VIAQUEZA GRAND HOTEL

Vincent Viaqueza savored the rhythm of the game. The steady tap of cards against the green felt, the faint clink of crystal glasses as the other players sipped their expensive scotch, the murmur of refined conversation between some of the most brilliant minds in the country, it was the kind of evening he enjoyed.

The dimly lit private lounge of the Viaqueza Grand Hotel was exclusive, reserved only for the elite. Tonight, Vincent sat at the blackjack table with five distinguished guests. Across from him, a world-renowned neuroscientist whose research was revolutionizing cognitive enhancement. Next to him, the avant-garde sculptor leaned back lazily, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. To Vincent's right sat, whose presence alone commanded attention. Completing the group were two more titans of their fields: an eccentric quantum physicist and a virtuoso violinist whose music could bring tears to even the coldest hearts.

Vincent smirked as he flipped his card. "Blackjack."

A collective groan filled the table.

"Again?" The actress sighed dramatically.

"You should know by now," the sculptor chuckled. "Luck loves Vincent Viaqueza."

"Lucky?" the nueroscientist adjusted his glasses. "Or calculated?"

Vincent just smiled, tapping the side of his temple. A mind trained in mathematics, probability, and human psychology made him a formidable gambler. Luck? That was for fools.

Vincent Viaqueza was no fool.

He was a man of sharp edges and sharper instincts. His wary, calculating eyes; dark as aged whiskey, missed nothing. Cutting through deception as easily as a blade through silk. The defiance in his chin hinted at a man who refused to bow to fate, while the wicked curve of his grin was a warning to those who thought they could outplay him.

Everyone in the room knew his name and whispered about what lurked beneath it. As the Vice President for Internal Affairs of RPV2 Holdings, Vincent had a public reputation as a shrewd businessman. But behind closed doors, there were rumors...rumors that he had ties to the Bagani Sangre, the country's most elusive and notorious crime syndicate. No proof had ever surfaced, but suspicion clung to him like the scent of expensive cologne.

And Vincent? He never confirmed. He never denied.

The uncertainty was what kept people respectful.

It was in that moment that the doors to the lounge opened.

The presence that entered sent a ripple through the room. Don Jayme Zaragoza, a man whose very name made the rich and powerful sit up straight. He was a businessman, a tycoon whose wealth and influence stretched beyond the borders of the country. And where Don Jayme went, trouble followed.

"Vincent," Don Jayme greeted, his voice smooth but edged with something challenging. "I see you've been keeping yourself entertained."

"Don Jayme." Vincent inclined his head. "Care for a game?"

Don Jayme smiled, but there was steel behind it. "I have something better in mind." He strode forward, pulling a chair for himself. "A simple game of Lucky 7 Draw. One card each. Highest wins."

Vincent studied the older man. "What are we betting?"

Don Jayme leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting. "A room."

"A room?"

"One of the rooms in this very hotel. The winner claims all of its contents, including any occupants inside."

The table fell into a hush.

Vincent's fingers hovered over his glass. He did not like this. "That's an unusual bet."

"Unusual, yes," Don Jayme admitted, "but you pride yourself on being lucky, don't you?" His tone was goading, teasing. "Or do you not trust your luck tonight?"

Vincent narrowed his eyes. He hated being challenged. But there was too much at stake. One of the rooms in the hotel currently housed his top IT expert, someone who had just developed an AI prototype that could change data collection forever. The man was irreplaceable. If Vincent lost, he could kiss that future goodbye.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline," Vincent said smoothly.

"Ah," Don Jayme exhaled as he leaned back. "So you aren't that lucky, after all."

Vincent felt his blood heat.

Don Jayme smirked. "What happened to the man who never turned down a challenge?"

A flicker of irritation burned in Vincent's chest. He had built a reputation. One of control, precision, and, above all, confidence in his own ability. Was he really going to let an old man bait him like this?

Vincent exhaled sharply. "Fine." He signaled for the cards. "One draw. We see who wins after we confirm what's in the room."

Don Jayme let out a quiet chuckle. "Very well. Let's put it in writing."

Vincent then turned to the rest of the players in his exclusive table, "Great game as always, friends, but I have another match to attend to."

He left the table as his hotel manager was summoned, quickly drafting a formal agreement between them. Both men signed. A binding contract. No way out now.

