[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary

Ciel opened his mouth to say something, but then decided to take a sip of his drink instead.

From the sofa cluster near the holographic displays, Sarah leaned forward, her bubbly demeanor carrying an unusual edge.

"Lilianna, I lost more than anyone tonight. You don’t see me flipping the table, don’t you?"

She paused, tilting her head.

"It’s BlackJack. Sometimes the cards are just terrible. That’s... kind of the whole point."

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the room.

Lilianna’s jaw tightened, and she turned away from Sarah.

Neville knew why she couldn’t look at Sarah, because she was the reason why Sarah kept on losing the game.

"Grayson."

Lilianna called to a softer, cracking a little as if to stop herself from feeling betrayed.

"You’re so blinded by... by whatever this is"—she waved vaguely at Neville—"that you’re just letting him spit on the game. On all of us?"

The room went quiet and looked at Grayson.

She’s calling out to Grayson again, Neville thought, watching as Lilianna threw a yearning look at Grayson. The man didn’t even say much to you the whole evening.

Neville didn’t need to turn around to look at Grayson’s expression. He heard Grayson sigh, a warning that he was losing his patience.

"Are you done?" Grayson asked.

Lilianna blinked.

"Because if you can’t take a loss," Grayson continued, his voice dropping low, "then get off the table."

The words landed like a slap.

Lilianna’s lips parted, then pressed shut. She hadn’t expected that Grayson would bluntly dismiss her in front of their friends.

She really didn’t know Grayson well despite being beside him for a long time, Neville thought, almost smirking.

Neville glanced at Grayson over his shoulder.

Their eyes met, and he asked, Am I crazy? Or is she? What is she even talking about?

Grayson pursed his lips. I don’t know either.

Neville turned back to the table.

"Are you done?" he asked Lilianna, echoing Grayson’s words deliberately, in a bored tone.

Lilianna looked around the room and found no allies; not even Helena was willing to look at her.

Finally, she heard her inner voice, ’Careful. You’re losing the room.’

Lilianna’s fingers curled against the edge of the table.

Her inner voice said, ’You’re the dealer—make him prove it.’

She squared her shoulders and asked, "Fine. Then explain it. If you’re not cheating, explain how you got three consecutive blackjacks."

Neville tilted his head, slightly annoyed.

I’m not even cheating, how could I explain how? Besides, I already explained it earlier. What more do you want?

Then an idea flashed in his mind.

"Alright," he said pleasantly.

He held up three fingers.

"Yes. I got twenty-one, three times in a row. It’s rare. Impressive. Suspicious, even—I’ll give you that."

He lowered one finger.

"But since you’re so fixated on my cards, have you taken a good look at your cards?"

Lilianna pursed her lips, probably not expecting him to turn the question around.

"You get twenty on three consecutive rounds as the dealer. Statistically, that’s actually harder to achieve than my blackjacks."

He continued, his voice flat.

"Dealers don’t get to choose when to hit or stand; it’s essentially fixed. So that means you’re either lucky..."

He let the pause hang.

"...or for some reason your cards weren’t random."

Neville heard Ciel gasp beside him.

’Don’t react rashly,’ the inner voice urged. ’He’s fishing. There’s no way he would know.’

"This is ridiculous!" But Lilianna snapped and didn’t listen; her pitch climbed higher. "How could I possibly know what cards I will get?"

Neville snapped his fingers.

"Exactly my point, Miss Lilianna."

He leaned back, spreading his hands.

"I don’t know how I would get blackjack each time either. So if you can’t explain how you hit twenty, three consecutive times, how exactly do you expect me to explain mine?"

The logic closed just like that.

At the sofa, Bryan slowly lowered his glass, suppressing a smile.

Ciel was nodding quietly in agreement.

Thiago let out a low whistle that he quickly disguised as a cough when Lilianna’s head snapped in his direction.

Helena crossed one leg over the other, pursing her lips, looking impatient.

"Grayson."

Lilianna turned to Grayson again, seemingly desperate to plead her case, forgetting Grayson’s dismissal a moment ago.

"Are you actually going to stand there and do nothing? Are you seriously going to let this... this nobody play us like this?"

"Shut your filthy mouth." Grayson’s voice was ice cold, and his hand was held by Neville like a leash.

Lilianna stared at him, color draining from her face, losing her mind.

Neville finally looked directly at Lilianna with a flat expression.

"You don’t seem to be convinced, Miss Lilianna." He said, displeased.

Lilianna threw him a look, "Of course, I’m not because I’m positive that you’ve done something."

Neville pursed his lips and sighed, exasperated. We’re back to square one again.

"Honestly, you calling me out for hacking doesn’t really make sense. But sure, let’s give it the benefit of the doubt despite the fact that I already explained it earlier."

"If I’m really cheating, then you should be able to explain how I did it. You’re the dealer. You controlled the shoe. You shuffled the decks. You dealt every card on this table."

He explained again with patience, as if teaching a really problematic student.

"If you can’t explain the method, then there wasn’t any cheating at all. After all, in a fair game, everything should be random."

Neville paused, staring directly at Lilianna’s eyes. He was silently putting pressure on her as he repeated his point.

"Unless, of course... There was a reason why you believed that it shouldn’t be random."

"That’s..." Lilianna’s voice cracked.

’Stupid!’ The inner voice hissed. ’Get your act together—now!’

Lilianna finally realized what was happening.

She had walked directly into his trap.

Letting him repeat his reasoning made everything even more obvious to everyone.

If she pushed harder and insisted on proving that Neville had cheated, she would have to explain how, not Neville.

By then, she would have no choice but to admit, in front of every person in this room, that she had been force-shuffling the deck.

That the dealer had been rigging every hand from the start.

And if she backed down?

Then she would be a sore loser, a woman who threw a tantrum because luck didn’t favor her.

Either way, she lost.