“No need,” I said casually. “I just double-checked every number, and my ticket didn't win. Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that,” Rosie replied. “But what if you did win and just made a mistake? Wouldn't we lose our only shot? There’s no harm in letting me take another look.”

I deliberately slipped the lottery ticket into my pocket. “So you don’t believe me, huh? I’m not showing it to you.”

Rosie pouted playfully, then stuffed a steamed bun into my hand. “Fine, fine. Don’t show me. You must be hungry—go on, eat.”

I held the bun and headed for the door. “It’s a nice day. I’m going out for some fresh air.”

I just needed a moment away—to clear my head and calm my racing heart.

But as I turned the corner down the alley, my chest suddenly tightened.

The lottery ticket was gone.

My blood ran cold.

I spun around and sprinted back toward home. From a distance, I could see Rosie standing stiffly at the doorway, her face was pale as a sheet.

And in her hand—was my ticket.

She raised her hand to tear it apart.

I lunged forward and snatched it back just in time, then turned and ran without looking back.

Behind me, I heard her shout in fury. “Brother, you can’t cash that ticket!”

In my previous life, right up until my dying breath, I never understood why Rosie—the sweet, affectionate sister who had clung to me since childhood—had suddenly become a different person the moment she learned I’d won the lottery.

There had been something poisonous in her eyes that I’d never seen before.

Now, she was chasing after me with everything she had. I was still injured, and she caught up quickly.

Trembling, I cried out at the top of my lungs. “Help! Rosie is trying to kill me!”

The alley was lined with familiar neighbors. Hearing my cries, people began coming out of their homes to see what was happening.

Rosie hadn’t expected that.

Realizing she couldn’t get away with it now, I turned and dropped to my knees in front of her, tears streaming down my face.

“Rosie, we’re about to have a good life. Why would you try to destroy the ticket?”

Her expression twisted. She gritted her teeth and hissed under her breath, “Shut your filthy mouth, you bastard.”

She grabbed me and tried to drag me away—but by then, some neighbors had already rushed over.

Mr. Olson from next door pulled her off me with a scowl. “What are you doing, hitting your own brother?”

Others began chiming in.

“We heard something about a winning lottery ticket—why are you getting violent over such a great thing?”

“Even if he’s your brother, hitting someone is still against the law. Touch him again and we’ll call the police!”

Rosie stood there panting, veins bulging in her neck, her eyes locked on me with hatred.

But with so many people watching, she couldn’t do anything.

Then, suddenly, she gave a sweet smile—but not to me.

She was looking over my shoulder.

I turned to see what she was smiling at—and froze.

Dad was coming.

From a distance, he saw us surrounded by neighbors. His brows furrowed immediately. It didn’t take a genius to guess something was wrong.

As he walked closer, my whole body tensed.

The neighbors started talking over each other, telling him Rosie had hit me.

Dad’s face twisted with rage. Without a word, he raised his hand and aimed a slap at her face.

But just as the blow was about to land, Rosie screamed, “Brother won five million dollars in the lottery!”

My heart stopped.

“No! That’s not true—she’s mistaken!” I said, my voice was shaking, my eyes burning with panic.

“It’s true! I took a photo of the ticket!” she snapped, holding her phone out to him, breathless with excitement.

Dad’s eyes fell on the screen. His pupils twitched. Then his gaze froze, locked on the image.

I called out, voice barely a whisper, “Dad...”

He looked up slowly, eyes bloodshot.

And then—he slapped me across the face.

“You ungrateful brat! Your sister told you to tear up the ticket—why didn’t you listen?!” He seethed.

I was crumbling inside, but I clenched my teeth and forced myself to explain.

“Dad, we really need this money. Mom is sick and needs treatment, you’re drowning in debt, while Rosie has school expenses. I just want to fix my leg. I don’t want to be crippled forever—”

“Shut your damn mouth, you worthless bastard!” my father roared.

He charged at me and kicked my injured leg with full force. I collapsed to the ground, crying out in pain as he yanked violently at my pocket, trying to snatch the ticket.

At that moment, my mother rushed over and shoved him away, shielding me with her body.

“Have you lost your mind?! His leg is already hurt! Keep this up and he’ll be crippled for life!” she shouted, voice trembling with rage.

But instead of getting angry, my father only sneered coldly.

“Oh, you feel sorry for him? This heartless little bastard doesn’t even deserve to be our child.”

His words stunned the neighbors. Everyone in the neighborhood knew my father had always doted on me. People often gossiped about how he favored sons over daughters, but he never cared what they said. No one could believe he’d say something like that now—about me.

My mother clutched her chest, her voice shaking with fury.

“What on earth is going on?!”

Rosie held out her phone to her, but I jumped up and blocked her, looking at my mom with pleading eyes.

