All-in for an Angel (Eden Serviteur #1)

Chapter 1 - Grand Prize

Grand Prize

It was just like Richard to call all-in and make the whole world hold its breath while he took his damn time flipping his cards. Fucking privileged prick.

William leaned back in his chair, glancing at his hand for the third time to make sure he had a straight. He was going to win, he was certain of it, but he knew better than to celebrate too soon. He’d made a fool of himself on live television before. Never again.

Richard held his gaze, a sly half-smile flashing on his tan face as he reached for his own cards. The asshole was well known in the poker sphere for being insufferable, but to William, he was far worse than that. He represented everything wrong with the ultra-wealthy.

Richard needed neither the money nor the prestige.

He only took part in these competitions for fun, and he did everything in his power to be a pain in the ass.

Had it been anyone else, they’d have been banned long ago, but Richard was old money.

He was allowed to do whatever the fuck he wanted. It made William’s blood boil.

Richard flipped his cards.

It took all of William’s willpower not to scream.

“William Mitchell is the grand winner of the 2025 Freedom in Spades Poker tournament!” a voice boomed, making the crowd erupt into cheers.

William’s skin tingled with excitement and disbelief as he stared at Richard’s pair of threes. He stood on wobbly legs, a delirious laugh nearly escaping his lips as he offered Richard his hand.

It had taken ten years of online poker and eleven hours spent at this table, but he’d done it. He was now living proof that being born into a wealthy and powerful family wasn’t all it took to be a winner.

William focused on his breathing as he let go of Richard’s hand and took in the surreal scene. Row upon row of people surrounded him, cheering and clapping. Flashes of light blinded him, reminding him that cameras were still recording—broadcasting live all over the world.

His heart pounded with a mixture of adrenaline, anxiety, and fatigue. He became all too aware of his limbs, not knowing what to do with himself as he felt thousands of eyes trained on him.

A FIS Poker employee appeared in his field of view and gave him a bright smile, motioning for him to follow her. Relief washed over him as he headed in her direction.

“So, we’ll be taking a few photos,” she said as they moved away from the crowd, offering him a warm washcloth to wipe his face and neck. It felt heavenly. “There’ll be a few brief interviews, and then you’ll get to relax. Oh—” She grinned. “And you’ll be awarded your prize, of course.”

William exhaled a calming breath as she handed him a bottle of water. He was finally about to find out what it was. His dozens of web searches had turned up nothing—only the second-place prize had been advertised.

Not that it really mattered what it was. William was probably going to sell it. With the current state of his bank account, he had no use for a luxury car, or yacht, or whatever.

William miraculously remained upright during the photoshoot and interviews. At this point, he suspected his body was fueled by nothing but the certainty that all his troubles would soon melt away.

He couldn’t wait to put on his sweats, collapse on his hotel bed, and make plans for what he’d do with all that money once he knew the exact amount. His list was long, but first things first, he’d pay off his debts to his mom.

William gratefully followed another FIS Poker employee toward the winners’ lodge, where an imposing man with black hair and an impeccable suit was waiting for him.

He greeted him with a firm handshake. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice deep and commanding.

William recognized him then—he was the CEO of FIS Poker.

“You displayed remarkable skill out there.”

“Thanks, I—”

“Martin,” Richard drawled behind him, making William grit his teeth.

He’d been hoping Richard would keep exchanging shallow pleasantries with the investors for a while longer, but life wasn’t ever so kind. William should have known he’d reappear right on cue to ruin the mood.

Richard sauntered across the corridor and shook the man’s hand. “Always a pleasure.”

Martin nodded impassively. “I wished to come here and thank you personally for the incredible performance you delivered.” He looked at William. “Our spectators were very pleased.” He turned and led them into the room, ignoring Richard, who’d opened his mouth to speak.

William liked Martin.

The scents of luxury cologne, brand-new leather, and aged liquor filled the air as they walked in.

Although the lodge’s ceiling was high, the dim pink and blue lighting created a surprisingly subdued ambiance, making William feel as if he’d just stepped into a clandestine lounge where wealthy people met in secret.

Talking above a whisper felt like a criminal offense.

High-end furniture sparingly occupied the plush carpeted floor, providing at most eight seats in a space big enough for sixty.

