My family was so poor we could barely afford to eat. Then, out of sheer luck, the lottery ticket I bought on a whim hit the jackpot—five million dollars.

But instead of celebration, chaos broke loose.

My brother’s eyes turned red with madness. He lunged at me, snatched the ticket from my hand and looked ready to rip it apart.

The man who always claimed to love me most—my father—grabbed a kitchen knife and pressed the cold blade to my neck.

“If you don’t tear that ticket up right now,” he snarled, “I’ll cut your hand off.”

Even my bedridden mother, who’d been clinging to life and waiting for money for her treatment, forced herself upright with trembling limbs. Her eyes were wide with panic as she cried out, “Stella, baby, you can’t cash that prize. You just can’t!”

To stop me from claiming the money, they tied me up in the basement and let in a starving wolfhound.

Eventually, the beast tore me apart.

And just like that, I died.

But then—I opened my eyes. I was back on the same day I won the lottery.

——

My brother stood in front of me, holding out two steamed buns. His eyes sparkled with warmth and care. “Stella, once we have money, we’ll take you out for your favorite beef noodles.”

He smiled and added casually, “By the way, did that lottery ticket you bought win anything?”

His gentle voice jolted me back to reality.

I looked down at the familiar ticket in my hand.

It was real. I had come back. Reborn, to the day everything had started.

In my previous life, buying lottery tickets was something I did now and then—just for fun. My family always clung to the hope that one day I’d win big and lift us out of poverty.

We were dirt poor.

I had dropped out of school because we couldn’t afford tuition. My brother was desperate to marry his girlfriend, but without money for a house, she was ready to leave him.

Dad, working as a security guard, had crashed the boss’s luxury car and still owed a mountain of compensation.

And Mom—Mom had uremia. She was dying, just waiting for enough money to pay for life-saving treatment.

We barely had enough to eat. Every mealtime, we’d literally count the grains of rice in the pot.

Then, the night before, I dreamt of a set of numbers. The moment I woke up, I rushed to the lottery shop and bought a ticket.

After the draw, I checked it again and again. I’d won. First prize.

Five million dollars.

Bursting with excitement, I ran to the kitchen, where my brother was steaming buns. I told him the news and handed him the ticket. His smile froze. His face went pale. Eyes wide with shock, he stared at the numbers.

Then, suddenly, he tried to tear the ticket in half.

Panicking, I snatched it back.

“Brother, if we win, we’ll have money!” I pleaded. “You can buy a house, get married! We can treat Mom! We won’t have to suffer anymore!”

But it was like he couldn’t hear me. He lunged again, wild with rage. We struggled. In desperation, I bit his hand.

He stumbled back, face twisted in pain. His eyes were bloodshot. His voice cracked as he screamed, “Stella, you can’t cash that ticket! Tear it up!”

I stood frozen, trembling. That terrifying look on his face—it didn’t belong to my brother.

Then Dad came home.

He saw me cornered and without a word, smacked my brother on the back of the head. “You little punk! Bullying your sister now?”

But my brother, shaking and pointing at me, cried out, “She dreamt the winning numbers! That ticket—she won five million dollars!”

The color drained from Dad’s face. His anger turned instantly to horror.

Without a word, he charged into the kitchen like a madman, grabbed a kitchen knife and came at me.

“Tear it up!” he howled. “Tear up that ticket or I’ll kill you!”

Just as the blade was about to strike, Mom appeared, dragging her frail body through the door and shielding me with her own.

“Have you lost your mind?” she screamed. “You’re going to butcher your own daughter with a kitchen knife?!”

Dad sneered.

“She won the lottery.”

Mom blinked. “So what? Stella's always been lucky. She’s won five, ten bucks before.”

“No,” Dad said. “It’s the grand prize. Five million dollars.”

The color drained from Mom’s face. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Then, without warning, she shoved me away from her and shook her head violently. “No... No. No!”

That was when I realized the truth—my entire family didn’t want me to cash in the lottery prize.

Panicked, I waved my hands, desperate to explain.

“Mom, Dad, this money isn’t just mine! With it, my brother can start a family, Dad won’t have to keep dodging debt collectors, Mom can finally get the treatment and surgery she needs... and I can go back to college! This is a blessing—it’s God giving us a way to survive!”

But they didn’t listen.

Mom and Dad exchanged tense glances, brows furrowed in silent panic.

Then Dad said grimly, “We can’t let this girl leave the house anymore.”

Mom’s face twisted into a cruel grimace. “I have an idea,” she muttered. “Put her in the basement with the wolfhounds.”

I froze. A chill crawled down my spine.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My own parents—planning to lock me up with wild dogs?

Why? Why were they acting like completely different people?

We were drowning in poverty. Five million dollars should’ve been a miracle, a reason to rejoice. Why did it feel like the end of the world instead?

Before I could even make sense of it all, Mom and Dad grabbed me and dragged me toward the basement.

Terrified, I turned and tried to run, but my brother caught me and held me tight.

I cried. I begged them to let me go. I even offered to give them the lottery ticket—to let them cash it instead.

But none of it mattered.

They ignored every plea and forced me down into that dark, damp, foul-smelling basement.

They gave me nothing to eat or drink. And worst of all, they locked me in there with a starving wolfhound.

My family knew—I had been attacked by a wild dog when I was little. I was terrified of dogs. Always had been.

The moment I saw the beast, I went numb with fear. My knees buckled.

I pounded on the door until my fists bled, screaming, begging them to let me out.

But no one came.

No one listened.

Then the wolfhound lunged.

Its jaws clamped down on my thigh, ripping out a chunk of flesh in one bite.

The metallic stench of blood flooded my senses. The pain was unbearable. I blacked out.

