The Million-Dollar Shot

From the luxurious vantage point of the second-floor VIP room in the Obsidian Arena, Cassian Vane kept his gaze locked on the stunning girl from the forest. A flicker of genuine amusement crossed his sharp features. He turned away from the glass and clapped a hand down on Lennox Croft’s shoulder.

"Stop gawking and place a bet," Cassian instructed, his tone casual but leaving no room for argument.

Lennox blinked, pulling his attention away from his digital tablet. "What? On who?"

Cassian leaned back against the window frame and gestured to the brightly lit arena floor below. "Her."

While the chaotic crowd focused on the unfolding spectacle, Lennox followed the order. Within moments, a quiet but staggering one-million-dollar wager locked in on Valerie to win. It was a silent number that would soon send shockwaves through the underground betting pool, but for now, it remained their secret.

Down on the dirt floor, the harsh spotlights beat down on Valerie. She lazily lifted her heavy wooden bow. Drawing the thick string back, she released her first arrow with a relaxed, almost indifferent flick of her wrist. The shaft sailed through the air and hit the dirt, missing the target board by a massive margin.

The arena erupted. Cruel jeers and mocking laughter bounced off the concrete walls.

"I knew it! She is just a pretty face, nothing more!" a man near the front row yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

"Yeah, all flash and no substance! What a joke!" another spectator echoed, throwing his hands in the air.

"Looks like we are in for a good show today. That penalty strip dance is definitely happening!" a patron cheered, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. The excitement grew rapidly among the onlookers, their eyes hungry for a humiliating display.

Amid the roaring laughter, Valerie paid them no mind. Her expression remained an unreadable mask as she loaded her second arrow. She pulled the string and let it fly. Another miss.

The crowd’s laughter only swelled louder. Valerie repeated the motion three more times, her execution deliberately sloppy. Five arrows fired in a flash. Zero points earned.

To secure a victory now, she needed five consecutive dead-center bullseyes. The audience scoffed at the idea, treating the match as a decided joke and doubting it was even remotely possible.

Tate laughed so hard he clutched his stomach. He banged both hands flat against the wooden viewing table, his shoulders shaking with immense amusement. He pointed at her from across the floor, shouting to be heard over the deafening ridicule.

"Just admit defeat!" Tate yelled. "If you beg me right now, I might let you get away with only stripping halfway!" Given the warm weather and her light, elegant dress, he clearly implied she would have to dance in only her undergarments.

Unfazed by the hostile environment and Tate’s crude taunts, Valerie cast a chilling gaze in his direction. The casual indifference vanished from her eyes. She shifted her stance, planting her feet firm against the ground. It was time to get serious.

Up in the VIP box, Lennox shook his head in pure disbelief. "She is going to lose."

Cassian remained leaning against the floor-to-ceiling glass, his expression relaxed but his tone confident. "Not necessarily."

Lennox remained skeptical until he glanced back at the arena floor and suddenly let out a sharp gasp. "What the..."

Down below, Valerie raised the bow again. This time, the lazy aura was gone. With flawless, mechanical precision, she drew the string tight to her cheek. She released. The arrow sliced the air and slammed right into the dead center of the target.

A perfect ten.

The mocking laughter in the arena died in an abrupt instant. A stunned silence washed over the crowd. Just moments ago, she had missed every shot. Murmurs broke out, people wondering if this was sheer luck, like a blind cat stumbling upon a dead mouse. Some even whispered she must have cheated.

Before anyone could fully process the hit, Valerie pulled another arrow from her quiver. She did not hesitate for a fraction of a second. The string snapped. Another heavy thud echoed through the silent room.

Ten points.

In a blur of rapid, fluid motions, she fired three more times. Each arrow packed tight into the bullseye, their feathered ends practically touching in the center ring.

Fifty points on her final five shots. She claimed a devastating, undeniable victory.

The crowd stared open-mouthed. The realization dawned on them like a splash of ice water. She had purposely thrown her first five shots. She wanted to prove to everyone in the room that she could defeat Tate with just five arrows instead of ten. It was a crushing blow, making it clear she did not even see Tate as a remotely worthy opponent.

Suddenly, a shout rang out from the back of the room. "Look at the screens! Someone bet a million dollars on the girl!"

Heads snapped toward the digital boards. The massive winning payout glowed in bright numbers to the deeply shocked crowd. Every cent they bet on Tate was gone.

