On New Year's Eve, my wife's family suddenly proposed a red envelope game.

Whoever drew the lucky envelope would grant one wish to the person who sent it.

Round one—I drew the lucky envelope.

My mother-in-law, Nanette Mason, wanted me to buy her the gold bracelet she'd been eyeing for months.

Round two. Me again.

My father-in-law, Nicholas Mason, wanted me to trade in his old car for a BMW.

Round three. Still me.

My wife, Isabel Mason, wanted me to clear out every designer handbag in her shopping cart.

Then it was my wife's brother-in-law's turn to send the red envelope—the widower of her late elder sister, Arnold Delgado. And somehow, the lucky draw landed on me again.

Without missing a beat, he asked for a house in the city center worth tens of millions.

I frowned, about to refuse, when my usually quiet daughter grabbed my arm.

"Dad, say yes!"

"You have to say yes!"

——

The table went silent.

Nanette let out a sharp gasp and was the first to recover. "Leslie Harding, you're not thinking of backing out, are you?"

Arnold Delgado shot to his feet. "You agreed to the first three rounds no problem. Now it's my turn and suddenly you want to renege? How is that fair?"

My wife, Isabel, said nothing—but the look she gave me was loaded with reproach.

Reproach for ruining the festive mood of a family game on New Year's Eve.

I let my gaze sweep across every face at the table.

It settled, finally, on Arnold's.

"The first three rounds—fine. I can chalk those up to a game."

"But a house worth tens of millions? Arnold, you've got some nerve asking for that."

"Don't forget—your current job exists because I pulled strings to get you in."

The air turned to ice.

Arnold's face flushed crimson.

"Leslie, yes, I asked you for help getting that job. But you agreed to play this game yourself. When it's your turn to send the red envelope, you can make demands too!"

"Can't afford to play, and now you want to pin that on me?"

Nicholas Mason let out a cold snort.

"All he did was get Arnold some low-level clerk position at his company. The way he carries on, you'd think he landed him some incredible job!"

Laughable.

My company was a Fortune 500 firm. Getting Arnold—a graduate of some bottom-tier vocational college—an expedited position there was already an extraordinary arrangement.

But because I was always busy with work, because I wasn't as smooth-tongued as Arnold, in their eyes I was somehow lesser than him in every way.

And now they wanted to strong-arm me into fulfilling this absurd demand.

"Leslie."

Isabel frowned at me.

"Arnold has been devastated ever since my sister passed. All he wants now is a place of his own. Would it kill you to help him? Or do you really want to be the kind of man who breaks his word in front of his own daughter?"

I almost laughed.

"I break my word?"

"I make a hundred thousand dollars a month. Fifty thousand goes to you. Thirty thousand goes to your parents."

"Every household expense, every piece of clothing, every tuition payment for our daughter—that's all me."

"When we got married, I promised you'd never suffer. And I kept that promise."

"But these three rounds of red envelopes have already cost me close to two million dollars."

"I don't have the money to buy Arnold a house!"

I thought hearing all of this might stir something in Isabel and her family. Some flicker of gratitude. Some acknowledgment.

All I saw was their expressions growing colder.

As if everything I'd done was simply expected. Not even worth mentioning.

Arnold rolled his eyes.

"No money? Then borrow some. Aren't you some big-shot project director? Skim a little off the company funds—no one would even notice. Just put it back later."

"Or better yet—when your parents died in that car accident, didn't you get a massive insurance payout?"

My head snapped toward Isabel.

One month ago, my parents had been killed in a car accident. I was the sole beneficiary of their life insurance.

I'd been drowning in grief. I'd planned to set that money aside as an education fund for my daughter.

I'd only ever told one person about that money—and that person was Isabel.

I never expected her to turn around and tell Arnold.

My hands trembled.

Something told me they were hiding more from me.

"That money is for my daughter's education. I will never touch it!"

The color drained from my daughter's face when she heard me.

She tugged hard at my sleeve.

"Dad, I don't have to go to school!"

"But you have to buy Uncle Arnold a house!"

"What nonsense are you talking about?!"

I stared at this girl—the daughter I'd held in the palm of my hand and raised for seventeen years. I couldn't believe those words had come out of her mouth.

But she stepped closer, her voice dropping so low only I could hear.

"Dad, trust me. Just this once."

"Don't ask questions. Just keep playing the red envelope game."

She'd never asked me for anything like this before.

My heart hammered with uncertainty.

Did she know something I didn't?

I closed my eyes. "Fine. I'll do it."

Arnold's voice shook with barely contained excitement.

"Brother-in-law, you really are the best brother-in-law a man could ask for!"

"As soon as the holiday's over, we'll go house shopping. No backing out!"

My daughter cut him off.

"Uncle Arnold, the game isn't over yet. It's my dad's turn to send a red envelope."

Catching the look in her eyes, I pulled out my phone and sent a red envelope into the group chat.

Seconds ticked by.

The group chat was eerily silent.

After a long pause, the only notification that popped up was my daughter claiming the envelope.

