If there was one thing to be said for Mia, it was that she was never a burden. Give her a book, and she could exist in absolute, contented silence for an entire day.

Damien had once taken her to an exclusive private gala. However, something about Mia's backless evening gown had apparently struck a nerve in the Sovereign's possessive wiring. He had changed his mind halfway through, checked her into a luxury hotel suite, and commanded her to wait for him—specifically forbidding her from sleeping. When Damien finally returned at dawn, he found Mia exactly where he'd left her. She had spent six hours straight reading a copy of the Oxford English Dictionary.

Tonight was no different. Mia was submerged in the text of The System of Nature by Baron d'Holbach.

She reached the bottom of page one hundred and two. As she raised her hand to turn the page, a massive, predatory shadow eclipsed the light.

Before she could look up, a pair of strong arms hooked beneath her waist, hoisting her effortlessly from the sofa.

"...Damien?" she gasped.

Her book thudded onto the rug. In her confusion, Mia gripped his forearms. The fabric of his shirt was unmistakably high-quality—the signature texture of the Sovereign.

"Come and sit with me," Damien commanded. It wasn't an invitation; it was a decree.

"No, I shouldn't," Mia whispered, her voice tight with apology. "I don't understand those games. I'll only spoil your fun".

To a man like Damien, who lived to make the final decision in every room he entered, her refusal held zero weight. He turned and began walking toward the gambling table with her in his arms.

"Whether or not it spoils the fun," he murmured, "is my decision".

The atmosphere around the table was electric. Kitten was on a warpath; Damien had liquidated her in the first two rounds, leaving the girl with eyes as red as a cornered rabbit.

Despite the chaotic energy of the onlookers, Damien remained languid, as if he were merely observing a minor amusement rather than a high-stakes bet. He ignored Kitten's battle cries and pulled Mia onto his lap.

He reached for a card—the Ace of Hearts—and pressed it into Mia's palm. Slowly, deliberately, his finger traced a seductive circle in the center of her hand.

"...Play two rounds for me," he whispered.

The room went still. Kitten looked delighted; Julian looked thoughtful; the rest of the Syndicate elite were morbidly curious.

Mia's eyes went wide. "You know I don't know how."

Damien's mouth brushed against hers as he smiled. "I'll teach you…".

"No, Damien, I can't." Mia turned to Kitten, desperate for an out. "I've really never played before".

"What did you even do in college?" Kitten asked, genuinely bewildered. In her world, all-night poker marathons were a standard extracurricular activity.

Mia remained silent.

"Come on, tell us," Kitten pushed. "You don't gamble, you don't drink, you don't party... what did you actually do?".

Under the collective interrogation of the room, Mia lowered her head and confessed.

"Classical poetry... chess... calligraphy... and painting" [source: 55, 56].

The table went dead silent.

Kitten threw her arms around Julian's waist, her face a mask of mock-despair. "Julian, I'm so sorry! Damien married a saintly scholar, and you ended up with a street-rat!".

The rest of the group—Damien, Julian, and Alistair—could only stare back in stunned silence.

The dynamic of the game shifted instantly. Even with the Sovereign backing her, Mia was a blank slate—a scholar of the arts facing off against Kitten, a girl who treated a casino floor like a second home.

The score hit two-all. A tie.

Kitten was cackling with a manic energy, standing with her hands on her hips. The more she laughed, the more Mia felt her own perceived uselessness weighing on her. Mia was naturally thin-skinned, and the public nature of the game was beginning to fray her nerves.

Julian reached out and gave Kitten's waist a sharp, warning squeeze. "That's enough, Kitten," he muttered. He knew Damien was a man who held a grudge; if Kitten pushed too hard, she would eventually pay the price.

But Kitten was too far gone in her excitement to listen. She demanded the final round.

Damien didn't say a word. He toyed with a single card, his expression an unreadable mask of cool indifference as he called the bet.

The dealer turned toward the Sovereign, making a formal gesture. "Banker, please show your card".

Damien didn't move. He used his fingertip to tip up a corner of the card, but he didn't flip it. He tapped his long fingers against the surface, his eyes showing no ripple of emotion.

Sitting on his lap, Mia closed her eyes.

From her vantage point, the card was perfectly visible. Damien held the Ace of Hearts—the definitive capital for a total victory.

Mia looked down, her heart sinking. He was going to win, and she felt a sudden, crushing sense of isolation. She didn't belong in this world. She understood nothing of his games or his power, and the distance between them felt like a vast, unbridgeable canyon.

Damien cut his eyes toward her, catching the faint, humble trace of sadness on her quiet profile.

"Time is money! Flip it! Show us the card!" Kitten shouted, banging her fists on the table.

Damien's brow twitched. A nameless shadow flickered in his pale gray eyes. He flipped the card.

Silence.

A split second later, Kitten practically launched herself into the air, screaming at the top of her lungs as she hugged Julian. "I WON! I ACTUALLY WON! MY KARMA IS UNSTOPPABLE!".

Julian was stunned. Alistair Sterling stared at the table, then at Damien, then at Kitten.

"Kitten actually won..." Alistair whispered, his voice full of clinical disbelief.

Mia blinked, looking down at the table.

There was no Ace of Hearts. Sitting silently on the felt was a King, declaring Damien Lancaster's absolute defeat.

Kitten was hysterical with joy. She pointed a finger at the Sovereign and laughed. "One Minute Stand!".

Damien smiled faintly but didn't speak. He reached out, his hand sliding through Mia's dark hair, his movements carrying a dark, heavy subtext.

Mia felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her. "What... what are you doing?"

"How are your skills at counting down?" Damien asked, his voice a low, melodic rasp.

"..."

"That's a shame," he whispered, his eyes locking onto hers. "Because your kissing skills don't seem particularly advanced either...".

The crowd was closing in now, refusing to let him off the hook. The roar of noise was deafening.

Julian began to feel a genuine sense of regret. He leaned in toward Alistair. "Should I stop him?".

Alistair looked at him as if he were insane. "A bit late for that, don't you think?".

Julian groaned, trying to pull Kitten back, but she was leading the charge. "I really don't want her to see this…"

"I remember when Damien played this game in a club in London," Alistair mused, rubbing his chin. "The whole room lost control. Damien walked away fine, but everyone watching was so worked up it was like they'd been drugged".

This was Damien Lancaster: a man who played with desire, with instinct, and with the human heart.

Damien stood up, pulling Mia with him. He turned to the room. "One minute, then?".

"OH, YES!" Kitten shrieked.

Mia was truly terrified now. "Can I... can I please go to another room?"

Damien didn't answer. He studied her, then reached out and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. His touch was cold and hauntingly gentle.

In the next heartbeat, he clamped his hand around her waist and dragged her hard against him.

"Damien, stop!" Mia cried out. "You're being completely unreasonable!".

Damien let out a short, beautiful laugh. He lowered his head until his lips were resting against hers.

"Mia... there is something you should understand."

He spoke against her skin, his voice a lethal velvet.

"To you, I have no intention of ever being reasonable".