The dice rattled across the velvet table, bouncing to a stop. Laughter and groans rose at once, the air thick with the smell of whiskey and smoke. Ethan leaned back, exhaling slowly. His stack of chips had grown high, then dipped low, then climbed again. Every round pulled him tighter into the rhythm of the game.
At first, it had seemed almost unreal—his balance climbing effortlessly, his instincts sharper than he'd imagined. But new players had joined, sharper men with practiced hands and knowing eyes. They weren't like Victor, who had relied on bluster and luck. These were sharks, circling with smiles. Ethan held his ground, losing some, winning others, his emotions carefully masked.
By the time the clock neared midnight, he counted his winnings in silence. Half a million. He had walked into the party with eighty thousand. Now, he carried more than six times that. The number sat heavy in his chest, almost unbelievable.
The men around the table eyed him with new respect, some with thinly veiled irritation. He wasn't supposed to win like this, not as a stranger, not as someone they didn't know. But his calm face, his sharp suit, the way he carried himself—it all told a different story. He belonged, at least on the surface.
And then, the room shifted.
Mary appeared.
Conversations stuttered. Glasses paused midair. Even the players at the table straightened instinctively, their gazes flicking toward her. She moved like a shadow cut from silk, her midnight dress clinging to her curves, her hair glinting in the soft light. Beauty like hers didn't need to be announced. It demanded the air.
Ethan felt it the moment she approached. The atmosphere bent around her, and for a second, the game itself seemed to stop.
"Victor. Ethan." Her voice carried, smooth but soft, pulling both names into the open. "Come with me."
Ethan rose automatically. Victor blinked, his mouth parting slightly. "You two… know each other?"
Mary didn't answer. She simply turned, expecting them to follow. And they did.
Whispers rippled through the table as they left.
Everyone in the city knew Mary. Or rather—they knew of her. One of the most beautiful women in the upper circles, her wealth obvious, her presence magnetic. But no one knew where she had come from. Her family was a mystery, her roots hidden, her background untouchable. She was like a jewel without an origin, flawless but untraceable.
And Ethan—a stranger, a new face—was walking beside her.
Victor's eyes darted between them as they joined a cluster of young men and women gathered near a long table. To Ethan's surprise, they greeted him kindly, smiles genuine, voices warm. They were Mary's friends, and they already knew Victor, laughing at his blunders, teasing him lightly.
Ethan gave only his name when asked. Nothing more. No stories, no false pedigree, no explanation of who he was. To his surprise, no one pressed. They didn't seem to care. Perhaps it was the suit, the watch, the aura of his earlier winnings. Perhaps it was Mary's presence, shielding him from suspicion. Whatever the reason, he was welcomed with easy laughter and a seat at their table.
The night unfolded in waves of noise and light. Drinks clinked, music swelled, the scent of spice and grilled meat drifted from the platters set before them. Ethan ate quietly, savoring the rare richness, while Mary's laughter rang softly among her friends.
The birthday was celebrated with champagne fountains and cheers, cake cut with golden knives, candles snuffed with wishes whispered into the air. Fireworks burst beyond the balcony, scattering color across the glass walls, painting every face in shifting light.
For a moment, Ethan forgot the mission, forgot the system. He sat among them, not as an outsider but as one of the group, sharing food, raising glasses filled with sparkling cider instead of wine. He laughed once or twice at Victor's antics, the man's easy confidence disguising his terrible luck in games.
And then, the hour grew late.
The party thinned slowly, voices lowering, some drifting upstairs into indulgences Ethan avoided, others slipping away into the night. By one in the morning, the noise had softened to a hum, the brightest energy burned away.
Mary had drunk, though not excessively. Still, when Ethan found her near the bar, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes a shade softer than before. She swayed slightly as she turned to him, the hem of her dress whispering against her legs.
"Time to go?" she asked, her voice lilting, playful.
"Yes," Ethan said, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. "I'll take you."
He guided her gently from the penthouse, past the glittering cars, back to the Mercedes waiting quietly under the lights. She slid into the passenger seat with surprising grace, her perfume filling the cabin again as Ethan closed the door behind her.
He started the engine, the low purr vibrating beneath them. The city stretched out once more, lights flickering, streets nearly empty at this late hour.
For a few minutes, Mary was quiet, gazing out the window. Then she turned, her cheeks still pink, her eyes half-lidded but bright.
"I'm hungry," she said suddenly.
Ethan blinked. "Hungry?"
She nodded, leaning back against the seat, her lips curling into the faintest pout. "Yes. I want to eat. Something good."
He glanced at the clock. 1:15 a.m. Most restaurants would be closed. But Mary's expression, soft and almost childlike, tugged at him.
"Alright," he said quietly.
He drove through the city, scanning streets, searching for signs of life. They passed diners with darkened windows, restaurants locked tight, fast food chains shuttered for the night. Each one turned them away with silence.
Mary sighed, her breath fogging faintly against the glass. "Nothing?"
Ethan shook his head. "Not at this hour."
Her shoulders slumped slightly. For once, she didn't look untouchable, didn't carry herself like the flawless jewel of the city. She looked simply… tired. Hungry. Human.
An idea sparked. Ethan turned down a quieter street, the car gliding into a district far from the glittering penthouses.
Mary straightened slightly. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
The Mercedes rolled to a stop beside a small lot. A food truck sat parked under a flickering streetlamp, its metal sides dented, paint faded. A handwritten sign advertised steaming bowls of noodles, fried dumplings, skewers dripping with sauce. The air smelled of garlic and spice, rich and comforting.
Mary blinked, her lips parting slightly. "A… food truck?"
Ethan smiled faintly, the first genuine smile of the night. "Yeah. It's one of my regular stops."
He stepped out, circling to her side, opening the door. She hesitated before following, her heels clicking softly against the cracked pavement. The cold night air brushed her skin, and she wrapped her arms lightly around herself.
The owner of the truck—a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a kind smile—greeted Ethan warmly. "Back again, eh? Usual?"
Ethan nodded, then glanced at Mary. "And something for her. Your best."
Mary stood silently, eyes wide, watching as the man moved with practiced ease, tossing noodles in a sizzling pan, the flames leaping briefly before settling. Oil hissed, sauce thickened, the smell intoxicating.
When the food was handed over in simple paper containers, Mary accepted hers gingerly, as though it were fragile. She stared at the steaming noodles, at the chopsticks tucked inside, then back at Ethan.
"You… eat this often?"
He shrugged. "When I can. It's good. Simple. Fills you up."
Mary hesitated, then lifted the chopsticks, fumbling slightly before taking her first bite. The flavors hit her at once—rich, salty, spicy, everything colliding in a way her pampered palate had never known. Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand as though embarrassed.
"This is…" She paused, swallowing quickly. "This is amazing."
Ethan chuckled softly. "Told you."
For a while, they stood side by side under the flickering light, eating from paper bowls, steam curling into the night. Mary's cheeks flushed further, not just from the alcohol but from the warmth of the food, from the novelty of it all.
She glanced at Ethan, her eyes softer now, her lips curved faintly. "I've never… eaten like this before."
"I figured," he said.
Silence settled again, but it wasn't heavy. It was warm, a quiet comfort that seemed to wrap around them like the steam rising from their food. For Mary, the moment was strange, new, almost surreal. For Ethan, it was grounding—an echo of his real world bleeding into the one the system had forced him into.
And for both of them, it was something they wouldn't forget.