Novels by Marshie_Marshie

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Bill’s bedroom, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the gardens below. Bill stirred, his eyes fluttering open as he stretched lazily in the silk sheets. For the first time in weeks, he had slept through the night without the weight of his anger pressing down on him. The remnants of his dreams were hazy, but they felt lighter, less oppressive. He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair, and glanced at the photo album on his nightstand. It was still open to the last page he had looked at a picture of him as a child, sitting on his father’s shoulders, both of them smiling. The memory felt less painful now, more like a bittersweet reminder of what once was. He closed the album gently and set it aside, his fingers lingering on the cover for a moment before he stood and walked to the window. The gardens below were alive with color, the ro

The mansion’s gambling room was a secluded sanctuary, tucked away in the west wing of the house. It was a space designed for indulgence, a place where the wealthy could lose themselves in games of chance and skill. The room was dimly lit, with soft, golden light emanating from a series of crystal chandeliers that hung low over the centerpiece, a massive, circular table made of polished mahogany. The surface of the table was inlaid with intricate patterns of mother of pearl, catching the light and shimmering like the surface of a calm lake. Around the table were high-backed leather chairs, their deep crimson upholstery adding a touch of opulence to the room. The walls were lined with shelves filled with rare board games, decks of cards, and other gambling paraphernalia. A fully stocked bar stood in one corner, its shelves lined with crystal decanters of whiskey, brandy, and other fine spirits. The air carried a faint scent of leather and aged wood, mingling with the sharper tang of p

Blake moved through the room with the practised ease of someone who had spent decades maintaining order in chaos. He picked up the scattered clothes, folding them neatly and placing them in a laundry basket he had retrieved from the closet. His hands moved with precision, each motion deliberate, as if every crease in the fabric mattered. Bill sat on the edge of the bed, watching him silently, his lollipop stick now discarded on the nightstand. The sweetness had long since faded, leaving only a bitter aftertaste.As Blake worked, he spoke, his voice calm and measured, like the steady ticking of the antique clock downstairs. "Your father and I met many years ago, Master Bill. Did you know that?"Bill shook his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. "No. He never talked about you much. Just called you his butler."Blake smiled faintly, his hands pausing as he smoothed out a wrinkled shirt. "I was more than that to him. We were friends long before I became his butler. I chose this role becaus

The first light of dawn crept through the towering windows of Bill's mansion, casting long, golden streaks across the polished marble floors. The house was a sprawling modern fortress of glass and steel, perched on a hill overlooking the city. Its minimalist design was cold and imposing, with sharp angles and open spaces that echoed with emptiness. The walls were adorned with abstract art, their chaotic swirls of color, a stark contrast to the sterile perfection of the house. The kitchen, where Bill now stood, was a chef's dream—gleaming stainless steel appliances, a massive island of black granite, and cabinets that stretched to the ceiling. Yet, it felt lifeless, untouched by the warmth of shared meals or laughter.Bill, still in his rumpled pyjamas, shuffled barefoot across the cold floor. His dark hair was dishevelled, and his eyes bore the weight of sleepless nights. He reached into a jar on the counter, pulling out a lollipop, a habit he'd picked up as a child, a small comfort i

Sitting at home, he reflected on the events of the past day and the newfound knowledge he had acquired. The idea of applying ki to gambling intrigued him. He was aware of the concept, but it was something he had never fully explored. His father had only taught him the basics of gambling, how to read the table, manage risks, and detect when another player was using *ki* to manipulate the game. But Elias’s approach to teaching *ki* was entirely different, more profound and layered, and though he didn’t fully grasp it yet, he could feel its potential simmering beneath the surface. Elias’s patience and depth of understanding were slowly chipping away at his resistance. To his own surprise, he found himself becoming more polite, even respectful, toward Elias, something he had never imagined possible. The man he once viewed with suspicion was now becoming a mentor, a guide into a world he had only glimpsed from afar. Rising from his chair, he stretched and made his way to the one room he

They were done for the day. Bill, though still carrying an air of arrogance, had softened somewhat—at least toward Mr. Elias. He stood up and left Elias’s home for the night, a strange sense of clarity settling over him. For the first time, he felt he had truly learned something new about gambling, something that lingered in his mind like the faint glow of a distant light. The next day, Elias decided it was time to take Bill to one of his own establishments—a casino he owned called The Black Bulls. The name itself carried a weight, a reputation that whispered through the city’s underbelly. It was a place where fortunes were made and lost, where the stakes were high, and the players even higher. Elias knew it was the perfect place to test Bill’s newfound understanding—and perhaps, to teach him a little more. The casino was a labyrinth of light and sound, a temple of chance where fortunes were made and lost with the flip of a card. Bill followed Elias through the throng of players,