Following a desperate, violent encounter with Karina, a heavily drugged Wonbin helplessly watches the remaining Houses fall to the billionaires. Paralyzed, he is forced to witness Wonyoung take the stage for her devastating grand finale.
If there was a Hell, it certainly didn’t wait for death. It had to be this life itself; death was merely the reward for completing this treacherous journey.
The lines between reality and nightmare had long been erased for me, but nothing could have saved me from this—this cruel, twisted game that we’d all been dragged into against our will, tossed away and abandoned by this despicable world that saw us as pawns and objects instead of flesh and fear, as soulless shells and empty vessels instead of warm bodies with beating hearts and hopes and dreams.
And all I could do was beg for it to stop. For everything to end. From the echoes of Sora’s cries still lingering in the room for anyone left with a conscience to hear, to the undeniable trembling of Karina’s fingers that could only be seen by eyes of those still human.
But begging, as I’ve learned, was futile.
Nobody cared. Nobody heard, and nobody saw.
There was no one left.
So even an eternal kingdom of fire would’ve been better than this.
Team 3 x Karina:
x2 Jacks x2 Kings (+60)
(₩5,430,000,000)
The results hung over the stage like a guillotine blade waiting to drop, and my stomach twisted so hard I thought everything inside me would spill out. I was still on my knees; the ghost of Yujin’s warmth had yet to fully fade from my skin, and the drugs were still pumping violently through my veins, making the edges of my vision vibrate like a broken screen.
Why do they want two Jacks instead of their full table? There has to be a reason—
“Jack,” the handler’s voice interrupted whatever train of thought I had left. “You’re up again. Can you continue?”
Continue? Right now? Like this?
My lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass, and my head was pounding like a thousand hammers were striking it all at once.
“I...” my voice cracked. I couldn’t even start the sentence, let alone finish it.
“He looks spent,” another voice sneered from the shadows.
A male figure stepped forward boldly—arrogantly—and I didn’t need to look twice to know who it was. The smug Jack. Of course he was assigned. It was like the King of Spades was doing it on purpose.
“I have to admit he fucked that Yujin whore real good earlier,” he said, stretching his arms, as if warming up for a gym session. “But there’s no way he can go again.”
“Call her that again,” I grunted, fingers curling into the carpet, “and I’ll—”
He laughed mockingly. “And you’ll do what? You can’t even move.”
“Jack of Spades,” the handler repeated, impatient now. “Are you capable of performing, or do you need to be replaced?”
My legs trembled, ready to buckle against my will, but the threat of the alternative kept me breathing. “I can do it,” I forced out, pushing myself up. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” he tilted his head, his silver mask reflecting what little light there was backstage. “Because if you are unable to perform, we have a reserve ready.”
Choi Mingyu? No way. If he comes out here—if he gets his hands on Karina—
“No!” I snapped, the word ripping out of my throat to interrupt my own thoughts. “I said I’ll do it!”
The smug Jack chuckled, walking past me to stand by the Dealer. “We’ll see how long this lasts, pretty boy.”
Two more figures emerged from the wings, their masks more discreet than every other VIP’s—less flashy; a matte, dull, lifeless gold. During the break, whispers had floated around the waiting room that the guests from Table Three were Korean politicians, but I couldn’t tell exactly who from just the bottom half of their faces, only that they certainly looked the part, in all the worst ways.
They didn’t look at me, at the Dealer, or even at the audience. Their eyes were locked on the singular figure standing in the center of the stage, like she was the target from beginning to end.
Karina.
She looked unreal, more like a portrait or a masterfully carved statue than a person, the way she stood perfectly still with her hands folded behind her back. The blindfold cut across her face like a stroke of blood and the red collar hugged her throat like a fresh wound, a stark, violent contrast against her pale complexion radiating underneath the spotlight, making her look like a fallen goddess.
“Let us begin, shall we?” the Dealer’s voice slithered through the speakers.
The two Kings moved in a terrifyingly rehearsed unison, as if it wasn’t their first time—on the stage, together, or with Karina.
“Finally*,*” one of them said, his voice laced with excitement but also something blatantly sinister. “We meet again, High Ace Karina.”
“A High Ace no more,” the other corrected, smacking his teeth. “How pitiful. The shame you must feel facing the crowd like this.”
Without warning, one of them grabbed her arm; the other her hair, yanking her head back—not hard, but enough to show the entire room who was in control. Karina gasped loudly, a sharp, broken sound that echoed through the silent hall.
“Careful, gentlemen…” the Dealer warned from the distance. “As I’m sure you both know, our Karina is quite... fragile. She has a tendency to fold when things become even a little unpleasant.”
“We know,” one of the Kings grunted, running his fingers down her body like he’d been waiting all night, perhaps even longer. “Don’t worry… we’ll be more gentle this year. Just a little.”
Karina didn’t say a word. She just stood there, glaring at them through her blindfold like their presence alone made her sick to her stomach.
“She folded too early last year!” a voice shouted from the audience. “Don’t let her off easy this time!”
More voices joined in.
“Yeah! Make her put on a proper show!”
“This is a giant pot this year, make it worth it!”
The smug Jack strutted over, eyeing her like a vulture waiting for scraps. “I have an idea. Why don’t we just cover her mouth?” he said, pulling a ball gag from the table of equipment. “Prevent her from even saying the safeword. Make sure she can’t fold—”
“Put that away! What the hell’s your problem?” the King snapped. “Are you sick in the head? Besides, they also have hand gestures to fold. The rules say it’s one or the other, and I’d rather tie her cute little hands.”
The Jack furrowed his brows. “Huh… didn’t know there were rules like that.”
“Are you joking? We played two Jacks so you could help control the tempo, given your familiarity with her. And you didn’t even know the rules? Tell me you at least know her limits so you can prevent her from folding.”
The Jack shrugged. “I’ve never fucked this slut before. She’s too elite.”
“What?” they asked, diverting their eyes to me now. “What about you?”
It was like my mouth worked on autopilot. “Go fuck yourselves,” I murmured, steadying my breathing. “Scumbags.”
The two of them scoffed in disbelief and looked into the darkness of the stage. “Hey, House! We need new Jacks—”
The smug Jack put his hands up, interrupting their demand. “Wait. Let me stay. I’ll work with you. We’ll make sure she doesn’t fold,” he said, his voice overly accommodating. “Don’t replace me, I wanna know how her pussy feels. This might be my only chance.”
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