Chapter 353

Nathaniel Blackwood clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath. "Vivian... damn you, Vivian. You're going to regret this when I find you."

The casino stretched endlessly before him.

Every corner buzzed with activity, but one spot drew the largest crowd.

A packed circle of gamblers surrounded a round table, their shouts growing louder with each passing second.

Nathaniel's instincts flared. He moved swiftly toward the commotion.

There, bound atop the table, lay a trembling young woman.

Her barely-there white silk dress clung to her skin, the feathered mask obscuring half her face.

Curled into herself, she shivered violently in the corner.

Nathaniel's chest tightened. His fists curled at his sides, ready to strike.

Even with the mask, her features were unmistakable—the sharp nose, the soft pink lips, the delicate collarbones. A perfect replica of Vivian.

A towering man yanked the rope around her, grinning.

"Prime merchandise! Win her, and she's yours—use her, share her, whatever you like. Worth every penny. Who's next?"

He jerked the rope hard, forcing a pained whimper from the woman.

The sound ignited the crowd. Men shoved forward, throwing down bets without hesitation.

Nathaniel froze. His expression darkened as he watched, calculating.

Then, Oliver Prescott's voice cut through the noise.

"Three seconds. Hand her over, or this ends badly for you."

The rope-holder smirked. He dealt with threats like this daily.

"Want her? Place your bet. Win, and she's yours. Lose, and you walk away empty-handed."

Oliver wasn't in the mood for games.

"Three. Two—"

Casino security raised their weapons.

Oliver didn't flinch.

This place had power, but nothing compared to the Blackwood name.

Before the guards could react, Oliver's men had already sealed every exit.

Guns now pointed at Oliver, the rope-holder lunged.

"Stupid bastard!"

His fist flew toward Oliver's face—only to meet air.

Oliver dodged and delivered a brutal kick, sending the man crashing back.

The chain flew from his grip.

Vivian's double lurched forward, nearly toppling off the table—until Oliver caught her.

She weighed nothing.

Lighter than he remembered.

Oliver's pulse spiked. His grip stiffened, voice uncharacteristically nervous.

"Vivian... you okay? I've got you."

Nathaniel lingered at the crowd's edge, detached. Like this was someone else's problem.

Meanwhile, the humiliated man scrambled up, snarling.

"Open fire! Tear them apart!"