The next round began. The dealer, with the same calm, confident motion, dealt two cards to each player. Alex automatically picked up his and glanced at them: the two of spades and the nine of diamonds. A rather weak hand—but that didn’t bother him much now. His gaze drifted once more toward Cassandra, who was smiling as she said something to Lorenzo.

  Inwardly, Alex gave a faint smile. Memories crept in on their own. “How many times I heard Octavian tell stories about his wife… Back then, it all seemed too idealized—typical behavior of a man in love. And who could have guessed I’d meet her. And here, of all places—in the lair of one of the most rotten aristocrats on the continent.”

  "Octavian has always been a fan of gambling. And if we are to believe Mr. Valmont himself, he got that passion from his wife. So I can hardly imagine a more fitting place for you two to meet," Sirena noted calmly.

  "Perhaps you’re right," Alex replied silently, without taking his eyes off Cassandra.

  His gaze slowly traveled over her—from the perfectly styled dark hair to the slender fingers holding the cigarette holder. Then, for a moment, it drifted to her neckline—before he sharply turned it away. A smile crossed his lips again, this time tinged with irony.

  "I take back everything I said to Octavian about exaggerating," he admitted. "When he said his wife was objectively the most beautiful woman on the continent, I thought he was just blindly in love. But… now I see—he wasn’t exaggerating."

  "I would advise you to stop filling your head with such thoughts," Sirena said dryly. "You’d better focus on the main thing."

  "I am focused," Alex replied playfully. "Just… got a little distracted. Anyway, nothing special is happening. All that’s left is to wait. Again."

  He glanced up at the luxurious ceiling of the hall.

  "I should visit an old friend. It’ll be interesting to see how he’s living in peaceful times."

  "I’m almost certain Octavian is sitting in his garden right now—the one he often mentioned—with a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. Complaining that it’s too quiet around," Sirena remarked.

  "That’s a nice image. But Cassandra said he’s busy with work. So, I think right now he’s either in a dungeon or giving consultations to his helpless clients."

  "I admit, your version sounds more realistic," Sirena agreed with a faint smile. "And, by the way, it’s your turn."

  Alex surfaced from his thoughts and quickly looked over the table. Lorenzo, Cassandra, and Elizabeth had already placed their bets. Without hesitation, he matched the bet of seventy gold coins, gently pushing them forward.

  "After a big win, the next rounds don’t bring as much satisfaction," Alex thought.

  "The problem isn’t the game," Sirena replied. "It’s that you can’t wait to start your ‘rotten aristocrat hunt,’ as you yourself called it."

  Alex smirked inwardly.

  "Now your version sounds more plausible."

  His gaze slid again toward Lorenzo. The duke was speaking to a lady in emerald—something gallant and absurdly charming. Alex leaned back in his chair.

  "What irritates me even more is that this bastard is sitting right in front of me, and I have to pretend I enjoy his company," he thought bitterly.

  "I understand your frustration," Sirena said. "But keep yourself in check. Remember what’s at stake."

  For a moment, Mireya’s image flashed before Alex’s eyes.

  "I remember," he whispered inwardly.

  Alex’s gaze shifted to Rogan. He sat quietly, almost motionless. His eyes wandered between his own cards and some abstract spot on the table. Everything in his posture screamed one thing—he was doing his best not to meet Lorenzo’s eyes.

  Alex pressed his lips together unconsciously.

  "Still, it’s hardest for Rogan right now. Outwardly, he’s calm, his magical aura stable, without spikes or tension, but I can feel the ocean of restrained emotions boiling somewhere deep inside. And keeping that under control isn’t easy, even if he’s trying not to kill Lorenzo right now."

  "For him, all this… is much more personal than it is for you, so it’s understandable," Sirena said calmly. "You did the right thing by letting Rogan be here to help in case of unforeseen circumstances."

  "I hope I did," Alex replied inwardly. "But that’s only because Elizabeth is here, always keeping an eye on him. If she weren’t, I’m not sure I’d have agreed."

  "You need to stop treating your friends like children who require constant supervision," Sirena said, a little more seriously. "That goes not only for Rogan. It goes for all your close ones."

