House Always Wins

New York sprawled beneath them, a neon battlefield of power and ambition. The city never slept. But up here, in Peak Media’s high-rise lounge, the world had paused to savor the kill.

Peak Bet didn’t launch. It devoured.

What had once been a struggling media empire was now a multi-billion-dollar behemoth, a force of industry that dictated the pace of the entire gambling sector. "The old guard—Vegas titans, backroom casino moguls, the aristocracy of sports betting—had laughed when Victor Blackwell entered their world. They weren’t laughing anymore. They were bleeding.

Victor leaned back in his chair, the amber swirl of whiskey catching the dim glow of the city.

Around him, his circle—Sebastian Greer, Oliver Crane, and Genevieve Vaughn—were basking in the afterglow of their conquest.

Sebastian lifted his bourbon, every motion controlled, precise.  

“To Peak Bet. To us.”

The glasses clinked, their quiet collision carrying the weight of undeniable victory.

Oliver Crane, stretched out his legs and exhaled, the lingering scent of an expensive cigar still curling in the air.

"I hope you’re enjoying this, Blackwell," he said with a smirk. "You just pissed off every major gambling exec from Vegas to Macau."

Victor chuckled, tapping his fingers against his glass.

"Let them be pissed. I’m sure they’ll find comfort in their losses."

And losses they had.

Peak Bet had rewired the industry. No more middlemen. No more bending to the whims of the casino empires. PMG was the house now. Live betting integrated directly into their sports coverage. Streaming rights locked exclusively behind their paywalls. Partnerships that bled traditional gambling operators dry.

It wasn’t just about joining the gambling business.

It was about owning it.

Across from him, Genevieve Vaughn ran a manicured finger along the rim of her champagne flute, her eyes sharp with a glint of something—admiration, amusement, perhaps even a hint of unease.

Years ago, she had been the idealist.

Now?

She was polished, lethal, and dangerously charming. A woman who had learned to navigate this world, to speak its language, to thrive in its shadows.

"The way I see it," she said, tilting her glass slightly, "those ‘old money’ gambling execs have two choices. Adapt… or die."

Oliver grinned.

"You’re going to fit in just fine here, Genny."

Victor took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the burn before setting the glass down.

"They’ll fight back." His voice was calm, certain. "They won’t take this lying down."

Sebastian nodded. “They already are. Vegas is greasing palms, trying to regulate us out before we dig in too deep.” 

Victor smirked. “They’re wasting their money.”

Silence settled over the table.

Not unease.

Power.

The kind of power that came from winning in a game no one thought you could even play.

Genevieve leaned forward slightly, her voice dripping with curiosity.

"So tell me, Victor… when you launched Peak Bet, was this the plan all along? To go straight for the jugular?"

Victor considered the question for a moment, then set his glass down with a quiet clink. He exhaled, running a hand through his neatly styled hair before speaking.

"I didn’t need to go for the jugular." His voice was even, almost amused. "I just built something better. And when you do that… your enemies cut their own throats trying to keep up."

Sebastian gave a slight nod. His version of approval.

Oliver laughed again, shaking his head. "Cold as ever."

Victor simply smiled, his gaze drifting back toward the window.

The world below belonged to those who knew how to take it.

And tonight?

Peak Media Group had taken everything.

The laughter and celebration had started to settle, glasses now mostly drained, the tension of a high-stakes gamble now giving way to the weight of success. But Victor? He wasn’t satisfied. Not yet.

He set his glass down and cleared his throat. “Enjoy the win tonight,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “Because tomorrow, we start on our next move.”

Sebastian, always attuned to the shift in Victor’s tone, leaned in. “What’s next?”

Victor reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek black business card, and set it on the table. It bore only two words in bold silver lettering.

Social X.

Sebastian frowned, his fingers running over the card. "Social X? That struggling social media platform? Christ, Victor, I think I still have an old account on there I never logged into again.”

Ollie, raised an eyebrow. “You’re not serious. They’re not even top five. Hell, they’re barely still in business.”

Silence.  

Then—realization.  

Genevieve smirked. “It’s primed for a hostile takeover.”

Victor nodded. “Every other platform is too big to touch. The old money runs them, just like they ran the gambling industry. But Social X?” He gestured toward the card. “That’s a weak company with just enough infrastructure to be dangerous in the right hands.”

Ollie still didn’t look convinced. “Even if you take it over, what’s the plan? It’s never been able to compete.”

Victor leaned forward, locking eyes with him. "It doesn’t need to compete. It needs to evolve."

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. "Jesus, Blackwell. You just made us public enemy number one with Vegas, and now you want to start a war with Silicon Valley?"

Victor picked up his glass, swirled the remaining whiskey, and took a slow sip.

"The difference is, I already know how this one ends."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but there was no stopping it now. The moment Victor Blackwell had decided on something, it was only a matter of time before the world bent to his will.

Peak Media’s future wasn’t decided. It was inevitable.  

And by the time anyone else realized it? Too late.