Who Picks Whom?

The stage shifts. Claire’s fingers give a final flourish across the keys, leaving a note hanging that feels like both a wink and a dare.

Rhett strolls forward, mic in hand, mischief in every step. He looks hungry. This is his favourite part of the week.

“Well, well, well. The menu’s posted, and now it’s time to see which of you drooling dogs wants what cut of meat. No Empresses this week. No Queens. Just a draw full of women who might be manageable—if you’re clever, charming, and just unhinged enough to try.”

He turns toward you, expecting your usual chaos. But instead of your voice, something interrupts. Graham West is on his phone.

Rhett raises a brow. “Uh, Graham? You ready to—”

Graham lifts one finger to silence him. Still on the call, he speaks calmly, warmly. “Helena. Babygirl. You’ve been studying hard, haven’t you? Good. Daddy’s so proud of you.”

Your breath stills.

The glint Graham’s eye is all calculation—and something resembling approval. “I can already tell. Helena's the most important card in the draw for you, fresher. So. Let’s make this interesting. You’re smart enough to recognize Claire’s potential. Driven enough to fly across an ocean for a challenge. Charming enough to have a camgirl pay you. I like that. I could use that.”

He folds his hands behind his back.

“Here’s my offer: You agree to a summer internship with my company. And if that goes well, you agree to interview with us after graduation. You’d be a strong asset to our PR or HR departments, and I’m not just playing flattery. This is a long game.”

Rhett starts to protest. “Okay, hang on—this isn’t the time for recruitment—”

Graham cuts him off with a glance so sharp it cleaves silence. Everyone waits.

You glance at Helena’s card. Then back at Graham. You’re not sure what the hell just happened.

“…Sure,” you say, wondering how a game is suddenly turning into a potential career a few years in the future.

Graham nods and turns back to his phone. “Babydoll? You were drawn again this week. Our fresher’s going to come to you with a challenge. No matter what it is… I want you to accept it. For Daddy. Yes, even a contract—but only if it clearly states his is subordinate to mine, and it’s time-limited to one week. That’s my good girl.”

The growl on the last two words is pure chocolate syrup, dark and sweet and intense. He ends the call.

Rhett blinks twice, speechless. Then says, “You do know you’re handing points to a rival?”

Graham doesn’t hesitate. “I’m trading game points for real-world ones. I enjoy this game. But I know how to prioritize.”

You take a breath before agreeing that yes, in light of this offer, you’re absolutely taking Helena Vasquez (9♦) as your Week 7 card.

From the back of the room, your manager, Rebekah speaks up. “We’ll pay 80 to reserve the 8 as well.”

Rhett whistles low as another of the Ladies of the College Spread deck who graced Graham’s point-making diamond flush appears on the screen. “And speaking of terrifying women with better organizational skills than God—here comes Rebekah Flores, the girl so tough even our local billionaire businessman only got a kiss from her. Can the fresher exceed that? We’ll just have to see!”

He turns towards Milo. Selene is once again standing behind him, her hands massaging his shoulders firmly. It doesn’t seem to be comforting him. He looks like a male praying mantis who just got the news about what females do after sex.

“Milo,” says Rhett. “Or should I say… Dr. Ravensmoor. Would you like to make your pick for the week.”

Selene’s voice glides out like silk pulled across a blade. “My sweet **** has enough points to survive this cycle. So… why not be merciful?”

Milo doesn’t breathe. Everyone seen her version of mercy for Milo is usually a prelude to ruin. He doesn’t seem willing to respond at all, and she visibly revels in the way he tenses. She smiles.

“Fine. Let him play with the three of diamonds. A few points if he makes it. Forgivable if he doesn’t.”

The screen displays Rachel Okafor, arms folded, expression somewhere between unimpressed and deeply confused.

Milo exhales. That was a mistake.

Selene doesn’t move, but her voice cuts back in, sweet as venom. “Oh, darling… I’m not done.”

