The Wild Gold casino stood as a glittering monolith, a beacon of vice and opulence in the heart of Las Vegas, its blinding lights a siren call to those seeking fortune or ruin, drawing in the wealthy and the reckless with promises of fortuity and forgetfulness. The entrance, flanked by towering bouncers whose broad shoulders strained against tailored suits, exuded an aura of exclusivity, the heavy glass doors whispering open with a soft hiss, releasing wafts of opulent air laced with the subtle tang of polished leather and aged whiskey.
Frequented by the elite—business magnates in bespoke tuxedos, celebrities draped in shimmering gowns, and politicians with calculated smiles—unlike the shadowy anonymity of 'Angel's Garden', Wild Gold was renowned as the 'Fame House' throughout Las Vegas. Here, fortunes were forged in the flicker of card flips and dice rolls, and entry was a golden ticket that could shatter or elevate destinies in a single night. A realm where the stakes transcended mere chips, weaving through webs of power, secrets, and unbridled desire.
Within the opulent walls of 'Wild Gold'—
The casino floor unfolded like a lavish dreamscape, a symphony of sensory indulgence that assaulted the eyes, ears, and nose in equal measure. Ethereal beauties in scant, sequined attire glided through the crowd like sirens, their silk dresses whispering against smooth skin as they balanced trays of crystal flutes bubbling with champagne, their floral perfumes mingling with the earthy undertones of premium cannabis and the rich, smoky haze of Cuban cigars curling lazily toward the vaulted ceilings. Crystal chandeliers dangled like frozen fireworks, refracting golden light into a kaleidoscope of prisms that danced across the plush, velvety red carpets laid over cool, polished marble floors, each step sinking slightly into the luxurious pile with a muffled thud.
The cacophony was intoxicating: the relentless chime and jingle of slot machines, like electronic birdsong, blended with triumphant cheers from the craps tables where ivory dice clattered across felt, and the soft, rhythmic shuffle of cards at blackjack stations, their glossy surfaces catching the light with every deal.
The air hummed with electric anticipation, thick with the scent of crisp currency notes, expensive cologne that carried notes of sandalwood and bergamot, and the faint, metallic tang of desperation from those on losing streaks. Patrons moved like ghosts in a gilded underworld, their couture fabrics—silk ties, diamond cufflinks, and satin dresses—rustling softly, fingers adorned with heavy rings clinking against glass as they sipped aged scotch that burned warm on the tongue, leaving hints of vanilla and oak lingering. Laughter bubbled like champagne foam from winners clutching fistfuls of chips that clicked together with a satisfying plastic rattle, while losers slouched in defeat, their sighs lost in the din, nursing cocktails that tasted of bitter regret and sweet vermouth.
The casino sprawled across multiple floors, each level a escalating tier of hedonism and indulgence, the elevator doors gliding open with a soft ding that echoed like a summons:
On the ground and three floors, gambling pulsed in full frenzy, the masses jostling for seats at roulette wheels that spun with a hypnotic whir, the ivory ball clattering into numbered pockets amid gasps and groans.
Blackjack tables buzzed with the slap of cards on green felt, dealers' gloved hands moving with precise grace, the scent of fresh decks—crisp paper and ink—wafting up with every shuffle.
Beyond the velvety carpets, from 4th floor to 6th floor, lay private suites and meeting halls. Here, the air was cooler, scented with polished wood and leather-bound ledgers, where deals were struck under the soft glow of brass lamps, alliances forged over clinking whiskey glasses that left rings of condensation on mahogany tables, and fortunes squandered in hushed whispers that carried the weight of empires.
From 7th floor to 10th floor, restrooms—more like plush boudoirs—beckoned couples and nymphomaniacs seeking clandestine trysts, the marble counters cool to the touch, mirrors fogged with breath and passion, the faint echo of moans mingling with the trickle of gold faucets and the plush softness of towel-wrapped bodies.
On the 11th floor, the kitchen hummed with frenetic energy, world-class chefs in starched whites wielding knives that sliced through truffle-infused delicacies with a sharp whisper, the sizzle of caviar-topped canapés on hot pans releasing bursts of briny aroma, and desserts—creamy mousses and flaky pastries—that melted on the tongue like forbidden sin, their sweetness lingering for guests with refined palates.
The 12th floor housed the casino's guardians, men in black suits monitoring banks of screens that flickered with grainy footage, the room buzzing with the low hum of computers and the click of keyboards, their vigilant eyes missing nothing—the twitch of a hand, the flicker of a card—ensuring the house's edge remained unbreached, the air cool and sterile with the scent of electronics.
