamble. But for Ivy Sherwood, it was a different story.

"What’s wrong, Miss Sherwood? Don’t you even dare to look at your cards?"

"There’s nothing to be afraid of." Ivy picked them up.

She had a straight—a decent hand.

Ivy finally breathed a sigh of relief. ’I should have a chance with this,’ she thought. ’Elijah Hawthorne’s luck can’t be *so* good that his hand is better than mine, can it?’

"Do you want to reveal your hand first, or shall I?" Elijah Hawthorne hadn’t looked at his cards, but his imposing presence was enough to intimidate anyone.

But she didn’t know what was in Elijah Hawthorne’s hand. Everything was still up in the air; she couldn’t celebrate just yet.

Ivy said, "Either way is fine."

Elijah Hawthorne revealed his cards. It was a flush—three cards of the same suit, which beats a straight.

The second hand, she lost.

Elijah Hawthorne glanced at Ivy’s cards. "Miss Sherwood, you have a knack for dealing good hands. It’s a shame your luck at receiving them seems a bit off. It appears Lady Luck isn’t on your side today. This is your last chance. The third hand. Are you sure you want to continue?"

This hand placed Ivy under even greater pressure.

If she lost this hand, she would have to stab herself.

"It’s not too late to back out, Miss Sherwood. As I said, if you help me get the core of that project, we can call everything between us even. I can even offer you a handsome reward."

"That won’t be necessary. Let’s begin." With that, Ivy picked up the cards and began to shuffle again.

Her palms were slick with sweat as she dealt three cards to herself and three to Elijah Hawthorne.

Ivy didn’t rush to look at her cards. She knew fate wasn’t on her side, so she would have to rely on herself.

In the last two hands, her cards had actually been quite good.

Her gaze darkened, and she spoke. "Mr. Hawthorne, would you mind changing the rules?"

"Oh? And how would we do that?"

"Since we’re just comparing high cards, why don’t we play them individually? We compare one card at a time. Three cards, best two out of three."

"And why would I agree to that?"

Ivy chuckled lightly. "Let’s just say I’m reluctant for this to end so quickly, Mr. Hawthorne. I want to play a few more rounds with you."

Ivy’s words made the corners of Elijah Hawthorne’s lips curl up. "Are you that confident? That if we compare them one by one, your cards will be higher than mine?"

"How will we know if we don’t try?"

Elijah Hawthorne admired the confidence on Ivy’s face. It was an ordinary face, yet for some reason, he found it somewhat captivating.

She was willing to shoulder the burden for her friend; few people possessed that kind of courage.

Moreover, she had proactively challenged him to a gamble, and for the dealer to have such terrible luck was a rare sight.

Elijah Hawthorne had gambled with many people. At a moment like this, most would be terrified. Some would have already started begging for mercy.

Yet Ivy remained so composed. And that composure... was so much like Quentin Blackwood’s.

"Fine," Elijah Hawthorne agreed.

Ivy had assumed that, given Elijah Hawthorne’s casual nature, he would simply play the card on top without looking, leaving it all to fate.

But to her surprise, he picked up his three cards, studied them, then selected one and placed it on the table.

Ivy picked up her own cards. Sure enough, it seemed fate was deliberately against her today. She had a three, a four, and a ten.

It was just about the worst hand possible. ’There’s no way Elijah Hawthorne’s cards are lower than mine. I’ve lost.’

Even knowing she was bound to lose, Ivy played her four first.

One of Elijah Hawthorne’s men flipped his card. It was a king. Without a doubt, Elijah had won the first draw.

Ivy played her next card quickly. Since she was going to lose anyway, she played her highest card, the ten.

The man in black flipped the next card. To Ivy’s surprise, Elijah had an eight.

She had won this draw!

But what good did that victory do? The only card she had left was a three. She was doomed to lose.

Ivy knew she was fated to lose, but she still followed the rules, pushing her last card forward without a hint of hesitation.

Her card was face down. No one knew what it was.

Elijah Hawthorne held his own card between two fingers. He twirled it a few times, a blur of motion that hid the card from sight.

"Ivy, this is the last time I’m asking. The final card. Are you sure you want to see this through?"

This time, Elijah Hawthorne didn’t call her Miss Sherwood. He called her Ivy.

"It’s a wager. Win or lose, we should see it to the end. Flip your card." Ivy’s expression was perfectly calm.

"Do you know where I’ll stick this knife? One wrong move and you could die. You’d rather risk ending up in the hospital—or worse—than lift a finger to take something from Quentin Blackwood?"

"This is between you and me. What does it have to do with Quentin Blackwood? What’s his is his."

Elijah Hawthorne’s card slapped down onto the table.

"You win." Elijah Hawthorne stood up, gave Ivy one last look, and then strode out of the private room without another word.

’He hasn’t even flipped his card... and I won?’

After Elijah Hawthorne left, Ivy flipped over the card he had placed on the table. She froze. It was a three.

Outside the door, Nina Scott was pacing back and forth, frantic with worry about the situation inside. Every second was agony.

The door finally opened, and the impeccably dressed man emerged, followed by his subordinates.

Elijah Hawthorne walked straight out of the club without so much as a glance at Nina Scott.

The man following Elijah Hawthorne didn’t understand. "Mr. Hawthorne, but your card was clearly..."

When it came to cards, Elijah Hawthorne had been playing since he was five. His sleight of hand was probably better than a magician’s. Mr. Hawthorne should have been the one to...

A single look from Elijah Hawthorne silenced the man.

A luxury car was waiting at the entrance. The driver, already prepared, saw Elijah Hawthorne emerge and opened the door for him.

Elijah Hawthorne settled into the back seat. Light from the club’s entrance spilled into the car, illuminating one half of his face while the other remained cloaked in shadow.

He raised his hand. In it was another card: the King of Spades.