Chapter 5
Eve's POV
Eden Island. The name sends a shiver down my spine.
Lafayette paces slowly, his boots clicking against the concrete floor.
He pauses, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “You, my friends, are gamblers.”
Gamblers?
Lafayette snaps his fingers. The walls around us flicker to life, transforming into massive screens. My breath catches as images flood across them: faces, hundreds of faces, all young, all terrified.
They’re hanging from the ceiling, suspended by chains around their wrists.
And then I see her.
Vicky.
Her hair is wild, and tangled, and her face is streaked with dirt and tears. But there’s no mistaking that snake tattoo, coiling up her forearm. She’s hanging there, her legs kicking weakly, her mouth open in a silent scream.
“Vicky!” I scream, lunging forward in my chair. The restraints bite into my skin, but I don’t care.
“VICKY!”
I also saw Vicky with Jimmy and a little girl hanging beside her. At the same time, Mrs. Marcus burst into tears.
"Jimmy!" Lyra”
Oh my goodness! Have both of the Marcus couple's children been arrested?
“Silence!” Lafayette says.
I freeze, my chest heaving. The room is silent again.
Lafayette waits, letting the horror sink in. Then he speaks again, his voice almost gentle.
“This is the Eden Game,” he says. “Your loved ones—your children, your siblings, your spouses—they volunteered. Oh, not knowing the full terms, of course. But they wanted something. Money. A fresh start. Revenge. They were willing to risk everything for it.”
He gestures at the screens. “They are the players. They fight. They survive. Or they die. And you… You are here to bet on them.”
A man in the front row shouts, “What are you talking about? Let them go!”
"I said, be quiet!" " Lafayette said gloomily.
With a gunshot, the man was shot dead by the guard and dragged away, leaving a long trail of blood on the floor
Lafayette ignores him. “You have two choices. Option one: play by my rules. Complete the challenges I set for you. Survive. And if you win… your loved one walks free. "
"And you? You’ll receive up to $200 million. Cash.”
Gasps echo through the room. $200 million.
“Option two,” Lafayette continues, his tone casual, "you walk away. Right now. We'll give you $500,000. No strings attached. But your loved one? They stay. And their fate…”
"DIE!"
The words hang in the air, heavy and cruel.
"You will place bets on the survival of your loved ones through a series of choices."
"Now! First choice! your child or half a million dollars."
I stare at the screen, at Vicky. She’s still kicking, her eyes wide with terror. I think of all the times I yelled at her. All the time, I was too tired to listen. All the time, I thought she was just a rebellious kid, not a scared girl crying out for help.
$500,000. It's more money than I've ever seen in my life. I could pay off the rent and the medical bills to buy a decent house. Start over. But without Vicky? What’s the point?
I think of the broken photo frame. Of her voice, screaming I hate you. Of the sticky note on the back, I wish Mom and Dad were always with me.
I know my choice.
My choice is to save my daughter!
My gaze locks onto Vicky’s on the screen, and in that instant, the chaos of the room fades.
Her eyes—wide, glistening with tears—meet mine, and all the anger, the rebellion, the sneers melt away.
She looks like she did when she was seven, burning with a 103-degree fever, clinging to my hand as the doctor stuck a needle in her arm. Scared. Regretful. Small.
I mouth the words slowly, over and over, willing her to understand: I’m coming for you.
Her chin trembles. She nods, a tiny, frantic movement, and I swear I see her lips form I’m sorry before a guard steps in front of her, blocking the view. My chest tightens. Sorry for what? For running? For the fight? It doesn’t matter. None of it does.
"Now I allow you to cry and shout." Lafayette snapped his fingers and said with a grin.
The room erupts again, a storm of shouts and sobs as Lafayette’s words sink in. Save them, or walk away with half a million. The air smells like fear and sweat, thick enough to taste.
"You're doomed! dude, you're doomed! Dare you go out! The Tiger Gang will surely smash your egg and stuff it into your big mouth!" "
A man with chiseled features and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. The whole body and arms are covered with gang tattoos. It is number 111.
With a jolt, a person broke free from the chair alive and stood up with it.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” he roars. His biceps bulge against his tight t-shirt, and his voice booms like a movie trailer narrator.
“I’m Bryan Casper! A-list! My face is on billboards in Times Square! The second my agent files a missing person report, the cops will tear this place apart! Let me and my family go, now!”
In the row behind me, a man in a rumpled clerical collar—14—sits with his eyes closed, his lips moving in silent prayer.
A silver cross dangles from his neck, catching the light as he murmurs, “Our Father, who art in heaven…” His hands are clasped so tightly his knuckles are white, but his voice never wavers.
But those who were shouting were still in the minority. More people, like the Marcus couple and I, were still crying and shouting silently.
A foul smell wafted over. A silver-haired old lady beside me had lost control of her temper and looked helpless and weak. I bit my lip tightly. I had seen such a helpless and powerless old lady before. I held back the stench and moved closer, comforting her as if comforting myself: "It's okay, it's okay. Everything will be fine." "
This old lady, numbered 060, had a very dull gaze. Without that glimmer of divine light, I would almost have thought she was suffering from Alzheimer's disease. "Sure, sure. I want my dear grandson to come home."
My nose twitched and I choked up, unable to speak.
And then there are the others. The ones who stand.
Those who chose the other option.