High Stakes Betrayal, A Winning Hand

My fiancé, Holden, married my best friend, Dominique, in Vegas. Tonight. Just hours before our lavish engagement party was set to begin.

They announced it to our families and friends, calling it a "drunken mistake." Dominique, clinging to his arm, flashed a cheap ring and a triumphant smirk.

She then proposed a high-stakes poker game to "celebrate," a cruel joke designed to humiliate me further.

Holden, my fiancé of years, stood by her side. He even forced me to give up my grandmother's bracelet when I lost a hand, tossing the precious heirloom into a puddle of champagne.

He told me it was just a game, that the bracelet meant nothing.

But they didn't know my secret. I grew up in the underground poker scene. They thought they were playing with a fragile fiancée.

They were about to lose everything to a shark.

Chapter 1

(Abigale POV)

My fiancé, Holden, married Dominique in Vegas. Not next week, not next month. Tonight. Hours before our lavish engagement party was supposed to start.

The words hit me like a physical blow. Not a metaphor, but a real punch to my gut, stealing the air from my lungs. I swayed.

"It was just a joke, Abigale. A drunken mistake," Holden said, his voice flat, his eyes avoiding mine.

He stood there, handsome and infuriating, looking so casual in his tailored suit. Dominique, his "best friend," was beside him. She wore a tight, sparkling dress. Her arm was linked through his.

Dominique just smiled, a sweet, sickly-sweet smirk that didn't reach her eyes. She lifted her hand. A cheap, gaudy ring glittered on her left finger.

"Some joke," I managed to choke out. My voice felt like sandpaper. It was barely a whisper.

Dominique laughed. A loud, sharp sound that sliced through the hushed ballroom. Guests were trying to pretend they hadn't heard.

"Oh, Abigale, don't be so dramatic," she purred. She squeezed Holden's arm. "It's just a piece of paper, right, honey?"

Holden flinched. He didn't look at me. He looked at Dominique.

My vision blurred. The crystal chandeliers above us seemed to spin.

"A piece of paper?" My voice was rising now. I could feel the heat in my cheeks. "We had an engagement party planned. Our families are here."

Dominique rolled her eyes. "It' s not like it's real. Right, Holden?"

She looked at him, her eyes wide and innocent. A perfect performance.

Holden finally met my gaze. His eyes were cold, distant. "She's right, Abigale. It means nothing."

He shrugged. A casual, dismissive gesture. As if my feelings were a minor inconvenience.

"It means nothing?" The room felt like it was shrinking. The air was thick. "After everything?"

Dominique laughed again. This time, it was full of pure malice.

"We should celebrate!" she announced to the room. Her voice was too loud. "A quickie marriage in Vegas is cause for a party, isn't it?"

No one dared to respond. The silence was deafening, except for the clinking of glasses from the bar.

She looked around, her gaze lingering on me. "Let's make it more interesting. A poker game. Highest stakes. My treat."

A poker game? Here? Now? My heart hammered against my ribs.

I stared at her. Her eyes were glinting. She wasn't asking. She was demanding.

The guests shifted uncomfortably. They avoided my gaze. They didn't want to get involved.

I felt a cold dread seep into my bones. This wasn't about a game. This was about something else.

This was about her. About them. About humiliating me.

A quiet, dangerous thought formed in my mind. A plan. A flicker of something I thought I had buried long ago.

"I'll play," I said. My voice was surprisingly steady.

Holden's head snapped toward me. His eyes widened.

"Abigale, don't be ridiculous," he said. His tone was sharp. "You don't play poker."

He reached for my arm. His fingers brushed my sleeve.

I recoiled. His touch felt like a brand. It burned.

"Oh, I play," I said, my voice low and laced with a sarcasm I didn't know I possessed. "Especially when the stakes are this high. Or did you think I'd just roll over for you and your...wife?"

The word 'wife' hung in the air, a poisoned dart.

Holden's face darkened. "She's not my wife, Abigale! It was a drunken mistake! Just like I said!"

He practically spat the words out. His jaw was clenched.

A drunken mistake. That was his go-to excuse for every boundary he'd ever crossed with Dominique. Every late night, every forgotten promise, every time he'd made me feel like an afterthought.

