The casino air hangs thick with cigar smoke and the sickly sweet smell of expensive perfume. I've been watching the fat man at the baccarat table for forty minutes now—long enough to recognize the telltale signs: the nervous glances at his chips, the increasing recklessness of his bets, and the way his eyes keep drifting toward me like a moth to flame. He's perfect prey.

I adjust the collar of my silk shirt, ensuring just enough chest is visible, and make my move. The palm tree print sticks to my back where I've already begun sweating through the fabric. As I slide into the empty seat beside him, I let my knee brush against his leg with deliberate casualness.

"先生，手气看来不错？" My voice drops to the register I've perfected—low, breathy, with just the hint of an accent that mainlanders find exotic.

He startles, then composes himself, though his Adam's apple bobs noticeably. "You, you帮我押." He pushes chips toward me, but I don't touch them. Instead, I lean forward, letting my shirt gape open further and placing my hand on his wrist—sweaty, clammy, repulsive.

"老板，总玩这个多没意思呀." I guide his hand downward, past my chest, over my stomach, stopping just short of the prize. He jerks when his fingers brush the outline of my sex through thin cotton. I feel him stiffen against my thigh and smile inwardly. Just another pig ready for slaughter.

"想不想玩点更刺激的？" I whisper directly into his ear, nipping lightly at the lobe as my hand continues its slow circles on his palm. "我下面这张嘴，可比赌桌会吃筹码..."

His breath hitches. I've already won. In the mirrored wall behind the bar, I catch a glimpse of my own reflection—perfectly schooled features, eyes that appear dazed with desire. No one would guess the cold calculation behind them. Not even me, sometimes.

The elevator ride to his suite is excruciatingly short. He tries to grope me in the mirrored轿厢, but I gently push him away with a laugh that sounds more genuine than I feel. "急什么呀...到房间有的是时间."

The door barely clicks shut before he shoves me against it, his mouth slobbering over my neck like an animal. In the reflection, I see my own face—still, calm, almost bored. But the moan that escapes me is perfectly practiced, high and reedy with false desire.

I need to take control before this gets messy. Turning in his grasp, I meet his eyes and slowly, deliberately, begin undoing my shirt buttons one by one. His pupils dilate. Just like all the others.

"别急嘛，老板...慢慢玩." I murmur, letting the silk shirt slide from my shoulders.