Jack, always poised and self-assured, leads Janine through the grand doors. His dark suit fits him like a second skin, while Janine clings to his arm, eyes wide with both curiosity and awe.
"Stick with me tonight," Jack grins, his eyes twinkling beneath the chandeliers, "I’ll show you how the game’s really played."
Jack gestures confidently for Janine to watch closely. Chips stacked high, he surveys the spinning wheel, lips curled in a knowing smile.
"All on Black," Jack declares, his tone absolute. The croupier nods and the ball rattles, slowing—then dropping with a satisfying finality.
Croupier: "Black, winner!"
"How did you—?" Janine whispers, still stunned.
"Simple study, Janine. I know the wheel. One percent edge, that’s all I need," he winks.
Jack glides to a blackjack table, eyes flickering over the cards in play. He waits, noting each low card with the patience of a predator.
"Hit me," Jack says when his moment arrives. A king slides his way—twenty-one, perfect.
Dealer: "Twenty-one. Winner."
"You make it look so easy," Janine laughs, her skepticism giving way to admiration.
Jack studies the horses, eyes narrowed. He points toward a black stallion, muscles rippling as it snaps at rivals.
"Put your money on Black Flip. Dominance wins races, Janine. Even I’m a bit scared of that one," he says, voice low.
The gates burst open—hooves thunder, and Black Flip surges ahead, unchallenged.
The announcer’s voice crackles over the speakers: Announcer: "Number 5, Black Flip by a length!"
"You’re uncanny," Janine breathes, clutching her winnings.
Janine[/@ch_2] flips a coin, mischief in her eyes. The city’s noise fades into the background, replaced by their laughter.]
"Okay, Jack: heads or tails?" she challenges, the coin concealed in her hands.
"Tails never fails, Janine. The head side’s heavier, so the odds favor tails," Jack explains, laying his hand over hers.
She lifts her palm—tails gleams back at them.
"How do you know all these theories?" she laughs, half-dazzled, half-dubious.
"I listen to winners, not dreamers," he replies with a wink.
Jack scans the wall of tickets, finger tapping the seasonal editions.
"These have to pay out by season’s end—one percent better odds," he explains, buying a stack.
They scratch—wins and losses, but the odds bear out as Jack predicted.
"You lost more than you won," Janine teases.
"But I beat the odds. Luck is just the prize, skill is the win," Jack assures her with a knowing glance.
Jack hands Janine a notepad, guiding her to write down the past thirteen weeks’ winning numbers.
"See the pattern? Over thirteen weeks, you narrow down the possible winners. One percent edge, Janine—that’s all I need," he says, passing the ticket to the cashier.
"You should write a book," Janine laughs as he takes her hand, their winnings tucked safely away.
"Who says I haven’t written one or two already?" Jack winks, leading her into the city’s glittering heart, luck—and skill—dancing in their wake.
