Chapter 1

I had a nasty tetanus infection in my leg.

My parents tossed me two dollars and told me to buy lottery tickets, saying if I actually won, they'd finally get my leg treated.

Sobbing, I bought five tickets and somehow won 1.7 million.

But when I handed them the winning ticket with trembling hands, I saw no joy in their eyes—just pure greed.

After that, my father drove home in a brand-new car.

My sixteen-year-old younger brother had a fancy uptown penthouse with his name on the deed.

As for me, all I got was 1,000 dollars and a one-way trip to an illegal clinic, where they sawed off my leg.

There was no anesthesia, no painkillers. I died right there on that table, screaming from agony.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day I hit the jackpot.

This time, I'd make sure they knew some debts could only be settled in blood.

I shot awake, cold sweat soaking through my back.

The bone-deep pain felt like it was still gnawing at my legs, even though they didn't exist anymore. The memory of dying in agony made my soul shudder.

"Estrella! Stop daydreaming. Did you get those lottery tickets or not?" My mother's shrill voice cut through the air from the kitchen, sharp as ever, mixed with the clatter of pots and pans.

I looked down at my own hands, which were clutching five lottery tickets so tightly that my knuckles had gone white.

Outside, sunlight poured in, and the laughter of kids playing in the neighborhood drifted through the air like nothing had ever gone wrong.

My hands shook as I reached down, almost afraid to touch my own legs.

They were still there. My right leg burned and throbbed from the wound. It was already swollen and red, but at least both of them were still attached, for the time.

I traveled back in time. I was back on the day I hit the jackpot.

"I'm talking to you! Are you deaf or just brainless?" My mother snapped.

She marched up to me, her apron stained with greasy soy sauce.

She shot me a disgusted look. "What's with the crying? Bad luck follows you everywhere! Two dollars for lottery tickets, and that's a bigger favor than you'll ever deserve. What more do you want?"

I hurriedly rubbed the tears off my face and managed a timid, shaky smile. "I-I bought them."

"If you don't win, don't even think about bothering me," she sneered.

She turned to leave, then glanced back. "Your brother's got a private school interview today. Your dad and I are taking him. Deal with your own leg, and quit trying to make us feel sorry for you."

I nodded, watching her head into the living room, where my father was straightening Felix's tie.

My younger brother, Felix Goodwin, only sixteen, wore a sharp new suit and had his hair slicked to perfection, while my school uniform was faded and thin, with patched-up knees.

"Dad, this tie's way too tight," Felix complained, squirming.

"Just bear with it. This interview is a big deal," my father said, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard him. "We've already set aside 25 thousand dollars for your school. Just make sure you do great today."

25 thousand dollars for school? But my treatment would only cost ten thousand dollars.

I bit my lip so hard that I tasted blood, biting back all the words I wanted to scream.

The three of them left in a hurry. As she walked out, my mother tossed me two dollars and snapped, "Go buy yourself something to eat. Don't starve yourself and give us trouble."

The second the door slammed shut, I collapsed on the floor, and the lottery tickets slipped right through my fingers.

Memories from my life before flooded back, overwhelming me.

I'd begged them to get my leg treated, but all they gave me was two dollars for lottery tickets.

I won 1.7 million dollars, and they snatched up the tickets, bought themselves houses and cars, then left me with just 1,000 dollars and dumped me at an illegal clinic to have my leg sawed off.

My hands trembled as I snatched the lottery tickets off the floor, turning straight to that one—the cursed set of winning numbers.

That was it. That string of numbers flipped my whole life upside down last time, and tossed me straight into hell.

"Not this time," I muttered, my voice raspy but steady. "This time, I'll make them pay."

I tucked the lottery tickets into a secret pocket I'd sewn into my bra. Even my mother had no clue it was there.

I limped to the bathroom, dragging my injured leg behind me.

The girl in the mirror looked pale, with dark circles under her eyes.

I was only eighteen, but I looked old enough to be thirty.

The wound on my right leg was already festering, the edges turning an unhealthy shade of purple.

That damn infection was what robbed me of my leg and my life—the last time around.

I rummaged through the family's dusty old medicine box. There was nothing useful inside, just some painkillers way past their expiration date and half a bottle of iodine left over from who knew when.

I forced myself to scrub the wound with iodine. The pain was so intense that it sent my vision spinning, but I just clamped down on a towel, biting it hard. No way was I gonna let myself scream, not for their sake.

Once I was done, I limped back to my cramped little storage closet, the so-called "room" my family grudgingly gave me.

I dug out the 160 dollars I'd squirreled away under the mattress, which I'd scrimped and saved from my lunch allowance over three long years.

I changed into the best outfit I owned, then slipped my ID deep into my bag, making sure to keep it hidden.

Last time, I was an idiot. The moment I hit the jackpot, I blurted out everything to my parents, and they snatched the tickets, claiming they'd "keep them safe" for me.

This time, I wasn't making that same mistake.

The lottery center downtown was buzzing with people, everyone hustling for a shot at luck.

I kept my head down, wrapped up in a mask and a hat, and my hands were sweating like crazy.

Behind the glass window at the prize desk, the clerk grinned. "Here to cash in a ticket?"

"Y-Yes," I stammered, trying not to shake as I handed over the ticket that could change everything—along with my ID.

The clerk checked the ticket, then his eyes went wide. "Congratulations! This is the grand prize. It's 1.7 million before taxes. You'll need to..."

Everything after that felt like a dream.

I claimed the prize anonymously, careful not to reveal anything personal. After taxes, I walked out with 1.5 million dollars—mine and mine alone.

The clerk suggested I open a new bank account, so I did, setting up a password that only I knew.

"Should we call your family?" the clerk asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"No!" I almost shouted, then caught myself and dropped my voice fast. "No, thanks. I want to surprise them."

When I stepped out of the lottery center, the sunlight hit my eyes so hard that it stung.

I had 1.5 million dollars.

Last time, that money got my brother a house and my father a new car, and I ended up dead because of it.

This time, it was my weapon.