A Queen Never Gambles. She Deals

At one of the exclusive private casino parties, my eyes landed on a diamond tiara. The catch? It was the prize for a high-stakes blackjack game. Luckily, poker happens to be one of my many sins.

A girl named Elara—whom I once pitied enough to introduce to Throne, hoping she’d land a job—has now declared she wants the tiara too. Naïve. Probably thought beginner’s luck was a real thing.

I figured, fine. Let the cards decide. If I win, I walk away with the tiara. If I lose, I’ll find another way to soothe my pride. Easy enough.

Thorne, my ever-watchful husband, leaned in and murmured, “Go easy on her.”

I didn’t.

I won. Beat the dealer faster than her and won the tiara.

That girl cried at the table.

Thorne didn’t look impressed for once. He rather seemed... irritated. I thought it was for Elara’s sake. Turns out, it was for mine.

A year later, same party, different stakes.

The grand prize? My own sex video.

While holding Elara in his arms, my husband said to me, voice almost amusing, “Don’t you like winning prizes? Then go on. Win our sex tape back.”

1

Selene’s POV

I sat at the poker table, back straight, while my own sex tape played in full glory on the giant LED screen in front of me.

My face might’ve been blurred—but my voice? Unmistakable. Every sigh, every moan, every breathless plea echoed through the hall like a scandalous symphony.

And this room? It was filled with power. Mafia royalty. Billionaire heirs. Politicians’ bastard sons. Tonight was supposed to be about deals, alliances, discreet flirtations over cards and champagne. Instead, it had become a show. A public humiliation starring me.

I turned slowly toward my husband.

Thorne. Unbothered as ever, swirling champagne in his glass like nothing was playing at all.

All around me, the whispers slithered.

“She looks just like Mrs. Alden…”

“Like? That’s her. See the birthmark? Right on her neck—same as Selene’s.”

“But who’s the man? Mr. Alden?”

“Doubt it. Who the hell records themselves like that?”

I wanted to scream. Wanted to rip that smug screen off the wall.

I knew exactly who was in that tape. That was our bedroom. Our moment. And Thorne—he’d made sure only I could be recognized. Blurring his face, shielding his identity… while leaving me to burn.

Why?

And then she walked in.

The girl from last year. The one who cried when I beat her at poker and took that tiara. I’d barely remembered her name—until I saw Thorne rise from his seat to greet her. A kiss on the cheek. Soft. Familiar.

It hit me like a knife between the ribs.

This was revenge. Thorne’s. For her.

As this year’s host, it was his job to give the welcome toast. And when he took the stage, I could already feel my stomach knotting.

He lifted his glass. “To everyone here—may tonight bring thrilling games and profitable partnerships. And for those intrigued by