Across the stadium, phones buzzed.
The Simps checked their messages.
And one by one, they opened their betting apps and doubled down—because nothing says "loyalty" like throwing more six figures cash into a fire you believe will turn to gold.
David did too. Casually. Like he was just checking his notifications. But the bet he placed was twice what he'd wagered before—the kind of casual overconfidence that comes from knowing the fix is already in.
After all, he was freaking rich too and adding a few zeros on his boss, wouldn't even scratch his pockets.
New media money right there.
In the VIP section, Sierra and Maddie exchanged glances—then chuckled softly, pulling out their own phones.
Amber, sitting three rows behind them, did the same. Her face betrayed nothing. Her betting dashboard showed a number that would make most CEOs richest faint—the kind of number that said she wasn't here to play, she was here to profit.
That was the Legacy heiress with billions in trustfund.
