Players Make Their Selections

“And now, starting us off this week our oldest player, college board member, and man who once called tenure a ‘minor inconvenience,’ Mr. Graham West.” Rhett turns to face Graham. “Six new ladies. One an Empress. And you’ve already got four diamonds in play. Planning to add a crown jewel?”

Graham looks cook and measured. “I don’t just plan. I execute.”

He lifts his chin slightly. “I’ll be taking Yvonne Moreau—the Empress of Diamonds. She fits my hand, fits my goals, and she’s worth the risk.”

Rhett grins like a fox, “Well, there it is—if Graham can secure the Empress he selected and five in reserve this week, he can lock in a potential diamond flush. He’s been a threat from day one, even from the back of the pack and now he’s ready to detonate a bomb.”

He glances across the room. “Tank, buddy—you remember what happened the last time someone looked like they were building something shiny? I believe Mr. West here introduced your 4♣ to a little card called Illusions. How’d that taste, buddy?”

Tank sighs. “Like a concussion. From a bar of gold.”

Rhett laughs, “Now Graham, that Illusions card you used came with a cost. You think anyone might be eyeing you for a little poetic justice?”

Graham’s expression doesn’t change. “They’re welcome to try.” He pauses, just briefly. “But if they come at me, they’d better succeed. Because I don’t need Power Plays to play power games. And I don’t forgive easily.”

Rhett whistles low and long, “Stone cold and still climbing. Alright, the gauntlet’s down. Five picks left—who’s ready to match that heat?”

Rhett gives a dramatic yawn as the spotlight focuses on the professor. “Next up, we’ve got Professor Simon Rourke—a man whose last winning move involved a kiss so restrained it may have included MLA citations.” He smirks. “Five ladies remain, Professor. Do you dare step out of the syllabus?”

Simon adjusts his glasses, his voice calm but direct. ““I’ll take Isadora Bloom—the Jennie of Hearts.”

Rhett blinks, surprised but intrigued. “Well, look at that. Rourke reaches for romance—and not the chaste, 18th-century kind.” He grins toward the audience. “That’s Isadora Bloom, folks—Creative Writing TA, two-time Omegaverse bestseller, and apparently a hopeful match for our most literary contestant. Let’s just hope she goes easier on Simon than she does her characters.”

Cassie Li, arches an eyebrow with a cool smile. “Huh. Didn’t think the professor had it in him. Guess he’s finally stopped grading and started playing.”

Rhett glances back at the screen. “And with that, a Heart is off the table. Four cards left… and it’s time to see if the reigning champion will get everything she wants—or start writing her own twist. Cassie, what’s your play?”

From her seat, Cassie leans toward her mic like she’s delivering a verdict, voice smooth as silk—and just as sharp. “Hmm… Ten of Clubs. Now that’s a tempting little number. I know a little friend of ours who would REEEEAAAALLLY like to get his hands on her.”

She lets it hang there, eyes drifting lazily across the studio—until they settle on you. That smile, half-mocking and half-murderous, lands like a blade between your ribs. “She could even help me build a straight… but you all know I prefer to get twisted.”

The audience reacts instantly—laughter, low gasps, one exaggerated “OHHHHHH!” from the frat section. You try not to show it, but you feel the heat rise under your collar. You’d been hoping she’d skip the Ten. You needed that card. With your 7♣ and 9♣ already held and 8♣ in reserve, Amina was the keystone to your flush—or worse, your straight flush.

Cassie glances back at the screen with theatrical disinterest and simply says “I’ll take her.”

Amina Okoye – 10♣ blazes into place.

Rhett winces like someone just dropped a stack of plates. “That’s gonna leave a mark. And that, my friends, is how you twist the knife with style. Cassie Li takes the ten—and with it, torches a rival’s dreams, locks in a bombshell, and keeps her place at the top without breaking a sweat.”

He turns back to the screen with a grin. “Three down. Three to go. Tank Marshall—you’re up next. Please try not to hurt yourself reading the numbers.”

