Gambler!Justin x Casino Owner!Ardee
It all started with a simple bet. A game of chance, probabilityâit was a gamble that nobody dared to test.
Except for a particular bankrupt casino owner.
Glass buildings stood tall within the dim of the night, the moon rising above the clouds. Cars rushed along the streets, as if guilty for a crime uncommitted, hastily on a getaway to god-knows-where.
In the streets of New York City, the concrete jungle, stood the Aarons Casino. Large neon signs, red carpet, slot machines everywhere; the whole shebang. The place was packed every night until the rise of dawn met the windows, where anyone who was crazy enough to stay for the whole night stumbled out with empty pockets.
The Aarons Casino was a place for the hopeless and the rich, searching for a purpose in a world of opportunity. Though, oftentimes, the lines between the two classes were blurred by a mutual greed.
Ardee Aarons had thought that this cycle of wins and losses were to fuel the casinoâs income until he would retire. Keyword: thought.
In a matter of just three years after the highly successful opening of Aarons Casino, customers were leaving, complaining about a particular man that kept participating in card gamesâand kept winning every time.
The casino owner runs a hand through his hair in irritation, rolling backwards in his office chair. âAll the customers are complaining, yet..â he sighs, looking at the CCTV clips. No tricks. Nothing at all. âIt's almost like he's just.. lucky.â
His monitor plays the clip over and over again on a loop. The same man. Winning and winning and winning andâ
It should've been impossible.
The lucky winner, every single damn time: a man with a certain kind of risk to his demeanor, a stiff walk with an uncomfortable amount of confidence for someone with a hunched back. Black-rimmed glasses stood square upon the bridge of his nose, gleaming under the warm lights of the casino.
A man by the name of Justin Coleman.
From the side of the room, Ardee's secretary leaned against the wall before pushing herself forward with an exasperated huff. She crosses her arms, looking down at her boss seated at the desk with her chin raised.
âLucky?â Noreen scoffs. âLucky doesn't even cut it. The man hardly looks at his cards when he plays, and he uses eenie-meenie-miney-moe to pick how much he wants to betâand that asshole still wins.â
With a shake of his head, he runs his tongue across his dry, nervous lips. âShit. If he keeps winning, we'll go bankruptâbut we can't just kick him out.â
Kicking the gambler out would mean risking the casino's reputation since Coleman wasn't cheating, but keeping him in would have even worse consequences.
A thick moment of silence envelopes the office, the smell of coffee hinting at the nights gone unslept. Noreen approaches a painting on the wall, hovering her fingers over the dried paint.
Noreen's nails drag against the landscape, her gaze softening as she remembers how this was the first non-monetary prize Ardee had won from a bet.
Her fingers abruptly halt as she turns around to face Ardee. âWhy don't you bet against him?â She suggests.
âAnother bet,â Ardee raises an eyebrow, âdo you hear yourself?â
With a frustrated sigh, Ardee stands from his chair, approaching Noreen. He stands next to her, looking down at her through furrowed brows. Carefully placing a hand on her shoulder, he speaks. âAs much as I respect your judgement, Noreen, this is just too much. He already wins enough.â
âAnd that's exactly why you should challenge him. What, you think a gambler like that isn't going to get off on a casino owner making a bet with him? Whoever wins gets a wish granted. If you win, you can kick him out fairly.â She proposes, shrugging off his hand and jabbing a finger in his face with a smug look.
He leans back in his seat, shaking his head and sighing for the nth time. âYeah, like that's going to take us out of debtâŚâ
A bet where the loser has to grant the winnerâs wish. If Ardee set the odds right, even if it meant bending the rules a little, it wouldn't matter because... well, he's the owner. All he needs to do is get Justin to agree.
The casino owner blinks in realization. Stroking his jaw, he falls into a thoughtful silence. Maybe this would be his way out of the rabbit hole of debtâa chance at salvation.
His eyes gradually begin to glimmer with satisfaction, the corners of his lips moving upwards. âOh, that's smart.â
âWhy do you question me, again?â His secretary deadpans, facepalming in exasperation. Ardee sheepishly rubs his neck, retreating to his chair and plopping down.