Giant abstract paintings adorned the walls—the kind that barely had anything on the canvases, yet sold for millions.

William had never gotten the appeal, but these looked kind of cool.

William’s stomach growled as he spotted a table holding a small buffet and a bucket of ice with two champagne bottles. He was famished, but he didn’t have time to salivate as two boxes hijacked his attention—one small and one large. Their prizes?

A delicately built man with long blond hair was sitting on the white leather sofa next to the boxes, his eager smile making William’s heart flutter in a curious way.

The lamp behind him cast a soft halo of light around his head, and for a second, William’s exhausted brain wondered whether he was an angel.

“The key to your new car,” Martin said as he handed Richard the small box, which had the Porsche logo embossed on top.

William impatiently waited for Martin to finish instructing Richard on the car’s location and how to claim it.

He glanced at the blond man, who was still looking at him with a smile.

He wasn’t dressed like the other FIS Poker employees, who wore bright red shirts with white ties and black pants.

His own outfit was modest: a simple white sweater and light gray pants.

Perhaps he was part of the hotel staff? Could he be their own personal concierge? He looked so young, though. Maybe he was Martin’s son?

“And for you,” Martin said, pulling William out of his musings. He gestured toward the blond man, who stood up from the sofa and pressed his hand against his heart. “Your very own Serviteur.”

William’s smile fell. “My what?”

Richard clicked his tongue. “You lucky bastard.”

“A Serviteur is—”

“I know what a Serviteur is!” William snapped at Martin. He’d heard the term before, but he thought it was just an urban legend. How was this even legal, in Canada of all places? Surely, it was a joke.

The slave’s smile—because that’s what he was, a slave—almost imperceptibly wavered at William’s outburst, stoking William’s anger further.

“Do you not like it?” Martin asked. “If you’re dissatisfied with its looks, please know we can exchange it for another model. However, there will be a twelve-business-day turnaround.”

What the fuck was wrong with these people? Giving William an actual human being? Calling him “it” straight to his face? Treating the poor man like he was just a . . . a . . . a thing!

William didn’t like Martin anymore.

“It has nothing to do with his appearance,” William said, incapable of looking the poor soul in the eye.

He felt like he was walking a tightrope over a burning pit full of starving crocodiles, while the entire world watched, secretly hoping he’d lose balance.

“You can’t give me a human being! What the hell? ”

“William, please,” Richard said through gritted teeth, as if William’s reaction was embarrassing him.

Asshole.

Martin motioned for William to follow him and led him to the corridor. His features were still impassive as he came to a halt and addressed him. “I understand you’re unsatisfied with your prize.”

Figured that out on your own?

William was going to lose it. He was going to punch this man in the face and get arrested and go to jail.

He crossed his arms to stop them from delivering his fury straight to Martin’s nose. “I am.”

Martin nodded slowly. “In that case, do you wish to relinquish it to Mister Leclerc?”

William’s jaw dropped. Giving Richard what he wanted? No fucking way. William wouldn’t even give him used gum he’d sucked all the flavor out of.

But this wasn’t about Richard. It wasn’t about either of them.

William’s nails dug into his palms as he once again found himself backed into a corner. The answer he was going to give Martin would have a direct—and considerable—impact on a vulnerable man’s life. A man who at the present moment was probably freaking out.

“No,” William said, miraculously sounding somewhat calm. Whatever he did, he couldn’t let the Serviteur go home with that over-privileged, egotistical freak. “I changed my mind. I’ll take him.”

Then I’ll help him find a real job and set him free, you sick fuck.

“Wonderful,” Martin said without a trace of a smile.

They headed back to the lodge, where they found Richard studying the Serviteur closely, as if appraising him. The blond man’s gaze locked onto William, his lips moving almost imperceptibly to form a silent plea.

William’s chest tightened. He’d made the right decision. He knew he had. But . . .

His body grew heavy when he realized he’d be going back home just as penniless as before. He’d endured all of this stress for nothing. And now, on top of everything, he had to take care of a stranger.

“You will find everything you need in here.” Martin patted the top of the large box. “It comes with a deluxe set of accessories and, of course, its instruction manual.”