Tank leans toward his mic, seeming a lot more cautious than the football badass he’s been so far. “So, uh… look. Selene’s, like, super impressive. Total badass. I just—look, after what happened with Zeke... I think I’d rather not be anywhere near that situation. No offense.”

There’s a low murmur in the audience—half in agreement, half in tension.

Tank presses on, “So I’m gonna go with Priya. She doesn’t look that bad. Reckon she might be impressed with attention from the qb. Plus she’s a Club and I’ve got another Club in my reserve. That should help.”

The big screen flashes—Priya Patel – 4♣—as the selection locks in.

Rhett snorts. “Priya Patel, Four of Clubs. Tank begins his noble campaign to rebuild a hand from the ground up, one semi-random chemistry major at a time.”

He gestures at the board like a weather forecaster tracking chaos. “Now selecting 4♣, with 6♣ in reserve. It’s not a strategy that inspires fear, but hey—he’s still here and trying to move the chains.”

The crowd chuckles.

Rhett’s voice softens—just a touch. “Next up... Milo Gutierrez. Former golden boy of the arts dorm, current possessor of enough Spades to dig an escape tunnel from the hole he’s in. And right now, the only thing standing between him and a potential flush that could rewrite the leaderboard... is a name we all remember.”

There’s a shift in the air. The camera slowly pans across the audience, which has gone quieter than usual. You can feel it—every contestant can. Selene Ravensmoor is more than a card. Two weeks ago, she was the target of a violent, humiliating **** by Zeke Kensington III. She ended it—hard. And now she’s back on the board, whether anyone’s ready or not.

The camera cuts to Milo. He doesn’t posture. He doesn’t smirk. He just speaks—low and clear. “I’ll take Dr. Ravensmoor.”

That’s it. No flourish. No wink. Just a choice. A second of silence... Then murmurs. A wave of whispering flows across the crowd as Q♠ – Selene Ravensmoor locks in on the screen beside him.

Rhett exhales, slow. “Well. There it is.”

He pauses, tapping his cue card lightly against the desk. “Zeke tried to take something from her. Milo’s... might be trying to offer something instead. Respect? Redemption? Or maybe just a clean slate.”

A few audience members clap. Others don’t know whether to cheer or frown.

Rhett lets the moment linger, then shifts his tone back to dry and deadly. “Strategically, that’s a Spade Flush in the making—and a damn high-value one at that. Emotionally? That’s a minefield wrapped in silk. Milo, if you’re going to step up here... you’d better bring your soul, not your style.”

Rhett adjusts his mic and offers a half-smile. “And finally, our freshman wildcard—the kid who has been building Clubs like setting up a Vegas strip. Now, only one card remains on the board, and… hoo boy.”

The screen behind him zooms in on the last remaining Lady:

2♦ – Colleen Turner

19, Computer Science major

Tagline: "I prefer Java—to frat parties."

Rhett lets the silence sit for a second too long. “It’s Colleen. The human placeholder. Your consolation prize. The mint on the pillow after someone took the bed.”

You don’t say much—what is there to say? You just nod once, flatly. The screen confirms the obvious. You receive: 2♦ – Colleen Turner

But your eyes don’t stay on her card. They flick upward—to where Cassie locked in the 10♣, grinning like she just stole candy from a baby. Then over to Tank, blissfully unaware, sitting on 6♣ like it’s just another shiny rock in his stash.

Your straight flush is dead. The top and bottom cut off. By people who don’t even want the hand you were constructing.

You came into this round hoping to complete a masterpiece. You walk out with a two of diamonds who wouldn’t notice you in a computer lab.

Rhett sees it. “Rough week, Fresher. One minute you’re dreaming in Clubs, the next you're rebooting with Colleen. Maybe you’ll find some use for her—tech support, emotional support, moral support?”

There’s some laughter in the crowd, but a few sympathetic groans too. Everyone saw it. You were building something. Now you're scrambling for whatever’s left.

Rhett clicks his pen and leans into the camera. “And with that, the Week 4 draft is complete. The last picks are locked in, and the challenges soon to begin begin. But first, do any of you want to make any…

The screen behind him flashes as a booming voice declares “POWER PLAYS!”