Chapter 255 Aces High
Amelia's POV:
"I promised, didn't I?" I laughed, hugging her warmly. "Have you been here long?"
"Just an hour or so," she replied, linking her arm through mine. "Come on, let me show you around. I've already peeked at the chicken coop. Those little feathered demons are terrifying."
Regina and I spent the afternoon exploring the grounds, meeting the farm staff who would be teaching us various skills, and gradually getting introduced to the other celebrities as they arrived. By dinner time, our group was almost complete: a retired basketball player turned sports commentator, a pop singer trying to rehabilitate her image after a scandal, a former child star making a comeback, and a social media influencer who specialized in extreme sports videos.
"One more to arrive," announced Ellie, the show's enthusiastic host, as we gathered in the dining room for our welcome meal. "He's running a bit late due to a connecting flight issue, but should be here any minute."
The dinner was surprisingly delicious—all farm-to-table cuisine prepared from ingredients grown or raised right on the property. I was just helping myself to seconds of the roasted vegetables when the front door opened.
"Sorry I'm late, everyone!" a male voice called from the entryway. "Travel nightmare, but I made it!"
I froze, my fork suspended halfway to my mouth as Mark Reynolds walked into the dining room, his trademark easy smile in place as he surveyed the room. His eyes widened briefly when they landed on me, a flicker of something—surprise? calculation?—crossing his face before he smoothed it into a look of delighted recognition.
"Amelia!" he exclaimed, as if discovering me there was the most wonderful coincidence. "I had no idea you'd be here too! What are the odds?"
"Mark," I managed, setting down my fork and forcing a smile. "What a surprise."
"Last-minute addition," he explained, addressing the room as he took the empty seat across from me. "Someone dropped out yesterday, and the producers called me. Didn't even have time to pack properly."
As the conversation resumed around us, I discreetly pulled out my phone under the table, keeping my expression pleasant while typing a quick message to Luke: [You won't believe who just showed up. Mark Reynolds. Claims it was last minute. Keep your phone close—I'll call as soon as I can.]
Remembering Luke's warning about Mark, I felt a chill run up my spine despite the warmth of the farmhouse kitchen. The isolation that had seemed so appealing hours ago suddenly felt much more concerning.
Two weeks on a remote farm with limited outside contact, and the man my husband had explicitly warned me about had "coincidentally" joined the same show. The odds of that being truly random seemed vanishingly small, and as Mark caught my eye across the table, raising his water glass in a silent toast, my instincts told me Luke had been right all along.
This was going to be a very long two weeks.
After the welcome dinner, producer Troy gathered us in the farmhouse's main living room, which had been transformed into an impromptu competition area with a massive round table at the center, surrounded by eight neatly arranged chairs.
"Welcome to your first night at 'Country Escape'!" Troy announced, his voice booming with excessive enthusiasm. "Before we officially start farm work, let's have some fun. Tonight's challenge will determine your sleeping arrangements!"
I glanced around at the other contestants, noticing Mark staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. I quickly shifted my gaze to Regina, who was excitedly rubbing her hands together.
"Please tell me there's hot water," she whispered to me. "I can handle anything except no hot showers."
Troy pointed to a whiteboard displaying three different accommodation options. "We have three living environments—the main farmhouse, which is comfortable and has modern amenities; four standalone cottages scattered throughout the property, each with unique features; and... the barn." He paused for dramatic effect on the last option.
"The barn?" one of the contestants exclaimed in horror. "You mean some of us will be sleeping with animals?"
Troy laughed. "The barn has been converted to dormitory-style living, but it is indeed the most basic accommodation. No private bathrooms, no air conditioning, and—" he grinned, "—you'll hear all the farm morning noises."
"What determines where we stay?" another contestant asked, visibly concerned.
"A blackjack tournament," Troy announced, holding up a fresh deck of cards. "Everyone plays against the house. The highest score wins first choice of accommodation, second highest gets second choice, and so on. The person with the lowest score gets the barn."
A small smile tugged at my lips. Numbers had always been my strength, and blackjack was as much about probability as it was luck.
"Single deck or multiple?" I asked casually, drawing a few curious glances.
Troy smiled. "Sharp eye. Single deck, no shuffle between hands."
Perfect. That meant I could track card distribution effectively, even in a short game. I kept my expression neutral, not wanting to show my confidence.
As Troy began dealing, I quietly observed each card that left the deck. High cards favored the players, while low cards favored the dealer. By mentally assigning values to each card and maintaining a running count, I could gauge whether the remaining deck was in my favor.
We played clockwise around the table. As each contestant took their turn, I mentally adjusted my count. Two contestants played conservatively and stood at 15 and 16, while another took a risk and busted. Regina was dealt an initial 17 and smartly stood.
By the time it was my turn, I had been keeping track of every card. The deck was rich with high-value cards now - statistically in my favor. I was dealt an Ace and a seven.
"Hit," I said confidently. Troy dealt me a card—a three. Eleven total.
"Hit again," I said immediately. With so many ten-value cards left in the deck, my odds were good.
The next card was a ten. Twenty-one. Perfect blackjack. I couldn't help the small smile that formed on my lips as everyone around the table reacted with a mix of impressed murmurs and disappointed sighs.
Mark played next, starting with a six and a ten. He should have been more cautious with his sixteen, especially with so many high cards remaining, but when Troy asked if he wanted another card, he nodded.
"Hit me," he said confidently. The dealer gave him a king, putting him at 26 - a bust.
I kept my face neutral, but inside I knew his decision had defied the odds. With the deck composition as it was, standing would have been the mathematically sound choice.
When all the scores were tallied, Regina had 17, I had a perfect 21, and the others had various scores between 14 and 17. Mark was the only one who busted.
"Here are our results!" Troy announced. "Amelia takes first choice with a perfect 21, Regina second with 17. And unfortunately, Mark, with a bust, you've got the lowest score - looks like you're headed to the barn."
Mark's pleasant expression faltered for just a moment, his jaw tightening slightly before he forced a laugh. "Well, I've always been a farm boy at heart. Might as well embrace the authentic experience."