Valerie lowered her bow. She turned to Tate, offering a faint, merciless smile on her lips.

"Go on, dance," she commanded, her voice ringing clear. "Make sure everyone gets a good look at that unsightly figure of yours."

Tate froze, his face draining of color. He looked around, eyes darting for an exit, thinking of a quick escape. But the bloodthirsty onlookers, reeling from their lost bets, turned their anger on him. Hands shoved him forcefully onto the central stage.

"Dance! Dance! Dance!" the audience chanted.

"What is wrong? Cannot handle losing?" someone taunted from the front row.

With his face burning with profound shame, Tate reluctantly started to dance. His movements were stiff and awkward. As he swayed his hips and began stripping off his clothes, the scene became painful to watch.

Valerie had no interest in watching his pathetic display further. She turned her back on the stage, walked out of the competitor’s pit, and calmly exited the Obsidian Arena.

Not wanting to inconvenience her family’s driver, she stepped onto the pavement, intending to hail a taxi. Instead, she ran directly into Gareth and Monica.

Monica clung tight to Gareth’s arm like a lifeline. The moment she spotted Valerie, she lunged forward.

"Valerie, you are out already?" Monica’s voice dripped with an insincere, overly dramatic concern. "Gareth and I were just about to check on you. We were worried someone might have bullied you. Are you okay?"

She grabbed Valerie’s arm. Her sharp, manicured nails dug painfully through the fabric and right into Valerie’s flesh.

"Get lost!" Valerie snapped. She yanked her arm free with a harsh twist of her shoulder.

Monica let out a practiced, dramatic shriek. She threw her weight backward, collapsing onto the rough pavement. She curled inward, perfectly feigning that Valerie had shoved her to the ground. It happened so fast.

"Monica!" Gareth rushed forward to her aid. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around his fiancée, pulling her up. He glared up at Valerie, his eyes burning with deep disgust. "Monica worried about you and asked me to check on you! This is how you repay her kindness? With physical violence?"

Valerie let out a loud scoff. She looked down at him, her eyes filled with pure contempt. "You came to check on me? Do you really think you are so important that everyone should bow down to you? Who do you think you are?"

Her words sliced through his composure. The Mercer family was a prominent clan in Oakhaven City. No one ever dared to speak to him like that. Gareth’s face flushed a deep crimson, unprecedented explosive fury rendering him momentarily speechless.

"You..." Gareth stammered, pointing a shaking finger at her, too furious to form a complete sentence.

Valerie purposefully leaned in closer, a mocking, taunting smile playing on her lips. "What is the matter, Mr. Mercer? Are you going to hit me?"

Her challenge hung heavy in the air. His few words sparked a fierce anger within her. Held back only by a thin thread of self-control, she would have gladly knocked this arrogant man to the ground.

Monica, secretly reveling in the chaotic wedge she was driving between them, gripped Gareth’s shirt. Tears pooled in her eyes as she pleaded with a wavering voice. "Gareth, please, do not be angry with Valerie. It is all my fault. She is just venting her frustration. Please do not take her words to heart!"

Her calculated sweetness struck the perfect contrast, making Valerie appear as the unhinged, malicious aggressor in the street.

"Let's go," Gareth snapped harshly at his former fiancée. He took Monica’s hand firmly and began to lead her away toward his parked luxury vehicle.

A sudden clap of thunder shattered the tense atmosphere. The sky broke open without warning, and heavy, unseasonable summer rain began pouring down in thick sheets. There was no shelter outside the arena doors, leaving no place to hide from the downpour.

Valerie stood on the pavement as the cold water started to hit her skin.

Gareth settled into the driver’s seat. Monica, seated comfortably in the dry passenger side, slowly rolled down the tinted window. She leaned out slightly, offering a deeply patronizing, charity-like invitation.

"Valerie, get in the car," Monica called out over the sound of the rain. "Do not get drenched out there in the freezing downpour."

Valerie’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing response that would wipe that smug look off Monica's face.

Before a single word left her lips, a firm, incredibly strong grip smoothly wrapped around her waist from behind.

Startled by the sudden physical contact, Valerie gasped and looked up swiftly. She found herself staring directly into an exceptionally handsome face. His sharp jawline and deep, commanding eyes were striking and dominant, towering over her like a devilish apparition in the sudden storm.