  Alex didn’t answer right away. He sighed inwardly, watching the duke speak to the lady in emerald, and finally replied heavily:

  "I’ve never treated them like children. It’s just… I’ve seen some of them die. I’ve held their cold hands in mine. I’ve seen the light fade from eyes that just moments ago were full of fire. And after that…"—his fingers clenched on his knee under the table—"…how can I calmly watch them walk into danger with me again?"

  A pause. Then a new confession escaped him almost unexpectedly.

  "Sometimes I just want to gather everyone I love, everyone I care about… in one place. Lock it with a thousand locks. Hide it away from this world. Until I deal with everything. And then… when it’s safe… let them out."

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  "I hope you realize how unrealistic that sounds?" Sirena said quietly.

  "I do. But that doesn’t make it easier." His mental voice sounded dull.

  He closed his eyes for a moment.

  "You know, Sirena. You know better than anyone. Since the moment I came back to the past, this anxiety has been in me every single day. Every damn day. Four months ago, it seemed to fade. I thought I’d overcome it… that I’d grown mentally stronger. But after what happened in the dungeon with my family—it came back. And now it feels twice as strong."

  Alex shrugged slightly.

  "I’m getting stronger every day, that’s true. But I can’t be everywhere at once. I can’t protect both the Academy with my friends and the new estate with my family… And that’s what irritates me the most."

  "I’ve felt this for a long time," Sirena said gently. "And I’ve tried to help you as best I could. But maybe you should talk to someone else. To Elizabeth. To Adam. They know your past. Or to Elyria—she’ll always support you. She’ll find the words even I can’t always say."

  "It’s… pointless," Alex replied wearily. "I know what each of them would say. ‘You’re not alone, Alex. We’re here. You can rely on us.’ And I understand them. I’d say the same if I were in their place. But I…"—he lowered his head slightly—"I can’t allow any of them to truly help me. Because the moment I do—that’s when I put them in danger again. And maybe I’ll once again witness their deaths."

  A pause. A breath.

  "Maybe it’s selfish. But I can’t help it."

  "I understand…" Sirena replied softly. Her voice was almost a whisper, but it carried a deep, genuine warmth. "I truly understand, my Lord. But I also worry about you. I just don’t want you to take on too much. More than you can bear. I know you’re strong, but even you have limits."

  Alex smiled faintly and ran his fingers over his cards without looking at them.

  "Thank you, Sirena." His thoughts sounded sincere. "For caring. And for simply being there. You’re always here. Always ready to listen. That… means a lot."

  "It’s my job, my Lord," she replied gently.

  "Don’t worry about me, all right?" Alex said softly. "I’ll manage. Maybe I’m not ready to share this burden with others yet, but… I’m working on it. When I can get rid of my selfishness, when I can help each of them become stronger—only then… will I be able to truly rely on them. Without the fear of loss."

  "I’m glad to hear that."

  After a short pause, filled with calm and warmth, she added with a barely perceptible smile:

  "And now, my Lord, it’s your turn again."

  Alex returned to reality and looked at the table, where three cards were already face-up—a three of hearts, a jack of spades, and an ace of clubs. His gaze slid over the faces around the table before briefly pausing on Cassandra.

  “You’ve been drifting off in thought this whole game,” she remarked playfully, taking a drag from her cigarette. “Have the first two victories tired you out so much that you can’t even try to focus now? Or perhaps those wins have made you a little too confident?”

  Alex smiled lightly.

  “Just thinking… about how much time it must have taken to build such an exquisite gaming house. The architecture, the interior—it’s all impressive.”

  Lorenzo straightened proudly, as if he had been waiting for this comment all evening.

  “It took only two months to build,” he declared with a smile. “I hired the best magical builders on the continent, as well as designers renowned for their refined tastes. They helped make this house into what you see now.”

  “From the great Duke Lorenzo, one could hardly expect anything less,” Alex replied with feigned admiration.

  “You flatter me, but…” Lorenzo inclined his head. “Thank you, Mister Alex. I’m pleased to hear you’ve truly felt the grandeur of this hall. I’d be delighted to personally give you a tour sometime, so you can see everything.”

