Chapter 787 Don’t Rush

Chapter 787 Don’t Rush

Simon froze.

Then burst out laughing.

"Alright, alright, alright. I have to say, you've got guts — I respect that. Fine, we'll take this out to the floor. Just don't come crying to me when you lose your nerve. And when that happens, don't even think about a deal with the Day Group. Hell, I'll make sure the Day Group comes after you. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Simon offered the caution with a grin — generous as a knife to the throat.

He was also hedging his own exit.

"I'll pass that same advice along to Mr. Long," Emily replied, her voice perfectly even. "Don't back out when you're too embarrassed to follow through."

That lit something in Simon. He straightened up, signaled his crew, and headed out toward the main floor without another word.

And because he wanted an audience — the bigger the better — he had his guys spread the word, and blasted a message into his group chat with his usual crowd.

The buzz built fast. The club was already full of people who lived for this kind of rush, and once Simon's crew started working the room, the crowd thickened around them like smoke.

Simon surveyed the gathering with visible satisfaction, then turned his gaze on Emily.

"First round. What are we playing? Your call."

His eyes drifted down to her outfit as he asked — slow, deliberate, saying everything without saying a word.

Emily's gaze dropped to the dice sitting on the table. "Let's start simple. First round — dice. Roll and call it, high or low. Sound good?"

"Works for me. Let's go."

Simon's smile deepened. Privately, he was already writing her off: Thought she might actually be sharp. Turns out she's just another idiot. Did she seriously think a fifty-fifty guessing game gave her a real shot? She had no idea who she was dealing with. He'd been playing dice in clubs like this for years. He could read a roll the way other people read a room.

And she thought she could beat him at this.

Either she was naive, or she was the kind of person who'd outsmarted herself right into a trap.

Or — and this thought slid in with a smirk — maybe she wasn't here to win at all. Maybe she just wanted the attention. Wanted an excuse to put herself on display.

It wouldn't be the first time.

The regulars here knew Simon well. They knew his type — usually surrounded by company on both arms, or deep in a dice game chasing the high. His reputation with dice wasn't a secret.

Someone in the crowd was already itching to put money on it.

"Alright, who's got odds? Who wins this thing?"

"Simon, easy. The man's practically a professional — been doing this forever. And her? Nobody knows who she is. You really think she can play in that outfit? I'm putting it all on Simon."

"She walked up to Simon and called him out — that takes either serious skill or serious nerve. Could be she actually knows what she's doing. Think about it: if everyone bets Simon, the payout's gonna be garbage anyway."

A lone voice of dissent — quickly drowned out.

"She clearly has no idea what Simon's capable of. If she pulls it off somehow, fine, credit where it's due. But she won't."

In the end, only a handful of people put money on Emily. Everyone else backed Simon without hesitation.

One of Simon's guys leaned in close. "Hey — people are actually placing bets on this. You versus her."

Simon hadn't expected that. He raised an eyebrow, turning it over.

"Perfect. Go put something down for me. Bet I win — and that she ends up with nothing left to take off."

"On it."

The guy disappeared into the crowd. Simon looked back at Emily, and something in his expression had already decided the ending.

Word was spreading fast beyond the club, too. Simon had already sent that message out, and in a scene this small, gossip moved like wildfire. By now, the story had made the rounds through every group chat that mattered:

Emily had gone to Simon to renew a contract. Things escalated. The terms of the game: lose a round, lose a piece of clothing.

The spectators who lived for this kind of drama were already pulling people into side chats and running their own lines. The energy was electric.

Ollie was plugged into those same circles. He saw the messages the moment they went out.

Emily. Of all people.

Kaia, meanwhile, had been heads-down ever since she started shadowing Gilbert — learning the work, absorbing everything. She hadn't had the bandwidth to track what was happening outside that bubble. She didn't see it coming.

So Ollie called her.

"Kaia." His voice hit the ground running. "We've got a situation. Emily's in trouble."

Kaia had just wrapped up a brutal stretch of work and was running on empty. The last thing she needed was Ollie panicking in her ear.

But the moment she heard Emily's name, something clicked on in her like a circuit completing.

"Specifics," she said. "What's going on?"

Ollie ran through the whole thing — Emily showing up at the club to meet Simon, the contract renewal, how it turned into a bet, the stakes on the table.

"Kaia, we have to get over there," he said, his worry bleeding through every word. "You're a Harvey — even Simon's not stupid enough to push it too far if you show up. He'll back off. Emily needs us."

Kaia had heard the terms of the game by now.

Her eyes lit up.

She muttered under her breath, almost to herself: "God, only Emily would come up with something like that."

Not a trace of anxiety. Pure, quiet admiration.

"What? Kaia — I thought Emily was your person. Why are you so calm right now? Even if Emily is tough as hell, doing this in front of all those people — and Simon practically lives in that club. Half the crowd won't even know who she is. They could all turn on her."

Ollie meant every word. He genuinely cared, and it showed.

Kaia raised an eyebrow, completely unbothered. "What makes you so sure Emily's going to lose?"

If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes — hadn't been there in Silverlight City watching Emily dismantle someone who had every reason to feel untouchable — maybe she'd be worried too.

But she had been there. She knew what Emily looked like when she was done playing nice.

Ollie didn't know what to make of Kaia's calm. His mind started filling in blanks.

Had they had a falling out? It would almost make sense — Emily had shown up in Emerald City without breathing a word to Kaia. That wasn't like her. If Kaia had known Emily was coming, she would've turned it into an event. Dinner, the whole group, the works.

"Simon's been living in clubs his whole life," Ollie pressed. "Dice is basically his first language. This isn't just luck — there's real technique to it, real strategy. Emily might be brilliant in a lot of ways, but that doesn't automatically translate here. She's probably never even played seriously. This isn't her world."

That was why he'd called Kaia in the first place. The urgency wasn't performance — it was real.

Kaia was already moving toward the door. "Emily isn't most people," she said into the phone. "Look, I could explain it, but you probably wouldn't believe me anyway. Let's just get there and see how it plays out for ourselves."

"Finally — okay, yes. I'm already on my way. Get moving, Kaia, and be careful."

Ollie was too wound up to catch the undertone in what she'd said.

Kaia hadn't been trying to reassure him.

She was setting herself up for a front-row seat to the moment everyone who'd written Emily off got proven very, very wrong.