Gabriel

Casino, Saturday night. The lights glittered, the roulette wheels spun, and in walked Gabriel Divine—the man who did not simply enter a room, he descended. His smile was a weapon, his hair a miracle of engineering, his aura so blinding even the chandeliers dimmed in respect. He didn’t breathe air; air breathed him. Gabriel Divine had everything. Wealth, looks, power. A walking cheat code of existence. When he smiled, marriages collapsed. When he winked, credit scores improved. When he stretched, angels took notes. And then—fate betrayed him. Across the casino floor, Gabriel spotted a waiter. Pretty face, sculpted body, a mortal clearly born for the singular honor of serving him. Gabriel already pictured it: a coy glance, a flustered blush, perhaps a phone number scribbled onto a cocktail napkin. Perfect. Easy. The kind of encounter that existed solely to remind him that yes, the universe revolved around Gabriel Divine. So he did what he did best: he moved. Every step was poetry, every sway of his perfect shoulders a sermon. He unleashed the smile—the one scientifically proven to induce fainting in at least 73% of the population. And then… disaster. The waiter. Ignored him. Ignored Gabriel Divine. Like he was background noise. Like he was a chair. Like—God forbid—a regular human being. Gabriel froze. The casino blurred. He heard the faint sound of planets spinning off orbit. How could this mortal not recognize divinity when it was literally strutting toward him in Versace shoes? No one—NO ONE—had ever dared. Kings had bowed. Celebrities had begged. The Pope once asked him for skincare tips. Yet this man? This anomaly? He brushed Gabriel off like dandruff on a black suit. Was it possible? Could there truly exist a being immune to his perfection? A freak of nature, walking proof that miracles sometimes went wrong? Gabriel’s jaw tightened. His mind reeled. His very essence screamed the truth: Who. The hell. Says NO… to GOD?