  “I’ll be sure to take that opportunity,” Alex replied, not taking his eyes off the man.

  Suddenly, the duke turned his gaze to Rogan.

  “And you, young mister… you’ve been quiet tonight. Are you feeling unwell? It would be dreadful if one of my guests felt sick at my celebration.”

  Rogan raised his head. His face remained impassive, but his eyes were focused and cold. He answered in an even, calm tone, though there was a faint note of respect in it:

  “I’m fine, thank you. It’s just… the grandeur of this place, and being surrounded by such distinguished guests… it takes my breath away. I don’t always know what to say.”

  The duke laughed—loudly, theatrically.

  “Oh, I’m glad to hear you’re all right. The comfort of my guests is my highest priority.”

  Alex nodded inwardly. “Well done, Rogan. Nice save.”

  Aloud, he spoke calmly, placing his coins in front of him:

  “I’ll raise three hundred gold.”

  The bet was called in turn: by Rogan, the lady in emerald, and of course, by Lorenzo himself. The dealer, with her usual composure, announced:

  “Bets are in.”

  She then drew the fourth card and placed it gently beside the other three. The two of hearts.

  With a practiced, fluid gesture, the dealer swept her gaze over the players and spoke softly:

  “Last bet.”

  Elizabeth was the first to act. She straightened in her chair, radiating confidence, and with the proud smile Alex had seen only a few times, she said:

  “I’ll raise five hundred gold.”

  The number cracked through the air like a gunshot. Cassandra’s eyes, along with those of the lady in emerald and Lorenzo himself, flashed—as if each of them had been struck in some personal way. Some with excitement, some with suspicion, and others with challenge.

  Alex was just about to make his move when a familiar man in a black suit approached their table—the same one who always stood behind the duke. Without delay, he leaned toward Lorenzo and whispered something in his ear. The duke’s expression changed abruptly—the smile vanished, replaced by a shadow of worry. He quickly composed himself, trying to put on his usual mask of nonchalance, and said:

  “Excuse me, I must leave you for a short while.”

  Cassandra’s smile turned sly, her voice sweet yet sharp:

  “Trouble, Your Grace?”

  “None at all,” Lorenzo replied with flawless courtesy. “Just a matter… requiring my attention.”

  “A shame,” Cassandra said with feigned regret. “I hope you return soon to play another round.”

  “Certainly,” the duke gave a brief nod.

  He bowed to everyone at the table and followed his companion, disappearing into the crowd beneath the dim light of crystal chandeliers. Alex caught a brief, silent glance from Elizabeth, and the same understanding flickered in both their eyes: it had begun.

  Lorenzo had barely vanished from sight when a new guest approached the table—a man in a brown suit, red shirt, and silver mask. Stopping beside them, he gave a polite bow.

  “Good evening. I apologize for the intrusion, but might I borrow you for a few minutes, Mister Alex?”

  Alex calmly glanced at his cards—a two of spades and a nine of diamonds—and with a faint smile said:

  “I think another win isn’t in the cards for me tonight. I’ll fold.”

  He set his cards aside and rose from the table. Bowing to the players, he added:

  “I hope I’m not leaving you for long. Perhaps there will still be a chance to play another round. With the duke.”

  “Are you leaving us as well?” sighed the lady in emerald. “Without you, the game won’t be as exciting.”

  “You’re too kind,” Alex smiled easily. “I hope you won’t be too bored without me.”

  Exchanging quick, subtle glances with Rogan and Elizabeth, Alex stepped back, ready to follow his escort, when a familiar melodic voice spoke behind him:

  “I don’t know what you plan to do,” Cassandra said, slowly exhaling a stream of smoke, “but I do hope Lady Luck will stay with you this time as well.”

  Alex turned, met her gaze, and bowed slightly with a smile.

  “Thank you, Miss Cassandra. I hope she doesn’t let me down.”

  With that, he and the man in the silver mask vanished into the crowd. Elizabeth watched him for a few seconds longer before quietly—only in her thoughts—whispering:

  Good luck, Alex.