Her fingers leave his shoulders like either a blessing withdrawn or a curse lifted. She raises one hand, elegant and slow—and signals a point spend. “I’ll also be reserving the Empress of Spades. 500 points.”

The room reacts before the screen does. A ripple. A gasp. Rhett swears softly under his breath. The monitor flickers, then displays a new card:

Selene’s grin deepens as she leans down, voice low and rich against Milo’s ear. “Isn’t that delightful? A reunion. Didn’t you get her to give you a blowjob in Week Two?” She straightens, satisfied. “Have fun.”

And for the first time in weeks, Milo actually smiles.

It’s a strange expression on him—equal parts dread, nostalgia, and gratitude. But it’s real. He nods once. He’ll take the three. He’ll face the Empress. For now? He’s allowed to breathe.

Rhett turns towards Cassie, already smirking. “Gonna make me ask, Cassie?”

She gives him a look like he’s wasting her time. “Tabby.”

The name hits like a gavel. Rhett nods slowly. “Well, there’s no suspense in that, is there? That’s four hearts in play, and now she’s picked a fifth. Our returning champ’s going for the flush.”

Everyone watching knows what’s coming—if she lands the challenge, Cassie Li completes a devastating ♥ flush. It’s not guaranteed. But it’s damn close. And that puts Graham in a terrible position.

Rhett turns towards the professor.He gives Simon a side-eye, lips twitching with curiosity. “Professor Rourke, the floor’s yours. Got a little magic in mind to stay in the game?”

Simon doesn't answer right away. His fingertips tap lightly on the armrest of his chair—thoughtfully, rhythmically, like a man timing chess moves four turns ahead. He’s not showy like Cassie, not as cryptic as Selene, nor as dominating as Graham. But, after some of his recent plays, his silence draws attention all the same.

Then, with a voice as calm as always, he lifts his chin. “I’ll take the Jenny.”

The display updates with a soft chime, and the screen floods with the vibrant smirk of Aiko Tanaka – J♣, dressed in a form-fitting hoodie with her laptop balanced between her thighs. “Ctrl+Alt+Del my inhibitions.”

Rhett whistles, dragging the name out. “Aiko Tanaka… our little digital deviant. Brains, curves, and no firewall strong enough to stop her once she’s logged in.” He gives the camera a knowing smirk. “Jenny of Clubs, folks. I see what you're doing, Professor.”

Simon adjusts his glasses with a small nod. “It’s a clean play.”

Rhett raises a brow. “Clean... or just the start of something dirty?”

Simon doesn’t reply, but the faintest hint of a smile creeps across his face. He doesn’t need flash. He just needs two more cards after this. Two final pieces. And maybe—just maybe—he’ll pull off the academic comeback of the season.

Rhett lets the tension simmer for a bit before glancing at the one unclaimed image still hovering on the display. “Which leaves us,” he says, voice a slow drawl, “with the ever-charming, forever overlooked… Miss Anika Deshmukh.”

He swings his gaze toward Graham. “I’d ask if this was what you were hoping for, but come on—nobody dreams of getting stuck with the five of spades in a week like this.”

Graham doesn’t flinch. He simply adjusts the cuff of his jacket, then clasps his hands behind his back. “Everyone else picked their poison,” he says mildly. “I’ll take what’s left and find a use for it. That’s how real games are won.”

Rhett gives a little laugh. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. Though with Cassie eyeing a flush and Simon building a monster club hand… ‘finding a use’ might involve a miracle or two.”

He steps forward, center stage once more.

“And with that, the draw is officially closed. Five cards claimed, five players committed. All that’s left…” He pauses, eyes gleaming. “…is to see if anyone’s reckless, cunning, or **** enough to drop a power play right now.”

He lets the silence stretch, just long enough for the audience to lean forward.

“Tick-tock, players. Speak now—or wait ‘til the fireworks start.”