***

The next morning, my parents and brother came down to check on me.

Mom stood there smiling, as if nothing had happened. “Stella, you must be hungry,” she said sweetly. “Mom made steamed buns for you.”

I stared at her, my body torn and bloodied and laughed—a cold, broken laugh.

How could she pretend like this?

I shouted, my voice cracking with fury and disbelief, “Why?! Why are you doing this to me?!”

Mom’s smile vanished in an instant, her face hardening into something cold and lifeless.

Dad’s expression twisted in disgust. Without a word, he raised his foot and kicked me hard in the chest.

“Ungrateful brat.”

I gasped for air, pain shooting through my ribs.

Mom’s eyes darkened. The corners of her lips curled into a slow, eerie smirk.

“Well, since Stella doesn’t want the steamed buns…” Her voice was thick with menace.

“Let’s let a few more wolfhounds in to play with her.”

“These dogs have been specially trained,” she added with a chilling calm. “They know how to ‘entertain’ disobedient dead girls.”

They opened the door again.

More wolfhounds came in—wild, vicious, starved.

They tore into me. I screamed as they ripped the flesh from my arms. Blood soaked the floor.

My limbs were shredded. My body couldn’t take it anymore.

By the end of the day, I was dead.

Torn apart by the very people I’d tried to save.

Even in death, I never understood—why?

Why did they all want me dead after I won that money?

Now, reborn, the terror from my past life surged up from my chest. My fingers clutched the lottery ticket, damp with sweat. I took a long, shaky breath.

This time, I’m going to find out the truth.

This time, I didn’t say a word to my brother about winning the lottery.

I figured that if I kept quiet—if he never knew I had the five million—everything would be fine.

But to my surprise, he smiled at me the next morning and asked, “Stella, I saw you went out to buy a ticket yesterday. Did you win?”

My heart skipped a beat.

Forcing a smile, I replied, “No, of course not. Winning the lottery’s not that easy.”

He tilted his head, still grinning. “You’re so careless with numbers. Give me the ticket, I’ll check it for you. Maybe you read it wrong.”

“There’s no need,” I said quickly. “I already checked every number, one by one. I really didn’t win. Don’t you trust me, brother?”

“No—what if it is a winning ticket and you just read it wrong? Wouldn’t that mean our family missed out on a huge chance?” my brother said. “It’s no big deal if I take another look, right?”

I stuffed the lottery ticket into my pocket deliberately and said coldly, “You just don’t believe me. I don’t want to show it to you.”

He thought I was just being bratty. Smiling, he reached out to ruffle my hair, then handed me the steamed buns again. “Okay, okay. I won’t look. You’re hungry, right? Eat something.”

I took the buns and headed for the door, casually tossing over my shoulder. “The weather’s nice. I’ll go get some fresh air.”

Really, I just needed to get out of the house. My nerves were frayed, my thoughts chaotic—I had to clear my head.

But as I turned into the alley, my heart stopped cold.

The lottery ticket was gone.

Every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze. I spun around and bolted back toward the house.

From a distance, I saw him—my brother—standing frozen in the doorway, pale as a sheet. In his hand was the very ticket that should’ve been in my pocket.

Before he could tear it, I sprinted forward, snatched it out of his grasp and ran with all my strength.

Behind me, I heard his furious shout, “Stella! You can’t cash that ticket!”

Even in my past life, up until the moment I died, I could never understand it—why would the brother who’d loved me since I was a child change the moment he learned I’d won the jackpot?

The hatred in his eyes back then… it was something I’d never seen before.

Now, again, he was chasing after me like a madman. I wasn’t as fast or strong and he caught up quickly.

Terrified, I screamed for help. “Help! My brother is trying to kill me!”

The alley was lined with familiar neighbors. They rushed out at the sound of my cries.

My brother hadn’t expected me to shout. Realizing he couldn’t drag me off in public, I dropped to my knees in front of him, tears streaming down my face.

“Brother,” I sobbed, “we’re so close to finally having a good life. Why would you try to tear up the lottery ticket?”

His face twisted, teeth clenched. “You damn brat. Shut up!”

He tried to grab me again, but by then, the neighbors had already rushed over.

Uncle Josh, from next door stepped between us, pushing my brother away.

“What the hell are you doing, hitting your own sister?!”

Other neighbors chimed in.

“I heard something about a winning ticket. Isn’t that something to be happy about?”

“Even if it’s your sister, you can’t just beat her! That’s assault! Do that again and we’re calling the police!”

My brother stood there, chest heaving, veins bulging in his neck. His face was twisted with rage—but with so many people watching, he couldn’t do anything.

Then I saw his smirk.

He was looking behind me.

Confused, I turned—and my heart sank.

Dad was walking over.

He spotted the scene, me and my brother surrounded by angry neighbors. His brows furrowed. It didn’t take long for him to piece things together.

As Dad approached, I tensed, my nails digging deep into my palms. The neighbors quickly began complaining to him, explaining how my brother had tried to attack me.

Dad’s face darkened. Furious, he raised his hand and aimed a hard slap at my brother.

But before it landed, my brother suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs, “Stella won the five-million-dollar jackpot!”

“No, no! That’s not true—he made a mistake!” I cried, panic tightening my chest. My eyes were burning, my voice shaky.

“It’s one thousand percent true!” my brother yelled. “I even took a picture of the ticket!”

With shaking hands, he handed his phone to Dad.

Dad stared at the screen.

His eyes twitched slightly. His gaze locked onto the picture.

He didn’t move.

I stepped forward, my voice weak. “Dad...”

Then he looked at me—and his eyes were bloodshot.

Without warning, he raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face.

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