The cards were dealt. Neither man looked at his own.

"Shall we?" Don Jayme rose from his seat.

"After you," Vincent said coolly.

Together, they walked through the grand halls of the hotel, flanked by security and staff. Vincent's gut twisted with a feeling he couldn't shake. There was something too deliberate about this bet.

When they reached the designated room, Don Jayme gestured for the door to be opened. The moment it swung open, Vincent felt the shock hit him like a punch to the chest.

Inside, sitting with his IT expert, was a woman---a woman Vincent instantly recognized.

Vanessa Zaragoza.

Don Jayme's youngest daughter. The elusive, pampered princess of the Zaragoza empire.

She turned, startled, her striking, near translucent brown eyes widening. In her hands were documents...Vincent's IT expert's documents. She had been poaching him.

Vanessa was nothing like the delicate socialite her father tried to present to the world. She was all sharp angles and barely contained rebellion. Her long, dark hair framed a face of refined beauty, but there was something dangerously intelligent in her gaze, something unafraid. Where other women of her status hid behind politeness and privilege, Vanessa radiated defiance, as if daring the world to challenge her.

Their eyes locked.

Instant awareness crackled between them like an electric current.

Vincent had expected her to be beautiful. He had seen her from afar at events, always distant, always untouchable; but he had not expected this. He had not expected the sheer force of her presence, the way she met his gaze without flinching, the way her chin lifted in quiet defiance.

Vanessa had expected Vincent to be dangerous,everyone knew about Vincent Viaqueza, but she had not expected the thrill that shot down her spine as his sharp eyes studied her. There was something about the way he watched her, assessing, amused, intrigued.

Neither of them spoke, but they both understood something in that moment.

They were impressed.

And that was dangerous.

Vanessa's gaze flickered between the two men, and then to the security team standing behind them. The color drained from her face.

"Papa?" she whispered.

Silence hung thick in the air.

Don Jayme's expression darkened. "Vanessa." His voice was low, dangerous. "What are you doing here?"

Vincent exhaled sharply, realization dawning. This was what Don Jayme had been playing at. He had suspected his daughter was up to something, and he had used Vincent as a pawn in his game to expose her.

But now, the gamble had backfired.

Vincent smirked, amusement glinting in his eyes. He turned to Don Jayme. "Well, well. Looks like I did win a prize tonight."

Vanessa stiffened. "Excuse me?"

Vincent held up his card, finally flipping it over. It was a seven.

Don Jayme's face hardened as he revealed his own. A five.

Vincent had won.

And according to the contract, the contents of this room, including Vanessa, were now his.

Silence suffocated the room, thick and charged.

Vanessa's heart pounded in her chest as the full weight of the situation settled over her.

She had been gambling tonight too. gambling on her father's ignorance, on her ability to steal away one of Vincent Viaqueza's most valuable assets without anyone noticing. Instead, she had walked straight into a trap.

And worse, now she was the prize.

Vincent leaned casually against the doorframe, his fingers rolling his winning card between them, as if savoring the moment. His dark eyes flicked from the documents in Vanessa's hands to her face, amusement glinting in them like embers beneath the surface.

"Well, this is unexpected," he mused, his voice silk-smooth but laced with something sharper.

Vanessa bristled at the way he looked at her, not like she was Don Jayme Zaragoza's sheltered daughter, but like she was something intriguing. Something challenging.

Her father's face was unreadable, but Vanessa knew the storm brewing beneath it. Don Jayme Zaragoza was not a man who lost.

He turned to Vincent with a tight, forced smile. "It seems there has been a misunderstanding."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Misunderstanding? I believe the terms were quite clear. Everything in the room belongs to the winner." He flicked his gaze back to Vanessa, letting the weight of his words sink in.

She crossed her arms, refusing to let him see even a flicker of hesitation. "I am not part of a bet."

"No?" Vincent tilted his head. "You were inside the room. You were holding my IT expert's files. You were in the middle of a meeting I highly doubt your father approved of." He let the statement hang in the air before adding smoothly, "That makes you part of the game."

Vanessa gritted her teeth. He wasn't wrong, but that didn't mean she had to accept it.

Her father, however, was less composed.

"You dare claim my daughter?" Don Jayme's voice was low, dangerous. The room vibrated with the tension between them, an invisible battle waging between two powerful men.