âI'll challenge him an hour after his arrival,â Ardee places his feet on his desk, earning a look of disapproval from Noreen. Nonetheless, he continues. âAnd that damn gambler will fall right into my hands, and right out of my casino.â
Drifting his attention back to the monitor, the screen displays a crowd immediately rushing out of the building. That could only mean one thing.
Ardee smirks. âJackpot.â
The crowd hastily parts like the Red Sea, splitting into two waves as a black Rolls-Royce rolls in front of the red carpet entrance of the place. The vehicle comes to a halt.
A chauffeur exits the driver's seat, making their way towards the passenger seat. The chauffeur pauses, hesitant from the expectant gaze of the crowd, then opens the car door, taking a step back.
The atmosphere was charged with anticipation and silence, breaths held in their lungs, frozen in time. A shined black shoe steps out of the vehicle. And then the other.
Within moments, the casino is turned into a lightshow of camera flashes and clicks, the people beginning to shout for the man's attention, pleading for a glance in their direction.
Reporters push against the barricades, bodyguards struggling against the chaos. And yet, the cause of the mayhem nonchalantly steps out of the car, strolling leisurely along the red carpet that led to the revolving doors of the casino.
âMr. Coleman, how do you do it?â A reporter brings a mic to the man's face, shining with the hunger of the media.
A bodyguard next to Justin pushes the mic away. âHe isn't taking questions!â
âA smile to your left, Mr. Coleman!â Someone shouts in the distance, voice quiet amongst the bustle of the crowd.
Another reporter is held back by a different bodyguard, attempting to reach the man. âMr. Coleman, how do you feel about your overnight wealth?â
People scream his name, calling for his attention in vain, their shouts echoing across the streets. Passerbys stop to watch the havoc in curiosity, the crowd only growing. Mr. Coleman sighs.
He raises his head, turning to the paparazzi. The paparazzi goes quiet, the lightshow of cameras ending. Raising a brow, he tilts his head to the side.
Justin smiles briefly, a picture of finesse compared to the starving reporters that were eager for the latest story. âIâm busy.â He waves his hand lazily, turning back around and entering through the revolving doors.
Behind him, the reporters rush after, but they're held back by the guards.
The gambler adjusts his cuff sleeves, turning his attention to the people he's played against before, greeting him with empty praises and flattery. A particularly boisterous man half his size moves with purpose towards him, face breaking out into a grin.
âJustin, my friend!â Henry approaches him, voice booming yet lacking authority over the room. âYou're so famous now, huh? How about sharing some of that with me?â
â.. No.â Justin replies straightforwardly, looking down at Henry's shorter frame with confusion. Shaking his head, he strides past the stunned man easily, making his way to his favourite areaâthe poker table.
He seats himself at a random table that hasnât started a match yet, unfazed by the wary glances shot in his direction as he begins to bet. Playing against Coleman was like boarding the Titanicâno matter what you do, the ship is going to sink, just like the numbers in your bank account.
âYipee,â Justin cheers under his breath after looking at the hole cards he was given, the rest of the players freezing in sheer nervousness. Luck seemed to always be on his side, regardless of whoever was trying to cheat.
The game beginsâflopping, folding, calling, betting. Everyone sat stiffly in their seats, trying to read each other. Unlike the others, Justin leans back, as if he didnât bet his and his grandmotherâs entire net worth on this game.
In spite of the bluffs of the players, the cards spoke for themselves. Another royal flush from Justin.
He pulls the pot towards himself in satisfaction with a resonating chuckle, âHow about a second round?â the winner suggests with a casual tone, dismissing the fact that he put nine other people in soul-crippling debt. At his question, the players quickly stand from the table.
One woman claims her husband is waiting at home, a man supposes itâs time to take his fish for a walk, and another person leaves the table without an excuse. It was difficult to blame themâafter all, there was no chance that theyâd win against the Justin Coleman.
As everyone quickly stands up to leave, Justin sighs as he checks his silver Rolex for the time.
As if by fate, the hands hit exactly at 10 PM, marking the start of the next hour. He stretches his arms up, almost tempted to go to a gambling machine instead of remaining at the table, when the buzz of the casino suddenly pauses.
