(10 years ago)

The seven of diamonds ruined him.

If it had been the five, he might have saved himself. If it had been the six, he would have walked away with triple his holdings.
But it was the seven.

The young heir watched the card fly across the lush green baize and slide into place next to the six of clubs that lay face up on the table, teasing him. His eyes were already closing, the air was already leaving the room in a single, unbearable rush.

Vingt et deux.

There was a collective gasp in the room as he stayed the movement of the card with the tip of one finger—as bystanders watched the horror unfold with the keen pleasure of those who had narrowly escaped their own demise.
The chatter started then.

“He wagered it all?”

“Everything that wasn’t entailed.”

“Too young to know better.”

“Old enough now; nothing makes a man faster than this.”

“He’s really lost all of it?”

“Everything.”

His eyes opened, focusing on the man across the table, meeting the cold  gaze he had known his whole life. President Jung Woong-In had been a friend to his father, godfather to him. After his parents death, it had been Woong-In who had protected the him, who had increased his company tenfold, ensured its prosperity.
And then taken it.

Betrayal scorched through the Lee Min Ho. “You did this on purpose.” For the first time in his twenty-one years, he heard the youth in his voice. Hated it.
There was no emotion on his opponent’s face as he lifted the mark from the center of the table. Min Ho resisted the urge to wince at the arrogant scrawl of his signature across the white page—proof that he’d lost everything.

“It was your choice. Your choice to wager more than you were willing to lose.”

He’d been fleeced. Woong-In had pressed him again and again, pushing him farther and farther, letting him win until he couldn’t imagine losing. It was an age-old ploy, and Min Ho had been too young to see it. Too eager.

Min Ho lifted his gaze, anger and frustration choking the words. “And your choice to win it.”

“Without me, there would have been nothing to win,” the older man said.

“Abeoji.” Ha Neul, the son of Woong-In and Min Ho’s closest friend, stepped forward, his voice shaking. “Don’t do this.”

President Jung took his time folding the mark and rising from the table, ignoring his son. Instead, he leveled Min Ho with a cool look. “You should thank me for teaching you such a valuable lesson at such a young age. Unfortunately, now you’ve nothing but the clothes on your back.”

He cast a glance at the pile of coins on the table—the remainder of his winnings from the evening. “I shall leave you the money. A parting gift for you. After all, what would your Abeoji say if I left you with nothing?”

Min Ho shot up from his chair, knocking it back from the table. “You aren’t fit to speak of my Abeoji.”

President Jung raised an eyebrow at the uncontrolled display, and he let silence reign for a long moment. “You know, I believe I shall take the money after all. And your membership to this club. It is time for you to leave.”

Min Ho’s cheeks flamed as the words washed over him. His club membership. His land, his company, his heritance, his clothes, everything. 

President Jung lifted one side of his mouth in a mocking smile and flipped a 500won coin through the air toward him who instinctively reached out, catching the coin as it glinted in the bright lights of White’s card room. “Spend it wisely, boy. It’s the last you’ll have from me.”

“Abeoijii,” Ha Neul tried again.

He his son. “Not another word. I won’t have you begging for him.”

Min Ho’s oldest friend turned sad eyes on him, lifting his hands in a sign of helplessness. His friend needed his Abeoji. Needed his money. His support.
Things Min Ho no longer had himself.

Hatred flared hot and bright for the briefest of moments, before it was gone, extinguished by cold resolve, and he placed the coin in his pocket and turned his back on his peers, his club, his world, and the life he had always known.

Vowing revenge.

---------------------------------------

(Present)

Min Ho heard the door to his private room open and close quietly. He didn’t move. He stood in the darkness, silhouetted by the painted window overlooking the main room of Seoul’s most exclusive gaming hell.

From the club floor, the window appeared as nothing but a stunning work of art—a massive piece of stained glass depicting the fall of Lucifer. In brilliant hues, the enormous angel—six times the size of the average man—tumbled toward the pit floor, cast into Seoul’s dark corners.

The Fallen Angel.

A reminder, not simply of the name of the club, but of the risk that those who entered took as they set their marks to the plush baize, as they lifted the ivory dice, as they watched the roulette wheel turn in a blur of colour and temptation.

And when The Angel won, as it always did, the glass reminded those who lost of how far they had fallen.

Min Ho’s gaze flickered to a piquet table at the far end of the pit. “Wae? Does Choi Soo Min want his line increased?”

The pit manager did not move from his place just inside the door to the owners’ suite. “De.”

“He owes more than he will ever be able to repay.”

“De.”

Min Ho turned his head, meeting the shadowed gaze of his most trusted employee. “What is he willing to place against an extended line?”

“Two hundred acres in Gangnam.”

He watched the person in question, who was sweating and twitching nervously as he waited for judgment to be passed.

“Extend the line. When he loses, see him out. ship is revoked.”

His decisions were rarely questioned, and never by the staff of The Angel. The staff headed for the door as quietly as he had entered. Before he could leave, Min Ho called out, “Eric”

Silence.

“Get the land first.”

The soft click of door meeting jamb was the only indication that the pit manager had been there at all.

Moments later, he came into view on the floor below and Min Ho watched the signal travel from boss to dealer. He watched as the hand was dealt, as Choi Soo Min, one of the shareholder of LG company, lost. Again.

And again.

And once more.

There were those who did not understand.

Those who had not gambled—who had not felt the thrill of winning—who had not negotiated with themselves for on