Chapter 1

I dreamed my company was about to go bankrupt, and the only way to save it was to win an antique at auction.

I'd scraped together every last cent, but when it came time to verify the funds, it failed.

Staring at the charge for 2.96 dollars on my phone, I finally understood.

Turns out, my seven years with Charlotte Summers were only worth 2.96 dollars.

Charlotte was crying, trying to explain that it was her brother messing around and accidentally making the charge.

I laughed, and that was it. Because of that 2.96 dollars, I made up my mind: this marriage was over for me.

*****

I've always had a sixth sense that's off the charts.

To put it simply, I see glimpses of the future in my dreams.

Not the full story, just bits and pieces.

But every single time, those dreams hit the mark.

Thanks to that, I went from a penniless kid to now sitting on nearly thirty-three million dollars.

But last night, I had a nightmare.

In my dream, I jumped off the roof of the thirty-story building I'd built with my own hands.

The wind screamed in my ears, and the crowd below was nothing but ants.

I died.

The company went bankrupt, drowning in debt.

When I woke up, I was drenched in cold sweat, my heart pounding like crazy.

The fragments from my dream were racing through my mind, frantically snapping together.

One name kept popping up, the Dragonstone Ink Slab.

I shot up in bed, grabbed my laptop, and started searching.

Three days later, there was a top-tier antique auction in the south of the city, and the star item was the Dragonstone Ink Slab.

The starting bid was about seventeen million dollars.

In my dream, I failed to win it at the auction, and that single mistake triggered a domino effect. One slip led to another, and soon my cash flow was gone. Jason Peters, my arch-nemesis, squeezed me dry and finished me off.

This was my disaster, but also my chance to turn things around.

I immediately started pulling together every cent I could get my hands on.

I cashed out all the company's liquid assets, stocks, and investments.

In two days, I managed to scrape together about 26.7 million dollars and put it all on a single card.

That was everything I owned.

I handed the card to Charlotte, my wife, and repeatedly warned her.

I warned her, "For the next three days, you can't touch a single cent on this card, got it? Not a single cent."

Charlotte looked at me strangely, but she nodded anyway.

Charlotte said, "Got it, honey. You've been acting all mysterious lately. Don't worry, I'd lose my own head before I lose your card."

I looked at her sweet, harmless face. Seven years together, if I can't trust her, who can I trust? Or so I kept telling myself.

But I still couldn't shake that uneasy feeling, so just in case, I changed the password on my mobile banking.

Three days later, at the auction house.

I was in the front row, hands sweating buckets.

The auctioneer was spitting all over the mic, raving about the Dragonstone Ink Slab's history, but none of it registered with me.

My eyes were locked on that ancient ink slab, as if my fate was tied to that thing.

The auctioneer announced, "Starting bid, about seventeen million dollars. Let the bidding begin."

Someone said, "Seventeen million dollars."

Another echoed, "Seventeen point seven million dollars."

The bids soared, and before I knew it, the price had quickly surpassed twenty-three million dollars.