Players Make Their Week 6 Picks

Rhett turns to face the line of players, spreading his arms with theatrical flourish. “Selections go in age-before-beauty order this week, which means first up is the man with the tightest poker face and the loosest moral compass — Graham West. Board member. Strategist. Occasionally mistaken for an ethics professor… before the cameras started rolling.”

He gives Graham a nod. “You’ve seen the draw. What’s it gonna be?”

Graham doesn’t hesitate. “Dr. Aiyana Sinclair. The Ace of Hearts.”

The crowd stirs — not quite gasps, but there’s definitely a shift in posture. Everyone knows the Ace of Hearts isn’t just another card.

Rhett whistles low. “Going straight for the Dean. That’s either tactical brilliance or the opening notes of a funeral dirge. Tell us, Graham — strategy or suicide?”

Graham’s tone is calm, confident. “Strategy. Let’s just say I am making it slightly harder for two of my friends here to reach completion. A little edging practice for Milo and his mistress with the Aces they are playing, and for Cassie with the heart flush she’s building.”

From the side of the stage, Selene lets out a delighted laugh — smooth and theatrical.

“Oh, Graham,” she purrs, turning in her seat with feline grace. “You really are a naughty little saboteur. I had such lovely plans for Milo… four Aces. He was going to have SUCH fun trying to get the Deans dancing for his pleasure. A full divine hand. Ritual, obedience, humiliation.”

She sighs, mock-disappointed. “And now? Now I have to improvise. Rewrite the entire theology on the fly. What a shame.”

She sips from her glass, eyes dancing. “For someone.”

Milo doesn’t move, but the flicker in his eyes says he heard every word.

Rhett grins. “One pick in, and we’ve already got blocked hands, shattered cultic visions, and veiled threats from the fishnet priestess. Must be Tuesday.”

He pivots smoothly. “Next up — Professor Simon Rourke. Let’s see if tenure buys you taste.”

Rhett turns to Simon with a knowing grin. “Professor Rourke — the quiet storm in our midst. You’ve been watching. You’ve been waiting. Now’s your moment. Who do you choose?”

Simon adjusts his glasses and speaks with quiet certainty. “Dr. Eleni Papadopoulos.”

Rhett chuckles. “Ah. The Empress of Clubs. Timeless. Elegant. Deadly with a red pen. A strong play — but I’ve got to ask, Professor… strategy, or sentiment?”

Simon’s reply is measured. “A bit of both. She’s unpredictable — but not chaotic. I think she’ll reward patience and intelligence. And if not...” He gives the faintest smile. “I’ve been outwitted by worse.”

Rhett nods, impressed. “And there you have it. The good professor puts his chips on a myth made flesh. That’s how you play it subtle — and maybe a little sexy.”

He grins as he turns to the next screen. “Next up, Cassie Li — returning champion, fan favorite, and the woman most likely to auction your ego on eBay just to watch you bid for it back.”

The way Cassie leans forward, fingers steepled under her chin, draws attention like a match in a powder keg. She studies the cards with the air of someone already thinking three moves ahead… and finding them all amusingly predictable.

Rhett tilts his head. “Four hearts already under your belt, Cassie, but nothing available now to help you complete that flush. So, what’s the move?”

Cassie lifts one finger and points, deliberate and unhurried, at the Queen of Spades. Selene Ravensmoor. The studio reacts with a ripple of anticipation. Milo stiffens slightly in his seat, eyes darting to his Mistress — and then, helplessly, to Cassie.

Rhett whistles. “Oooh, bold move. Picking the lady who’s already got one boy on a leash. That’s either genius or a **** wish.”

Cassie smiles — slow, sly, and dangerous. “You know me, Rhett. I like to test boundaries.”

Selene raises her glass in mock salute.

“You say your **** has learned to play his role well,” Cassie says, coolly, eyes flicking to Milo. “So let’s put that to the test and see if he knows how to obey… or just disappoints two women at once..”

Selene’s smile curves like a blade. “Oh, he’ll satisfy us both… if he knows what’s good for him. But first, you have to make me WANT to be part of that trio!”

Rhett practically fans himself. “Whew. That’s not tension — that’s thermonuclear flirting. If we cut to commercial now, half the audience would riot. Cassie Li claims the Queen of Spades… and maybe declares war in the process.”

Next he turns his attention to Milo. “And now, our favorite would-be rogue artist, who these days has all the freedom of a rented paddle. I would ask him which Lady he chooses, but of course we know he has **** since he sold his soul to Dr. Ravensmoor. And I have a feeling that after he identified her as the Wicked Witch on his messenger app, she’s going to make him feel every moment of his servitude.”

Milo opens his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to breathe — but he doesn’t get the chance.

Selene Ravensmoor crosses her legs slowly, one heeled foot bouncing with faint amusement. “He’ll take Hannah Bishop,” she says, voice like smoke curling through incense. “Seven of Diamonds.”

There’s no debate. No hesitation. Just the decree.

Rhett raises his brows. “Ah, the choice is made for him! Always nice when the leash has voice command.”

The audience chuckles. Milo doesn’t flinch, but the sharpness in his jaw says plenty.

Selene swirls the stem of her wine glass and adds coolly, “Since he let a precious Ace slip through his fingers, I suppose he can try to make up for it with a flush. Two Diamonds, now. A few more, and there’s a small chance he might earn some forgiveness.”

Milo doesn’t look at her, but his silence is telling. Not submission—yet. But not rebellion either. Just the slow calcifying of resolve under pressure.

Rhett claps his hands once. “And there we have it! A brand queen for our bound subject. Let’s see if he can sell the fantasy, or if it’ll be another marketing disaster.”

He glances at the screen, where one card remains unclaimed.

“Well, no need to ask what our fresher’s picking — or rather, what’s picking him. That last Lady standing? It’s none other than…”

The screen fills with her card.

Claire Kowalski — Three of Clubs.

A few sympathetic groans ripple through the audience.

Rhett gives a theatrical wince. “Oof. Claire. Sweet, awkward Claire. Music major, nineteen, and the girl who managed to turn Tank Marshall’s whole career into a cautionary tale. That blowjob might’ve come with teeth — 'cause he vanished right after.”

You don’t say a word — there’s nothing to say. The card slides into place beneath your name.

Rhett nods solemnly. “Sometimes the game gives you what you want. Sometimes it gives you Claire. And sometimes, maybe… just maybe… the fresher makes something out of the mess.”

A smirk returns to his face. “And hey, if you’re going to start a new flush — might as well begin with a card that no one’s gonna fight you for.”

The audience chuckles, and the cameras zoom out to capture the five players, five new Ladies, and a whole new set of headaches.

Rhett grins once more. “And with all five selections selected and ready to go, there’s just one thing left to ask — is anyone about to flip the table with a power play?”