I went back to my own drink, but I could still feel his eyes on me.
But then he spoke, calmly, like he wasn't just talking to me, but reading me.
"Hard day, huh?"
I didn't answer.
Didn't even look at him.
He chuckled, a dry, cold sound.
"Let me guess," he continued, "You're drowning yourself because life didn't go according to plan."
I still didn't answer, gripping my glass tighter.
"You thought you had it all figured out. Rich daddy. Fancy life. Now it's crumbling and you're realizing... you're just another pawn."
My jaw clenched.
Something about him his voice, his words dug under my skin.
You don't know me," I said without turning.
"I know enough," he said smoothly. "I know you're desperate. Angry. Alone."
He leaned closer.
"And I know you want a way out."
Finally, I turned to look at him.
His eyes were dark.
Like he had seen the worst parts of the world and decided to join them.He smiled faintly.
"You're in luck, kid," he said, tapping his cigarette ash into the tray. "Because I might just have an offer for you."
I frowned, turning to look at him fully for the first time.
There was something off about him.
Something dangerous.
But also... something that made my heart start beating again for the first time in days.
An offer?
What kind of offer?
He slipped something across the counter.
A small black card.
No words on it.
Just a silver symbol two serpents eating each other's tails.
"Show up tomorrow night," he said. "If you want to change your life."
Before I could ask anything else, he stood up and walked away, disappearing into the smoky haze like he was never there at all.
I stared down at the card in my hand..
Maybe it was the alcohol.
Maybe it was the anger.
Maybe it was the fact that I had absolutely nothing left to lose.
But whatever it was...
I knew one thing for sure.
I wasn't going.
The next morning, I woke up with another pounding hangover.
At this point, I should just tattoo "drunk and useless" on my forehead.
It felt like my head was splitting open.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, still half-blind from the sleep.
I opened my banking app out of habit.
Balance: $87.49.
I chuckled dryly and dropped the phone on the bed.
Perfect. Absolutely freaking perfect
I had less than a hundred dollars to my name.
Hotel checkout was tonight.
After that... well, who knew?
I groaned, dragging myself up.
I didn't want to think about it.
But the truth kept slapping me in the face.
You're finished, Vincent. You lost.
What a freaking joke.
Big Vincent Aston, reduced to couch-hopping or worse... begging.
I sighed, already about to text Valerie.
I knew she'd help. She always did.
All I had to do was swallow my pride and text her:
Fine. I'll go crawling back home. Make peace. Kiss the old man's damn shoes if I have to.
I was halfway through typing it when my eyes caught something shiny on the bedspread.
But then I saw it lying right there on the bed.
I froze.
It was there.
That shiny black card.
I stared at it.
At first, I actually laughed out loud — the kind of laugh you let out when you realize you're completely losing your mind.
So it wasn't a dream after all.
No way that was real.
No freaking way.
I thought it was a drunk dream, like some weird fantasy my messed-up mind created last night.
But it was real. Solid. Cold in my hands.
The man in the suit.
The offer.
Everything was real.
I sat on the bed and picked up the card, holding it between my fingers.
It was heavier than it looked.
Smoother too.
Like it wasn't made from normal material.
I flipped it over.
Nothing on the back.
Just that small, almost invisible number carved at the bottom right corner:
777-922-777.
It looked strange. Almost fake.
I sat there, turning it between my fingers, thinking.
My stomach twisted.
Every instinct inside me screamed danger.
Told me to tear it up, burn it, forget about it.
But then another voice a nastier, hungrier voice whispered:
Or you can finally be free.
Free from your father. From his rules. From Bianca. From everything.
I tapped the card against my knee.
Finally, I pulled up my phone and searched online.
There wasn't much.
The man in the suit... his voice played back in my head:
"Show up tomorrow night, if you want to change your life."
Every instinct screamed this is trouble.
That guy didn't look like the kind of person you want to owe a favor to.
But then again...
Was it really worse than going back to being my father's puppet?
I sat there, still staring at that stupid card for hours.
Skipping breakfast. Skipping everything.
Just thinking.
Weighing my crappy options.
Go back and be Reynolds Aston's obedient little son...
or take a risk and maybe — just maybe — carve my own future.
I grabbed my phone and searched up anything about the card.
Nothing much came up.
Only bits and pieces — stories about an underground organization called The Aetherions.
A group that made "games" for people who were desperate enough.
An organization that ran some kind of game.
A game where people could win insane amounts of money.
No clear videos. No official sites.
Every post was half-deleted, like someone wiped it clean on purpose.
It was dangerous.
But I wasn't scared.
I was pissed.
I was desperate.
But what the hell did I have to lose?
I opened a new message and stared at the number for a second longer.
Then I typed:
"I'm in."
And hit send.
This time, if I was going down...
I was going down fighting.
I hesitated for a second.
Then hit send.
My heart was hammering in my chest as I stared at the screen.
A minute passed.
Two.
I was about to toss the card and forget it when the phone buzzed.
"Send your current location. Wait outside at 10PM. No bags. No phones. Just yourself."
I stared at the words, reading them twice.
No bags. No phones. Just myself.
I swallowed hard.
This was real.
This was happening.
I looked around the hotel room the empty takeout boxes, the cheap booze bottles, my crumpled clothes and realized I really had nothing left to lose anyway.
I copied the hotel's address and sent it.
No reply came after that.
Just silence.
And a clock ticking in my head, counting down to 10PM.
Tonight...
everything would change.
Either for better...
Or for much, much worse.