Chapter 1
941 Words
Pov: Damian
Damian Knight had conquered hostile takeovers, outsmarted rival CEOs twice his age, and once negotiated a billion-dollar merger while suffering food poisoning.
Yet somehow, he was losing a poker game to Ethan Hayes.
"This," Ethan announced, tossing another chip into the center of the table, "is the greatest night of my life."
Damian leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes.
"You said that when your football team finally won a championship."
"They didn't beat you."
Around them, laughter rippled through the ballroom.
The annual Knight Foundation Charity Gala was famous for raising millions every year. It was also famous for one unwritten tradition.
After the speeches ended and the cameras disappeared, the city's wealthiest people stopped acting important and started acting ridiculous.
One billionaire was passionately arguing that pineapple belonged on pizza.
Another had somehow lost five thousand dollars betting he could balance a champagne bottle on his forehead.
He couldn't.
The bottle had won.
Damian calmly placed two cards on the table.
"Full house."
Ethan grinned.
"Cute."
He revealed his hand.
Four queens.
The entire table exploded.
"No way!"
"He actually beat Damian!"
"I need photographic evidence!"
Someone nearly dropped their drink from laughing.
Damian stared at the cards as though they had personally insulted his ancestors.
Ethan slowly stood, grabbed a decorative dinner napkin, and dramatically wiped imaginary tears from his eyes.
"I've waited eight years for this."
"You need a hobby."
"This is my hobby."
Another wave of laughter echoed around them.
One of the guests lifted his phone.
"Smile, Damian. This belongs in a museum."
"I'll buy your museum."
"You say that every time you lose."
"I rarely lose."
"Exactly."
Damian sighed.
Unfortunately, that was true.
He hated losing.
Not because of money.
Because Ethan became unbearable every single time it happened.
Ethan rested both palms on the table.
"So..."
Damian already disliked that word.
"So?"
"We made a promise."
"We made many promises."
"This one involved consequences."
Damian closed his eyes for exactly three seconds.
"I remember."
The table suddenly became suspiciously quiet.
Several people leaned closer.
Someone whispered, "This is going to be good."
Months ago, after one too many glasses of expensive whiskey, Damian and Ethan had argued over whether money made life easier or whether people simply became dependent on it.
Damian had confidently declared he could survive anywhere.
"I don't need luxury," he'd said.
"I could live like anyone else."
Ethan had laughed so hard he'd nearly fallen off his chair.
"You?" he'd wheezed. "You think instant noodles cook themselves."
"They probably do."
"They absolutely do not."
The argument had escalated.
As it always did.
Eventually Ethan had proposed a wager.
"If I ever beat you at poker during the charity gala, you'll spend six months living like an ordinary man."
"No assistants."
"No chauffeur."
"No private chef."
"No penthouse."
"No buying your way out of problems."
Damian had smirked.
"And if I win?"
"I'll shave my head."
Everyone had burst into laughter.
Ethan loved his hair more than most people loved their families.
Damian had accepted immediately.
Now...
That confidence had vanished.
Ethan reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and triumphantly pulled out a folded envelope.
"Oh, no," Damian muttered.
"Oh, yes."
Ethan slid it across the table.
"I came prepared."
"You expected to win?"
"I prayed."
Damian unfolded the papers.
His expression changed.
"What is this?"
"A lease."
"For an apartment."
"A very affordable apartment."
Damian looked at him.
"Affordable?"
"It has running water."
"That wasn't my question."
"It also has electricity."
"Ethan."
"And at least three walls."
The people around them laughed so hard one woman had to steady herself against a chair.
Damian looked back at the address.
"I've never even heard of this neighborhood."
"That's because your helicopter flies over it."
"I'm not taking a helicopter."
"Exactly."
Damian rubbed his forehead.
"This building doesn't even have valet parking."
"It barely has parking."
"You chose this on purpose."
"I chose it with love."
Damian looked ready to commit a crime.
Ethan clapped him on the shoulder.
"The apartment manager is strict."
"I've handled government regulators."
"She once fined a man because his flowerpot was too loud."
"...Flowerpots make noise?"
"I don't know. Ask her."
The room erupted again.
Damian folded the lease.
"I can still back out."
"You can."
Ethan's smile widened.
"But the agreement was witnessed."
Every head at the table nodded.
Immediately.
Far too enthusiastically.
One elderly businessman even raised his hand.
"I signed the back."
"You what?"
"For legal drama."
Damian stared at him.
"I don't even know your name."
"Neither do I."
More laughter.
Damian let out a slow breath before looking at Ethan.
"Six months."
"Six months."
"No staff."
"No staff."
"No luxury."
"No luxury."
"No cheating."
"No cheating."
Damian extended his hand.
Ethan shook it.
The room burst into applause.
Someone shouted, "May God have mercy on Apartment 3B."
Another called out, "Who wants to bet he lasts a week?"
"I'll give him three days."
"Two."
"Twelve hours."
Damian pointed at the loudest man.
"I know where you live."
The man shrugged.
"Not for the next six months, you don't."
Even Damian couldn't stop the reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He tucked the apartment lease into his jacket.
One stupid card game.
One stupid bet.
How difficult could ordinary life possibly be?
Across the ballroom, Ethan quietly sent a text.
He's on his way tomorrow. Don't go easy on him.
A reply arrived almost instantly.
Trust me. I never do.
Damian never saw the message.
If he had, he might have walked out of the gala while he still had the chance.
- Writer
