It’s weird how this one got under my skin. I opened *Deck of Hearts* expecting another lazy click‑through with the same recycled bodies, but the writing kept pulling me back. It’s just text and cards, right? Except the cards don’t feel like props - they’re little traps for your decisions. You draw one and suddenly you’re in a room that smells like perfume and bad ideas, staring at a redhead who looks like she knows exactly how far you’ll go before folding. The game doesn’t even try to hide its filth; it leans into it like it’s proud of being shameless. And honestly, good. The MC’s voice is messy, horny, insecure, sometimes cruel, which feels way more real than those perfect hero types.

There’s this scene - I won’t spoil too much - but the moment the blonde leans over the table, teasing about “luck,” you realize the cards aren’t random at all. They’re judging you. It’s not subtle, but it works. I laughed when I shouldn’t have, mostly because the dialogue feels like something you’d overhear in a bar where everyone’s pretending not to listen. The corruption angle hits harder than expected; it’s slow, sticky, uncomfortable in the best way. I caught myself clicking slower, reading every line twice, like the words might change if I stared long enough. Sometimes they do. Maybe that’s just me projecting.

If there was an award for “Most Unnecessary Grope That Still Made Sense,” this game wins it. The AI CGs look almost too clean for the dirt they’re showing, like someone tried to polish sin. The MILF character - yeah, you’ll know her when she shows up - has this smug smile that makes the whole plot bend around her. I kinda wish the teen character had more agency, but maybe that’s the point: everyone’s trapped in their own deck. Also, whoever wrote the card descriptions must’ve been drunk or a poet. Hard to tell which. Anyway, I closed the tab and immediately reopened it. That probably says enough.