The first time Odette saw Dwight, he was seated at a poker table under the neon glow of a Vegas casino. His face was a study in calm focus, his fingers moving with the deliberate precision of a surgeon as he tapped his chips and flicked his cards. She was drawn to him, not just for his skill but for the glint in his eye—a mix of ambition and danger that hinted at something deeper.

“Careful with that one,” a cocktail waitress whispered to her. “He’s got the devil’s luck, and you don’t play with the devil unless you’re willing to lose.”

Odette ignored the warning. That night, when Dwight flashed her a smile over his winnings, she fell.

At first, their love was intoxicating. Dwight’s triumphs felt like her own. He swept her up in the thrill of his victories—the adrenaline of big bets, the raucous laughter of late-night celebrations, the whispered promises of a future filled with riches. Odette, a college dropout stuck in a dead-end waitress job, felt like she’d finally found her golden ticket.

But it wasn’t just the money. Dwight had a way of making her feel seen, like she was the only person in a room full of distractions. He had charm, sure, but also a vulnerability he rarely showed anyone else. When he held her after a night of poker, confessing his fears of failure, Odette felt needed.

“We’re unstoppable,” he’d say, his voice low and full of conviction. “You and me against the world.”

She believed him.

The losses began slowly—a bad night here, an unlucky streak there. Dwight shrugged them off at first, but soon, the cracks began to show.

“I’ll turn it around,” he said one evening, gripping her hand as if she were a lifeline. “One big win, and we’re back on top.”

But the wins never came. The house always won, and Dwight's golden touch dulled to tarnished brass. Odette tried to support him at first, urging him to walk away, but Dwight wouldn’t listen.

“I just need time,” he snapped one night, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Time was all she gave him. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. The man she fell in love with had become a stranger—angry, desperate, unreachable. And in his shadow, Odette began to disappear.

She started noticing it in small ways. Her reflection in the mirror seemed fainter, less defined. Strangers bumped into her on the street, as if they didn’t see her at all. Even Dwight seemed oblivious to her presence, muttering apologies when he brushed past her in their cramped apartment.

“Do you even see me anymore?” she asked one night, her voice trembling.

Dwight barely looked up from his laptop, where he was studying poker strategies. “Of course I do,” he said. “I’m doing this for us.”

But there was no "us" anymore, only Dwight and his obsession.

One evening, as the moon hung heavy in the sky, Odette sat alone on the apartment balcony, watching the city lights blur in her vision. She tried to remember the last time she felt whole—when she wasn’t just an echo of herself.

Inside, Dwight cursed under his breath, another bad hand played on an online table. He didn’t even notice when Odette stood, her translucent figure blending with the pale moonlight.

She walked through the apartment like a ghost, touching the poker chips scattered on the coffee table, the faded photo of them from happier days. When she reached Dwight, she leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear.

“I loved you,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if the words would reach him.

Dwight shivered but didn’t turn around.

By the time Dwight realized she was gone, the apartment was empty, save for the lingering scent of her perfume. At first, he assumed she’d gone to clear her head. When hours turned into days, he started calling hospitals and shelters, wondering if she’d fallen into harm’s way.

It wasn’t until weeks later, sitting alone at a poker table with no one to cheer him on, that the weight of her absence hit him.

He looked up at the dealer, a faceless man whose eyes glinted like twin mirrors. “You all right, buddy?” the dealer asked.

Dwight opened his mouth to reply but stopped. For a moment, he thought he saw her in the crowd—a pale figure drifting between the slot machines. When he blinked, she was gone.

Odette was never found. Some said she ran away, escaping a man who had gambled her love into oblivion. Others whispered of a ghost that haunted the casino floor, a shimmering reminder of the price of obsession.

Dwight played on, each hand a futile attempt to win back the life he’d lost. But in the end, he was just another gambler, betting on the impossible and haunted by the faintest memory of the woman he had loved and destroyed.

©2024 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys