Mystery of the Half-Scratched Lottery Ticket

My coming-of-age celebration was a complete disaster.

A day that should have been full of joy became the source of unbearable humiliation—all because of a lottery ticket.

I couldn't stand being in that house for another moment.

By midnight, I quietly slipped out the door and went to find my childhood friend, Owen Rankin.

The moment he saw me, he pulled me into a tight embrace, his voice thick with concern. "I tried to come to your house, but I couldn't find you. I asked your sister and… I heard what happened today. Cathy, you've suffered so much."

Tears streamed down my face instantly. All the frustrations, all the indignities of the day poured out in a flood of sobs.

Owen held me, soothing me, even clenching his fists as if ready to confront Harry.

"Stop!" I interrupted him. "Don't act rashly. I still don't know why my cousin did that. One wrong move and we could fall right into his trap."

He was silent for a few seconds, then asked, "Cathy… the lottery ticket you gave him—was it real?"

His eyes softened as they searched mine, and for a fleeting moment, I wanted to tell the truth. After all, Owen hadn't been present the last time my cousin tried to kill me.

I opened my mouth to answer, but then, I caught the urgency and longing in his gaze. My throat constricted like a giant hand was pressing down. Every instinct in me screamed: Don't tell him!

He urged me again. I forced a calm voice. "They searched everything so thoroughly… even if I had the ability to hide it, there's no way I could have."

In truth, the real ticket was tucked under a plate. When I scratched it and won, I'd hidden it at the bottom of a serving tray while my mother screamed in excitement, leaving the fake ticket in my pocket.

Seeing Owen staring at me suspiciously, I feigned irritation. "Do you think I'm stupid? You want me to ignore two hundred thousand dollars just to hide a twenty-dollar ticket?"

He smiled, running a hand through my hair. "Of course not. My darling Cathy isn't a fool."

My heart raced. I couldn't resist asking, "Do you think… what's so special about that ticket? Why would my cousin and the others want it so badly?"

Owen's tone was calm. "It's just a lottery ticket. What could it possibly do? Maybe your cousin suddenly lost his mind and wanted an excuse to torment you. He's always looked down on you, hasn't he?"

It was true—my cousin resented my good grades and the fact that I got into a prestigious university. But that didn't justify trying to kill me over a lottery ticket.

My mind swirled with questions, piling up like mountains. I barely touched my food.

Owen escorted me home. "Stay here tonight. Tomorrow, we'll go back together. I'll talk to your parents."

But sleep eluded me. Late into the night, I was tossing and turning when I suddenly heard the sound of a lock turning.

Panic gripped me. I clutched the blanket, thinking it was a thief.

Then reality hit—I was on the twenty-sixth floor. A thief couldn't possibly be here. There was only one possibility.

Owen.

As expected, he crept into the room, moving quietly to the bed, whispering my name.

When I didn't respond, he began rifling through my clothes. I heard him mutter, "Where's the lottery ticket? Can it really be gone? Damn it… I drugged you for this ticket. It has to be here!"

Even in the warmth of the heated room, a chill ran through me.

He searched every pocket and drawer—finding nothing.

Then, suddenly, he stood in front of me, covering my mouth and nose with his hand.

"Damn it… it's really gone! You wretched woman—such bad luck!"

In a fit of frustration, he repeatedly covered my face and released me, over and over, ten or fifteen times before finally stopping.

After he left, I collapsed, utterly broken.