I let out a bitter laugh. "What's this? When it's my turn to send one, suddenly nobody wants to play?"

Arnold was the first to recover, forcing out a dry chuckle.

"Of course we do. Hang on."

The others exchanged glances and picked up their phones one by one.

Soon enough, the system showed the envelope had been claimed.

I tapped on the details—and my blood ran cold.

A one-dollar lucky draw envelope, split among five people.

Every single person got exactly twenty cents.

Not a penny more. Not a penny less.

Nanette clapped her hands and laughed. "Oh my, our luck tonight is just terrible! Not a single lucky winner!"

Nicholas chuckled along. "Guess this round's a wash, then."

I turned to my daughter in shock, but her expression was perfectly calm.

This was a lucky draw envelope—the whole point was that amounts were random. And every single person had gotten the exact same share.

Was that probability even possible?

"Something's off. I'm sending another one."

"Off? What's off?"

Arnold erupted.

"Brother-in-law, rules are rules! No lucky winner means the round is void. You don't get a do-over!"

"Where's your sportsmanship?!"

Isabel shot me an impatient look.

"Leslie, what is wrong with you tonight?"

"It was a perfectly good New Year's dinner, and you've ruined it!"

The more I thought about it, the less any of it added up. I turned to my daughter.

"Sweetheart, you send one in the group. Let's see what happens."

Isabel stepped directly in front of her, blocking her.

"Leslie, this is a game for adults. She has no business being part of it!"

My mind was a tangled mess.

But now I understood—completely. This whole thing was a setup. Every last one of them had been in on it.

I turned to leave.

Isabel grabbed my arm.

"It's New Year's Eve. Where do you think you're going?"

My fists clenched slowly at my sides.

Fine. Consider this game the price of seeing people for who they really are.

But just as I thought it was over, my daughter seized my arm again.

"Dad, keep playing!"

"You have to keep playing with them!"

In seventeen years, my daughter had never once talked back to me. Not a single word.

But tonight, she was like a different person.

I even had the absurd thought that something had possessed her.

I took her hand, keeping my voice as low as I could, terrified of setting her off.

"Sweetheart, what's gotten into you tonight?"

"Something's clearly wrong here. Dad's card is already empty—we really can't keep playing."

Before I could finish, she broke down.

"Dad!"

She grabbed my sleeve so hard her knuckles turned white.

"You have to keep playing tonight!"

It didn't sound like a plea.

It sounded like an order.

Our argument quickly drew everyone's attention.

Arnold's eyes narrowed, his gaze darting around as the gears turned.

"Ramona, your dad's got nothing left. If he keeps winning, what's he even going to put up?"

My daughter slowly raised her head and looked at them.

Her voice was steady.

So steady it sent a chill down my spine.

"Who says my dad has nothing left?"

"Doesn't he still have the Southside land project?"

My mind went blank—a sharp, ringing buzz behind my eyes.

The Southside land project was the cornerstone deal I'd been personally spearheading at the company. All the groundwork was already in place. If it went through, we weren't just talking about a seven-figure commission—my entire position would move up the ladder.

More importantly, I had never breathed a single word about it at home.

How did my daughter know?

Arnold's eyes lit up like a predator catching a scent.

"The Southside land project? Now that's a prime cut!"

"Brother-in-law, you've been holding out on us!" Nanette's tone dripped with reproach. "A deal this big and you don't even tell the family? Do you even consider us family at all?"

I stared at my daughter, and something inside me went cold, degree by degree.

All these years, I was the one who stayed up through the night when she was sick. I was the one who drove her to school every single day, rain or shine.

I thought—at the very least—she was on my side.

Instead, she'd handed them my last card.

I was done.

"I'm not playing anymore."

I turned to leave.

Isabel's voice cracked like a whip behind me.

"Leslie!"

"You walk out that door, and we're getting a divorce!"

I didn't look back.

"Then we're getting a divorce."

"I'm done being part of this circus."

The instant I pulled the door open, a chorus of screams erupted behind me.

I spun around.

Ramona had shoved the window open—I had no idea when. Frigid wind howled into the room, and she was already halfway out, her toes dangling over nothing.

In that moment, every drop of blood in my body ran backward.

"Ramona!"

"What are you doing?!"

The words ripped out of me, raw and ragged.

She turned to look at me. The wind had leached all color from her face, but her eyes—her eyes were steel.

"Dad, if you don't keep playing, I'm jumping."

My entire world tilted. Everything went sideways.

My first instinct was that she was bluffing.

Then she inched forward another fraction, and my knees buckled.

Isabel rushed toward me, panic splintering her voice. "Leslie, what project could possibly matter more than your daughter?! Just agree!"

Nicholas chimed in right behind her. "Leslie, I know you're angry, but the child is innocent. For Ramona's sake—can't you just bear with it?"

When I said nothing, Nanette shrieked, "How can you be so heartless?! If anything happens to Ramona, I won't want to live either!"

I looked at my daughter, suspended in the void beyond that windowsill, and a crushing wave of helplessness crashed over me.

"Fine. Fine!"