The poker table stood at the center of the grand hall, lit by golden chandeliers, surrounded by the quiet murmurs of the wealthiest elites. But despite the elegance of the setting, the atmosphere felt like a battlefield after the first cannon shot.
The Phantom was no longer the unshakable figure he had been moments ago. His phone call had changed everything. His fingers hovered over his chips, and for the first time, hesitation flickered in his eyes.
Ochieng caught it. A weakness.
A man like The Phantom never hesitated—unless something catastrophic had just happened.
And in a world where fortunes shifted like sand, hesitation was a death sentence.
---
The Phantom took a deep breath, then did something no one expected.
"I fold."
Silence.
The richest, most mysterious player at the table… had just surrendered?
A few gasps escaped from the spectators, but the other players remained still, processing what had just happened.
Ochieng narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe for a second that The Phantom had folded because of his cards.
No—he was protecting something.
And that meant only one thing: he had just lost something far more valuable than money.
---
Before anyone could react further, a masked figure in a dark suit approached The Phantom, whispering something into his ear. The Phantom stiffened, his face ashen.
Then, without a word, he stood up from the table.
"Apologies," he said flatly. "Something urgent has come up."
He turned, his expensive Italian shoes clicking against the marble floor as he walked toward the exit.
The Phantom had lost. But not at poker.
He had lost in the real game.
Ochieng kept his face neutral, but inside, his mind was racing.
What had just happened? What had been taken from The Phantom?
One thing was certain—this wasn't over.
---
As The Phantom disappeared, a voice broke the silence.
"Looks like we have an empty seat," said a woman's voice. Smooth. Sultry. Dangerous.
Ochieng turned his head slightly.
A new player had stepped forward.
She was stunning—dark flowing hair, piercing green eyes, and a gown that shimmered like liquid gold under the chandelier light.
Nadia Volkova.
Ochieng instantly recognized her name. The Black Widow of Moscow.
She had single-handedly collapsed a banking empire, orchestrated assassinations, and seduced billionaires into ruin—all without ever being caught.
And now, she was here.
To play.
Ochieng's pulse remained steady, but his instincts sharpened. He had just won the first battle. But the war had only begun.