The fireworks were still raining down on my screen when the system finally froze.
$295,000.
That was the number glowing at the top of the leaderboard.
A number that could change everything.
A number that could bury me alive.
The chat collapsed into static. Notifications kept detonating in my inbox like grenades:
Muse Talent: "End. The. Stream. NOW."
Random Fans: "Velvet, are you even human?!"
Hate Threads: Already sprouting like weeds, I could smell the rot through the screen.
And in the middle of the chaos, three private messages pulsed like landmines:
Stone: [Stream's over. You're coming to me.]
Wolfbane: [Don't make promises you can't keep, princess.]
??? [So this is the girl they're killing each other over. Interesting.]
My throat locked.
The system timer hit zero. The stream auto-ended. My rank? #1. Global banner. My name trending in six different hashtags.
And I couldn't even taste the victory.
Because one wrong move now—and I was dead.
Not literally. But close enough. Muse Talent would blacklist me. The platform might ban me. And Stone?
Stone didn't sound like someone who took no for an answer.
The phone buzzed again.
[Stone: Address. Now.]
I stared at the screen, heat crawling up my spine.
Think, Sasha. Think fast.
If I gave him my real address? Disaster.
If I refused? Worse disaster.
Because Stone wasn't just a whale. He was the whale. The kind of man who dropped six figures in thirty minutes like pocket change. The kind who didn't just play the game—he owned the board.
And the way he said it—short, cold, absolute—like he was used to obedience.
The kind of man who broke people for fun.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Every cell in my body screamed danger. And yet—beneath the fear, something else stirred.
Curiosity.
A thrill that tasted like sin.
Who was he, really?
What did he want?
The phone buzzed again, harder this time, like it knew I was hesitating.
[Stone: Don't make me come find you.]
My lungs stuttered.
Was that a threat?
Or a promise?
Before I could reply, another ping cut through the silence.
Wolfbane: [Careful, sweetheart. Men like him? They don't like sharing.]
The words slid into me like a blade—soft, mocking, with an edge that could draw blood.
Ping.
*[Wolfbane: Unless you'd rather take a ride with me. I could make things… interesting.]
My pulse slammed against my ribs. Two predators circling the same prey—and the prey was me.
And then the third name lit up again.
???: [Your voice is worth every cent. But is your face?]
Attached:
$20,000.
No username, no icon. Just question marks and cash.
My mouth went dry.
Who the hell were these men?
And why did every instinct in me say this was only the beginning?
The phone buzzed again—Stone, relentless as a storm.
[Stone: Five minutes. Address. Or I'll get it myself.]
The words punched through me like iron. He wasn't bluffing. He could find me. Guys like him? They had power. Resources. Connections.
And if he came crashing into my life on his terms, I wouldn't survive the fallout.
So I typed.
Not my real address—are you insane?
The café down the block. Neutral ground. Public. Cameras everywhere.
[Me: There's a 24-hour café on 7th and Main. I'll be there in 20.]
The reply came in three seconds.
[Stone: Ten.]
No emoji. No period. Just ten minutes carved into stone.
The phone buzzed again—Wolfbane.
[Wolfbane: Naughty girl. Meeting him first? Fine. I'll see you there.]
My heart stopped.
No. No, no, no.
This wasn't a meeting anymore. This was a collision course.
And then—
Ping.
The third name again.
???: [Don't keep them waiting, Velvet.]
Another $10,000 dropped into my account like a silent dare.
The air in my apartment turned thick, heavy, electric.
I grabbed my jacket, shoved my phone into my pocket, and bolted for the door—every step echoing with one thought:
You wanted a second chance, Sasha. This is it.
But as I hit the street, neon lights bleeding across the wet pavement, another thought curled dark and sharp behind my eyes.
This isn't just a meeting.
This is war.
To be continued…
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