The terrace boasted a lush garden under starlit skies, the rustle of manicured leaves in the night breeze, and four helipads gleaming under floodlights, awaiting the choppers' thunderous arrival with the whir of rotors slicing the air.
Beneath it all, the parking lot sprawled across seven levels, a cavern of luxury cars—sleek Royces, Bentleys, Lamborghinis and Porsches purring like contented beasts, their leather interiors redolent of new car scent and polished chrome—resting in designated spots, engines ticking coolly as they awaited their owners' return.
Coming back to the first floor—
Slithering through the sophisticated crowd who danced around the tables to the expensive music of money, a dashing figure navigated its way through the opulent hall, the soft brush of silk suits against his arm, the clink of champagne glasses toasting nearby victories.
All the eyes present in the hall couldn't help themselves from taking a look at his ravishing face, who walked with unspoken charisma and grace, the air around him charged with envy and desire.
"Kyaaa~!"
"So hot! I might die from all this heat!" a woman swooned, fanning herself dramatically with a lace handkerchief, her perfume—a heady mix of jasmine and musk—wafting as she leaned closer.
"How can someone be so criminally handsome!" another gushed, her diamond necklace catching the light like stars, her voice a breathy whisper that cut through the din.
"Just become mine already! This sugar mommy will adopt you readily and spoil you as much as you want!" an older lady purred, her red nails tapping against a crystal flute, the bubbly champagne fizzing with each movement.
"Come here, cutie~" a group chorused, giggling as they blew kisses, their lipstick leaving invisible trails in the air.
"Make me your slave, Daddy!!!" a young socialite shrieked, clutching her heart theatrically, her sequined dress sparkling like a disco ball under the chandeliers.
Every girl in the room—old or young, married or damsel—showered that figure with possessiveness, fueling the envies of loners and their own spouses, the room buzzing with whispers and jealous glares, the temperature seeming to rise from the collective heat of admiration.
Ignoring all the ogling eyes and the wild ruckus and comments, the man in question, the epitome of elegance in a black suit accented with wine-red—stark contrast to his pale masculine body, neatly brushed black hair, and handsome features that left women spellbound. His well-groomed appearance exuding an air of nobility and grace that belied the danger lurking beneath his calm exterior, the fabric of his suit smooth as silk against his skin, his cologne a subtle spice that cut through the casino's haze.
His amber gaze—a predator assessing prey, the lights reflecting in his eyes like distant fires.
Stopping before a slot machine, the man took out a chip from his pocket and placed it in the machine, the cool metal coin clicking into the slot with a satisfying thud.
Wring! Wring!
The machine chimed to life as various symbols and letters appeared on the three screens, the reels spinning with a mechanical whir, lights flashing in a hypnotic rhythm, the scent of warmed electronics mixing with the ambient smoke.
With a confident smile stretching over his face, the man pushed the start button and the machine chimed in percussive symphony, the levers clanking, the internal gears grinding softly.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
High bells and bubbly sounds echoed with 'Jackpot' boldly written over the screens, coins cascading out in a metallic torrent, clinking against each other like rain on tin, the machine's lights strobing in triumphant bursts.
"What?!" Someone exclaimed in amazement, their voice cutting through the murmur.
"Jackpot on first attempt?" Some other questioned with doubt, the crowd's whispers building like a wave.
"Just who is that man?" whispered a young gambler, his eyes wide, breath quick with envy.
"Who knows?" replied an old-timer, his voice gruff, cigar smoke curling from his lips like a gray serpent.
"Wow! Hitting jackpot on first try! What crazy luck!" Following the enchanting feminine cry, an enchanting beauty dressed in a gorgeous wine red one-piece appeared beside the man, marveling over his luck and skills, her perfume a floral burst that enveloped him, her dress swishing softly as she leaned in.
"Hahaha," with a soft and humble laugh, "How can it be my luck? It's obviously because the 'Dame fortune' is standing beside me," The man replied, his voice smooth as velvet, the chip's metallic tang lingering on his fingers.
"Oh, you jest," she replied, her laughter tinkling like crystal, her red lipstick gleaming under the lights.
"No, it's the truth. Wanna see it for yourself?" The man challenged, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"What if you fail to do so?" And the lady accepted, her voice playful, a challenge in her arched brow.
Leaning towards her, the man raised his right hand and brought it near her ears and, Fwip!, pulled out a betting chip, the slight brush of his fingers against her earlobe sending a shiver, the chip cool and shiny in his palm.