Vincent merely smiled. "Only what was wagered."

Vanessa's fingers curled into fists at her sides. She hated this, hated being reduced to a pawn in their games of power. She had spent her entire life fighting for her own autonomy, struggling against the golden cage her father kept her in, only to end up in the hands of someone equally dangerous.

And yet...

The way Vincent looked at her...sharp, assessing, yet completely unaffected by her last name was unnerving. Most men of his world would stumble over themselves to impress her, to treat her like something delicate or untouchable. Vincent did none of that.

If anything, he looked like he was already planning his next move.

And that made him infinitely more dangerous than her father.

"I can assure you," Don Jayme said, voice tight with control, "Vanessa is not something you want to hold on to."

Vincent's grin widened slightly, something wicked playing at the edges. "Oh, I don't know about that. I have a feeling she's quite valuable."

Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "I am right here, you know."

Vincent shifted his attention fully to her now, as if finally acknowledging her presence beyond just the game. And the moment their gazes locked again, something strange passed between them.

It was awareness.

Tangible. Undeniable.

It was in the way Vanessa held herself, chin tilted in defiance, eyes challenging him without hesitation. In the way Vincent's gaze lingered on her just a second too long, not in admiration, but in calculation.

He had known of her before this moment, of course. The elusive daughter of Don Jayme Zaragoza, often hidden from the public eye except for carefully curated appearances. The media painted her as a fragile socialite, protected by her father's iron grip. But standing here now, facing him with a sharpness that rivaled his own, Vincent realized something.

The media had gotten it completely wrong.

Vanessa Zaragoza wasn't delicate. She was a blade her father had tried to keep sheathed, a force he had tried to suppress.

And she was looking at Vincent like he was the one who had something to fear.

That only made his interest grow.

Don Jayme, however, was not nearly as amused. "You've made your point, Viaqueza," he said, voice controlled but with unmistakable steel. "Now let's be reasonable."

Vincent exhaled, the tension in the room shifting slightly. "Reasonable?" He tapped the edge of the contract they had both signed. "I'm merely honoring our agreement."

"You think you are," Don Jayme said darkly.

A lesser man would have flinched. Vincent simply tilted his head. "And what exactly are you offering in exchange for your daughter?"

Vanessa's breath caught.

Her father turned to her then, gaze unreadable, as if calculating the cost of her.

She swallowed hard.

For the first time in her life, Vanessa Zaragoza realized exactly what she had always been to him.

A possession. A piece to be played, to be negotiated over.

A part of her had always known it, but to hear them actually discussing her like this, like she was an asset to be traded, ignited a rage deep in her chest.

Before Don Jayme could speak, she did something reckless.

Something bold.

Something Vincent did not expect.

She took a single step forward, closing the space between them, and looked Vincent straight in the eye.

"You want me?" she challenged. "Fine. Take me."

Don Jayme's expression darkened. "Vanessa---"

"No." She cut him off, her voice steady. "I am the bet, aren't I? You gambled and lost, Papa. And I refuse to be treated like some fragile thing you can negotiate over."

Vincent's expression flickered with something unreadable. Surprise? Amusement? Intrigue?

Whatever it was, it made his smirk return in full force.

"Interesting," he murmured.

Vanessa lifted her chin. "You think you've won, Vincent Viaqueza?" She let her lips curve into something almost taunting. "We'll see about that."

For the first time that night, Vincent wasn't sure if he had won the bet...

...or if Vanessa Zaragoza was the one who had just placed him in her game.

Vincent Viaqueza had won countless bets in his lifetime, but none had ever looked him in the eye with as much defiance as Vanessa Zaragoza did now.

She was a contradiction—delicate yet unyielding, poised yet crackling with rebellion beneath the surface. He had expected a sheltered girl, a whimpering socialite who would shrink under the weight of her father's power.

Instead, he was standing before a woman who had just offered herself up as if daring him to try and tame her.

And that was a gamble Vincent wasn't sure he had planned for.

Don Jayme was furious. The quiet, simmering kind of fury that only powerful men wielded when they weren't used to losing. His hands clenched at his sides, his jaw rigid with barely contained restraint. "Vanessa, enough."

She didn't look at him. Her focus remained on Vincent; her brown eyes locked onto his like he was the only opponent that mattered in the room.

For the first time that night, Vincent felt like he was the one under assessment.

*******