âHuh?â He lifts his head in interest, sensing someone looking. His gaze flickers to a figure standing on the interior balcony.
The figureâs tanned skin gleams under the warm lights of the casino, eyes carefully scanning the ground floor. Finally, they land on Justin.
Aarons leans against the railing as he makes eye contact with Coleman. A smile slowly forms on his face, and he descends. With every step down the flight of stairs, he commands respect. Patrons and staff nod at him with reverence as he passes.
10 PM sharp, just as planned.
Ardeeâs eyes remain on Justin, whose gaze doesnât shy away either. He stops just a few feet before the gambler.
The casino owner looms over the table, smiling down at Justin. âEvening, Mr. Coleman. Enjoying another game of poker? Youâve earned yourself quite the reputation around here, or so Iâve been told. The lucky winner.â
âThank you, Mr. Aarons. The owner, right?â Justin stands, shaking hands firmly, the touch simultaneously warm and ice cold, devoid of any real familiarity. âItâs a pleasure to meet you in person.â
âHaha... only for you, Mr. Coleman.â Ardee chuckles, his backhanded comment seemingly flying straight over Justinâs head.
Coleman clears his throat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. âSo.. you came here to talk to customers?â
âNot just any customerââ he places a hand on Justinâs shoulder with a professional smileâ âyou. Actually, youâve been causing quite a few issues here which have been.. concerning the other customers.â
âOh.â Justin stiffens.
A laugh is elicited from Ardee at his awkward reaction, finding amusement in the other manâs demeanor. âDonât worry. I donât hold grudges,â he reassures, causing Justinâs shoulders to relax.
He clears his throat before resuming. âI see the tableâs empty. Nobody wants to challenge your throne, hm?â The shorter man gestures to the poker table Justin sat at.
âNo, they all just had something to do.â Justin shakes his head.
âHow.. convenient.â Ardee trails off with a smirk, musing to himself for a moment. Snapping away from his train of thought, he speaks again. âWell, I canât be complaining. After all, Iâve been wanting to have some.. one-on-one time with you. I heard your playstyle is quite vigorous.â
âThatâs not what I meant.â
Reganing his temporarily lost composure, Ardee straightens himself with a sigh. âAhem. What I meant was, would you like to play with me?â The casino owner flashes him a smile.
A casino owner, suddenly offering to play with a VIPâit wasnât entirely implausible or alien, yet Justin felt as if there was an ulterior motive. One that would set him off his winning streakânot that he was particularly concerned about losing, though.
In skepticism, the man with glasses rubs his neck. âUh... okay.â
The chair's legs scrape against the intricate carpet floor as they both seat themselves. Heads turn in the direction as people naturally gravitate towards the pair sitting at the table. A croupier takes the cards, nervously glancing at Ardee.
âWell, go on,â Ardee encourages the croupier, gesturing for them to begin shuffling. The croupier nods and begins to shuffle with precision.
Justin adjusts his glasses. âWhat are we betting?â he asks.
With a smirk, the other man responds. âHow about this: whoever has the most chips by the end of the game wins. If I win, youâll grant me a wish. If you win, Iâll grant you a wish. Deal?â
A hand extends out to Justin. Justinâs eyes flick between the ownerâs face and his hand in contemplation. His own hand twitches in excitement, tempted to reach out and eagerly shake on it, but he stops himself.
âIf I winâŚâ Justin starts, âlet me play against you everyday. One match.â
Ardeeâs hand falters slightly. âOne match a day? I don't have time for that.â
Justin takes his hand, grabbing it just before it falls. âThen make time.â
The words echoed in his head. Simple, straightforward. Like the Ardee Aarons could easily set aside time for a game with the one man killing his golden goose, the casino.
A series of whispers echo around them, overpowering the jazz band playing in the background. The dealer gives the casino owner a hesitant look as they shuffle the cards, purposefully grown nails leaving an indent on a card.
Mr. Aarons looks back at the dealer, nodding at him. Then, he turns to look at Justin again, firmly shaking his hand with newfound confidence. âAlright. I'll take you up on your deal.â He smiles.
Justin smiles in return, and the game begins.