"H-huh?" The lady exclaimed, bewildered, "How did you do that?" her hand touching her ear, the scent of her shampoo—lavender and vanilla—wafting close.
Playing tricks with the chip in his hands, flipping it between fingers with dexterous ease, "Just a petty trick," the man responded and brought the chip before her face, "Mind sharing some of your luck, Dame Fortune?"
Giggling to the man's words, the lady leaned forward and kissed the chip, leaving behind a mark of her beautiful red lipstick, the soft press of her lips warm against the cold metal, the faint taste of cherry gloss on her breath.
Receivingthe 'luck' from 'Dame Fortune', the man entered the chip inside the slot machine and,
Wring! Wring!
The machine, once again, chimed to life as various symbols and letters appeared on the three screens. With the same confident smile adorning his face, the man pushed the start button and the machine chimed in percussive symphony.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Again, high bells and bubbly sounds echoed with 'Jackpot' boldly written over the screens, coins pouring out in a glittering cascade, the machine vibrating with victory, lights flashing like fireworks.
"What!? Another jackpot in a row?!" Some from the crowd exclaimed, giving a deja vu, gasps rippling through the air like waves.
"Is this for real…?" The lady questioned the absurd reality, her fingers grazing her soft red lips, her eyes wide with wonder.
"You can have it." The man said to the lady, the coins' metallic clatter filling the air as he gestured generously.
"Huh?! For real?!" she gasped, her hands clasping in delight, the crowd's murmurs swelling with awe.
"It's your luck that let me have the jackpot, Dame Fortune," the man responded as he gently kissed the back of her hand, his lips warm against her skin, her pulse quickening under the touch.
"And here I was wondering who was causing all this ruckus, but it turned out to be you, Mr. Vlad." A heavy and aged voice hushed all the murmurs as an old figure came out from the crowd. Wearing a white fedora complimented by a spotless white suit with black accents, holding onto a majestic looking wooden cane with gold embroidery, surrounded by heavy bouncers, the cane's tap echoing on the marble like a gavel, his cologne a rich blend of tobacco and citrus cutting through the haze.
"It's nice to see you in good shape, Mr. Gold." Vlad greeted politely, his voice smooth, the air between them thick with respect and underlying tension.
"Hahaha, it is because of your prayers that I am still standing tall on my feet," the Mr. Gold reciprocated with eyes closed in gratitude and a warm smile adorning his face. After returning the politeness back, Mr. Gold opening his right eye, Mr. Gold looked at Vlad and questioned, "But why are you here alone?" His tone filled with seriousness, the cane leaning heavily, its gold head glinting under the chandeliers.
"I thought it would be disrespectful to bring my personals with me on another person's turf so I left them behind," Vlad replied, "And to be honest, they kinda attract a lot of unnecessary attention." He added to his dilemma with an innocent shoulder shrug.
"Hah! As if your looks aren't enough for that!" Mr Gold huffed, his laughter booming like thunder in the opulent hall.
"Hahaha, you are embarrassing me now, Mr. Gold. Let's stop talking about me. Why don't you tell me about your health? Are you doing fine these days?" Vlad asked to 'get to the topic' in a very polite way, the crowd's whispers a low hum around them.
"Hahaha, it's all good, all good," Mr. Gold replied, waving his cane dismissively, the wood smooth and warm from his grip.
"Hahahaha," Vlad chuckled, the sound rich and resonant.
"Hahahaha," Mr. Gold echoed, their laughter blending in the air.
Sigh~ letting out a low sigh, Mr. Gold looked at all the crowd that gathered following their majestic presence, the air thick with curiosity and the scent of mingling perfumes. "Why don't we change the location, everyone else is also waiting. They'll be overjoyed with your presence." He offered, his cane tapping rhythmically as he turned.
"Sure. Let's do as you say." Agreeing to Mr. Gold's proposal, both of them made their way to the fourth floor of the gambling house, the elevator doors closing with a soft ding, the ride upward smooth as silk, the mirrors reflecting their poised figures.
"Was that for real?!" someone gasped from the crowd, voices buzzing like bees.
"Even the owner of 'Wild Gold' was here to greet and welcome him personally," another whispered, eyes wide.
"Just which mysterious and powerful organization is backing him?" a man muttered, sipping a drink that burned his throat with fiery spice.
Leaving the dazed crowd behind with doubts and unresolved questions, the murmurs fading into the casino's cacophony.