I looked at him. Really looked at him. The years of quiet hurt, the tiny cuts that had slowly bled me dry. The times he' d dismissed my feelings, brushed off my concerns, always putting Dominique first. Always.

He' d always held her hand a little too long, laughed at her jokes a little too loud, defended her a little too fiercely. Always.

Dominique, meanwhile, pressed herself closer to Holden. She draped her arm over his shoulder, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. She looked at me, a triumphant glint in her eyes. It was a clear message. He' s mine.

"Oh, Abby," Dominique slurred, her words thick. She leaned against Holden, her head on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I really am. We just... got caught up in the moment. Las Vegas, you know?"

She lifted her glass. It was nearly empty. She swayed slightly.

"Just a bit too much champagne," she added, taking a big, theatrical gulp. "Right, Holden?"

Holden looked at her, then back at me. A flicker of something-pity? Guilt?-crossed his face.

"She didn't mean any harm, Abigale," he said, his voice softer now. Pleading. "She just gets carried away sometimes."

He looked at me, trying to make me understand. To make me forgive.

I almost laughed. This endless loop. Her acting out, his protecting her, me being the understanding one. Not tonight.

"Of course not," I said, my voice dripping with false sweetness. "No harm at all. Just... a marriage license."

My eyes found Darren Glover, Holden's friend. He looked uncomfortable, his gaze compassionate. He offered a small, apologetic shrug. Even he knew this was a farce.

Holden stiffened. He pulled Dominique closer. A silent declaration.

"Alright, everyone!" Dominique clapped her hands, forcing a smile. "Let's not dwell on trivialities. It's a party! And tonight, we play for real stakes!"

A few nervous chuckles rippled through the room.

Darren, ever the peacemaker, stepped forward. "Alright, Dom, what are the rules for this 'high-stakes' game?"

Dominique beamed. She loved being the center of attention.

"Simple!" she chirped. "Each player puts up something of significant personal value. The winner takes all. And if you lose everything, you're out. Last one standing wins the pot!" She paused, her eyes narrowing on me. "And for Abigale," she added, a cruel twist to her mouth, "since she's so new to our little games, we'll make it extra special. Every time she loses a hand, she has to take a shot of... whatever I choose."

A hush fell over the room again. That wasn't just playful. It was a direct attack.

Someone whispered, "That's not fair."

Holden frowned. "Dominique, maybe that's a bit much."

"Oh, Holden, don't be such a spoilsport," Dominique pouted. She pinched his cheek. "It's all in good fun! Besides, Abigale agreed to play, didn't you?"

She looked at me, her gaze challenging.

"I did," I confirmed. My voice was calm. Unwavering.

A few more players hesitantly approached the table, intrigued by the escalating drama.

One woman, known for her extravagant jewelry, placed a diamond necklace on the table. It sparkled under the lights.

"My lucky charm," she announced with a nervous laugh.

Another man, a tech mogul, put down the keys to his vintage sports car. The stakes were indeed rising.

Then, Holden, with a flourish, pulled a small, velvet box from his pocket. He opened it. Inside, nestled on satin, was the antique pocket watch I had given him on our first anniversary. It was a family heirloom, passed down through generations. I had spent months tracking it down.

"My lucky watch," he said, avoiding my eyes. He placed it next to the diamond necklace. My stomach lurched.

Dominique giggled. She leaned into Holden' s ear. "Oh, darling, you know what I really want, don't you?"

She looked at my wrist. My grandmother's bracelet. A delicate silver chain, with tiny, intricate charms, each representing a milestone in my grandmother's life. It was the only tangible piece I had left of her.

My breath hitched. I felt a cold wave of nausea.

I reached for the bracelet, my fingers tracing the familiar cool metal. It felt heavy, comforting.

I took a deep breath. My resolve hardened.

"I'll raise you," I said, my voice clear and steady. I unclasped the bracelet. The tiny charms jingled softly.

I placed it gently on the table, right next to Holden's pocket watch. It lay there, shimmering under the ballroom lights, a silent, powerful symbol. Everyone stared.