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.

Why was everyone willing to try to kill me over a twenty-dollar lottery ticket?

Once the coast was clear outside, I pulled on my clothes and left Owen's apartment. I quickly blocked his number on my phone.

I wandered back near my own neighborhood, hoping to get my ID while my parents were not home.

But as soon as I stepped into the supermarket, they were waiting for me.

My father grabbed my hair, cursing me. "You ungrateful little brat! I knew you had a rotten heart. You just can't stand us getting that ticket, can you? Wait until we get home—I'll show you what happens to ungrateful brats like you!"

I begged the shop owner for help, but he spat on me instead.

"Ungrateful wretch! Hiding a twenty-dollar ticket, are you?! Don't ever step foot in my store again. Get out!"

Before I could react, they tied me up and dragged me home.

"Hand over the ticket," my mother said, sneering.

"I've already told you, I don't have it! Didn't you search everywhere?" I shot back, refusing to bend.

My sister stood nearby, her gaze sharp and hostile.

"Mom, I think she's still pretending because she's not scared. She thinks you're bluffing," my sister said, passing my mother a kitchen knife.

Without hesitation, my mother grabbed it and pressed it against me. "Are you going to hand it over or not?"

The blade hovered just two millimeters from my neck, yet I felt strangely calm. "Mom… are you really going to kill me over a ticket I've already handed over? If it's worth twenty thousand, why wouldn't I hand it over?"

My mother hesitated, but my father was adamant. "You won! Your mom and sister saw it—there's no way we could all be wrong, you wretch!"

I took a deep breath. "You tore my clothes apart and didn't find it. Even Owen checked me over and over. Where exactly do you expect me to hide it?"

Seeing me unafraid, my father locked me in the room. "We'll starve you for three days, then you'll tell us everything!"

They weren't willing to kill me… not yet.

I searched my bedroom frantically, then reached out to the only friend I could trust in this life—Wendy Ovost—and begged her to save me.

When Wendy heard I had been imprisoned by my own parents over a twenty-dollar lottery ticket, she was furious.

"Your cousin, your parents, your relatives… even Owen! How can they be like this? They say it didn't win—so why are they treating you like this? Or… did you actually win twenty dollars and not tell them?"

I neither confirmed nor denied it.

Wendy understood instantly. Without hesitation, she set off to rescue me.

When she arrived, I pried open a window and braided my clothes into a rope. I slid down, reached the street, and jumped on her little electric scooter. Together, we tore through the night.

I didn't ask where we were going. I trusted her.

At a fork in the road, she suddenly said she needed to use the restroom. I waited at the entrance, then noticed the tissue in the scooter basket—she didn't bring any paper.

I moved to hand it to her, but she wasn't going to a restroom at all. She was crouched in a corner, one hand covering her phone, speaking quietly.

A breeze carried her words perfectly to me, each syllable sinking into my mind.

In that instant, I understood everything.

I understood why they had gone completely mad over a twenty-dollar ticket—why they had wanted to kill me.

When Wendy returned, I looked at her calmly. "I'm not running anymore. I'm going back."

Panic flashed across her face. "What? You can't do that! Going back is suicide!"

I let out a cold laugh. "Then let it be suicide."