“Mom, please don’t look. Don’t believe what they’re saying.”

I knew the moment she saw that photo—the moment she found out I’d won the lottery—she’d stop seeing me as her son.

She gently wrapped her arms around me, her palm patting my back in slow, soothing strokes. Her voice was warm and tender, full of comfort.

“Don’t worry. There must be some kind of misunderstanding. Let me talk to them, sort this out, then everything will be okay.”

I shook my head desperately.

“No, Mom... if you believe them, you’ll stop loving me.”

She cupped my face, her gaze soft and steady.

“Julius, listen to me. No matter what happens, I’m on your side. I love you more than anyone in this world.”

At that moment, Dad barked impatiently, “He won five million! The ticket is in his pocket!”

The moment those words left his mouth, my mother’s expression changed.

Her once gentle face twisted with ferocity, and a shadow of darkness flashed in her eyes—it sent a chill through me, making my whole body tremble.

She gave me a tight, unnatural smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Unlike Dad and Rosie, who had reacted with fury and excitement, Mom’s eerie calm felt even more terrifying.

Her voice was low and emotionless.

“This is good news, Julius. Come home. We should celebrate.”

But there was no joy in her words. No laughter in her tone. And the hand she reached out with was trembling—betraying the storm she tried to hide.

She was trying to hold it together. Forcing herself to stay composed.

But I could see right through it.

“No—I’m not going home.” I backed away, stumbling through the crowd, my breath ragged with panic.

Her brows furrowed, her voice sharpened, turning cold and dangerous.

“What are you doing, Julius? It’s getting dark. Where do you think you’re going if not home?”

Both my parents were closing in.

I spun around and grabbed the nearest neighbor, tears spilling down my face as I begged.

“Please... please help me! I can’t go back with them. They will kill me!”

Everyone around exchanged bewildered glances.

After all, in their eyes, I’d always been the most loved child in the family. Even if my parents were strict, it was always out of care. Outsiders couldn’t justify interfering.

Just as the crowd hesitated, unsure what to do—Old Granny Fatima stepped forward.

She squinted at me, her tone gentle but firm. “Seems like something’s weighing on Julius’s heart. Let’s not force him right now.”

"That's right. Julius has always been such a sensible child," someone in the crowd muttered. "If there's a problem, talk it out. No need to use violence. Look how scared he is."

But my parents seemed blinded by rage, completely deaf to any reasoning. Their faces twisted in fury as they closed in on me.

"Julius, are you having one of your episodes again? Stop spouting nonsense!"

"Come home with us right now! Stop embarrassing yourself in public!"

Before the words had even finished leaving my mother’s mouth, my father lunged forward and grabbed me roughly.

Granny Fatima quickly stepped in, blocking his path.

"Don’t treat the child like this! What if you scare him too badly?"

"He's my son! This is none of your damn business!" my father snarled, eyes bloodshot with rage.

But Granny Fatima was old and frail—how could she possibly stop a man like my father?

I felt his grip crush my wrist like a vice, and I was yanked forward with brute force. My knees scraped painfully against the rough pavement as I was dragged away. The searing sting brought tears to my eyes.

The crowd hesitated. No matter how kind-hearted they were, few dared get involved in family matters, especially when it came to my parents.

But just then, a firm voice cut through the tension.

"Who gave you the right to assault someone in the middle of the street?!"

The grip on my wrist loosened immediately. My father froze.

A group of police officers stepped forward—it seemed a neighbor had called them.

My mother rushed to explain. "Officers, please, this is our son. It’s getting dark, and he refuses to come home. We were only worried for his safety, that’s all."

One of the officers turned to me.

I didn’t hesitate and said, "No, that’s not it! I won the lottery—they want to lock me up and keep me from claiming the prize!"

My parents stiffened behind me. Their expressions darkened with something I couldn’t quite name.

I pointed toward the crowd.

"Ask the neighbors. Ever since they found out I won, they’ve been acting completely different. Just ask them!"

The officers turned to the crowd, asking questions. Soon, the neighbors began speaking up one after another, confirming that my parents' behavior had been unusually aggressive.

One of the officers, his expression now grim, turned back to my parents.

"Why are you stopping him from claiming the prize? Worried he won’t share the money? He already said he plans to use it for the whole family."

My parents scoffed.

"We couldn’t care less about the money. We just want our son home."

The officer’s tone hardened.

"You do realize it’s illegal to restrict someone’s personal freedom, right?"

But my parents just looked at him like it didn’t matter.

Panic rising in my chest, I clutched at the officer’s sleeve.

"Then why?! Why are they willing to break the law just to keep me from claiming the prize? Why do they want to lock me up?"

Under the pressure of repeated questioning, my father finally, reluctantly, handed over his phone. His hands trembled slightly with defiance.

When I saw what was on the screen, everything made sense.