Seated on his throne, Peter Donovan stared down at the kingdom he had built, reflecting on the long and painful road that had brought him here. The rise of a gambler who had once sworn never to take a risk. This is the tale of how he became the Gambit King. The day started like any other. “RISK NOTHING, GAIN NOTHING.” Peter pulled his scooter to a halt in front of a massive gambling billboard, the slogan glowing brightly. He stared at it, trying to make sense of the words, but the more he thought about them, the more repulsive they seemed. “Risk nothing, gain nothing?” he muttered under his breath. “No… it should be risk nothing, lose nothing. Risk anything, and lose everything.” His name was Peter Donovan, a seventeen-year-old pizza delivery boy in Monte Carlo, Monaco. In a city where gambling was the beating heart of the economy, Peter was an anomaly—a teenager who refused to bet his luck. For him, life was simple: a steady job, a beautiful girlfriend, and a loving mothe

The guards dragged him out, his heart shattering with every step. His mother was dying. He was broke. And now… he had jobless. ….. Peter arrived home, drenched from the rain, his entire body numb—not from the cold, but from the crushing weight of despair. He had less than four hours to save his mother, and he had nothing. He dropped onto the worn-out couch in their cramped living room, his hands gripping his hair. His mother’s face filled his mind—her warm smile, her gentle touch, the way she made their tiny trailer feel like home. Without her, this place would be nothing more than four walls trapping him in his own misery. His breath hitched. She was his only light. And if she was gone… Peter’s hands clenched into fists. Anger rose inside him, but he had no one to direct it at—no one to blame. Until his gaze landed on the picture frame hanging on the wall. More specifically, on his father. His jaw tightened. His fists trembled.“He promised he’d be here,” Peter

The croupier’s hand swept across the table, collecting Peter’s chips in one smooth motion. Peter froze, his entire body numb. He stared at the wheel, as though willing it to spin again, but it was final. The little white ball rested in a red slot, mocking him. Around him, murmurs rippled through the crowd. A few spectators shook their heads and drifted back to their own games, while others lingered, staring at him with pity or curiosity, as if watching a tragedy unfold. Peter’s knees buckled. He gripped the edge of the table to keep from collapsing, his breath ragged. The number 20,625 pounded in his head like a hammer, louder than the noise of the casino. His mother’s face flashed before him—her frail body hooked up to machines, waiting for him to save her. He imagined walking into that hospital empty-handed, her hopeful expression fading into despair. He’d failed. “Rough break,” Falcone said smoothly, his voice slicing through the fog of Peter’s mind like a blade.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. No one breathed.Then the room exploded into chaos. Cheers erupted from the crowd, echoing off the walls. Gasps and shouts of disbelief filled the air. Some were thrilled for Peter, while others were too stunned to speak.The dealer’s voice cut through the commotion. “Black wins.”Peter staggered back, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. He had won. The ball had landed on black. Relief surged through his chest like a tidal wave. His heart, which had felt like it might burst, now pounded with triumph.Falcone, however, didn’t share in the celebration. His face twisted in disbelief, his smirk replaced by a glare so cold it could freeze the room. He stared at the wheel, then at Peter, his lips curling into a snarl. But Peter stood firm, his battered face lit with something Falcone hadn’t expected—triumph.The dealer pushed the mountain of chips toward Peter. A million euros, doubled.Peter stepped forward, his hand steady now. “The necklace. And m

In a world where gambling rules, only those brave enough to risk everything can make it to the top.Monte Carlo Gambling University—a prestigious institution where the ambitious come to master the art of betting. Among all gambling schools, it is the most competitive, with an acceptance rate of less than one in three hundred. For anyone dreaming of becoming a professional gambler, graduating from Monte Carlo G.U. is considered the ultimate achievement.Peter Donovan now stood among over a thousand applicants in the university’s massive conference hall, every seat filled with eager, determined, or outright desperate individuals. Some were young like him, others older and more experienced, but all of them had the same goal: to pass the entrance exam and claim one of the coveted spots at Monte Carlo G.U.Peter’s hands trembled slightly as he adjusted the smart watch strapped to his wrist. According to Noir, it was only thanks to her rare connections within the university that Peter ha