Page 60 of Checks & Bonds

I turned and walked towards the study where we kept an old deck of cards in the drawer of my desk. My thoughts swirled with the unexpected turn our conversation had taken. Freya had always been unpredictable, but this was something new altogether.

The sound of my footsteps echoed through the mansion as I made my way to the west wing library. I needed to ensure that Jensen had been dealt with. My fists still ached from the beating I gave him, but that pain was nothing compared to the rage simmering inside me.

When I reached the library, it was eerily silent. The heavy oak doors creaked as I pushed them open, revealing an immaculate room. Shelves lined with ancient tomes, polished wooden tables,and leather-bound chairs—all untouched. It was as if nothing had happened here just hours ago.

Anger flared through me like wildfire. Jensen had dared to try something so audacious under my roof. The thought of it made my blood boil, but I forced myself to push it aside. Not now. Not when Freya was waiting back in the kitchen with her ridiculous poker challenge.

I scanned the room again, looking for any sign of the earlier chaos. Nothing. My security team had done their job well, too well perhaps. There wasn't even a hint of blood on the Persian rug where I'd left Jensen crumpled and broken.

I clenched my fists, feeling the bandages Freya had so carefully wrapped around them tighten against my skin. Jensen had crossed a line, and he would pay for it—just not right now.

Turning on my heel, I left the library and headed back towards the kitchen. My thoughts were a tangled mess of anger and frustration, but also something else—something unsettlingly close to admiration for Freya's unexpected boldness.

As I walked back through the corridors, my mind kept drifting back to her challenge. Poker? It seemed almost absurd given everything that had happened tonight. But there was something about her fire, her defiance, that made me want to see this through.

I reached the kitchen door and paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady myself. Then I pushed it open and stepped inside, ready to face whatever game she had in mind.

Freya looked up from where she was sitting at the island. I showed her the deck of cards, and her eyes met mine with that same challenging glint.

"Got your deck?" she asked casually, as if this were just another night.

"Let's play," I replied, walking over and taking a seat opposite her.

I set the cards down on the island and began shuffling them expertly. Her eyes followed my movements with interest and determination.

"You sure you're ready for this?" I asked, dealing out the cards.

She met my gaze without hesitation. "More than ready."

Freya looked me dead in the eye, her expression serious. "Three games. Best two out of three. Five-card draw."

I nodded, my mind already calculating strategies. "Deal."

I shuffled the cards one last time and dealt five to each of us. The tension between us was almost tangible, but I forced myself to focus on the game. Freya picked up her cards and studied them, her face a perfect mask of concentration.

We both discarded two cards and drew replacements from the deck. Freya's eyes flicked up to meet mine, challenging me silently. I looked at my hand: a pair of sevens and an ace. Not great, but not terrible either.

"Ready?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Always," I replied, smirking.

We laid our cards on the table simultaneously. Freya had three eights.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath.

Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she scooped up the cards and started shuffling for the next game. "One down," she said, almost teasingly.

I leaned back in my chair, watching her nimble fingers work through the deck. She was better than I expected, but that just made this more interesting. If she thought she'd won already, she had another thing coming.

The next round began with the same intensity. I drew three cards this time and ended up with a straight—five through nine. Better.

Freya discarded one card and drew another, her expression unreadable. We laid our hands on the table again. This time, my straight beat her two pair.

"One-one," I said, feeling a sense of satisfaction as I collected the cards.

Freya’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she kept her composure. She shuffled with practiced ease before dealing the final hand. The room felt electric; every sound seemed amplified—the shuffle of cards, our breathing, even the ticking of a distant clock.

I drew two cards and ended up with three queens. Solid hand.

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