Chapter 1: The News

The television screen in my cramped apartment flickered with the manic energy of the local news channel. I was sitting on my stained beige sofa, eating lukewarm noodles out of a takeout box, wondering how I was going to pay the rent next week.

Then, I saw him.

The headline screamed in bold yellow letters: LOCAL MECHANIC WINS $150 MILLION POWERBALL.

And there, holding the oversized check, grinning like a fool, was Mark. My Mark. Or rather, the Mark I had dumped two years ago because he smelled like motor oil and couldn’t afford to take me to Cabo.

“I can’t believe it,” I whispered, dropping my fork.

He looked different. Cleaner. He was wearing a suit that didn’t fit him quite right, but the confidence in his eyes was new. The reporter asked him, “What are you going to do with all this money, Mark?”

Mark looked directly into the camera. For a second, I felt like he was looking right at me.

“I’m going to share it,” he said. “I just wish I had someone special to share it with. I’ve been lonely lately.”

The message was clear. It was a beacon. It was a siren song.

My heart hammered against my ribs. $150 million. Half of that was $75 million. Even a fraction would change my life.

I looked down at my faded sweatpants. I looked around at my sad, peeling walls.

I didn’t think. I acted. Instinct took over—the survival instinct of a woman who was tired of losing.

I went to my closet. I pulled out The Dress. It wasn’t a dress, really. It was a black silk negligee I had bought for a weekend in Vegas that never happened. I threw a trench coat over it. I put on my highest heels. I applied red lipstick with a steady hand.

I grabbed an Uber.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“142 Oak Street,” I said. Mark’s old house. The rundown bungalow I used to hate.

Tonight, it didn’t look like a bungalow. It looked like a vault.

Chapter 2: The Seduction

The house was dark when I arrived, except for a single light in the living room. Rain had started to fall, slicking the pavement, adding a cinematic quality to my desperation.

I knocked. My hand was trembling, not from cold, but from adrenaline.

The door opened.

Mark stood there. He was wearing a bathrobe, holding a glass of whiskey. He looked tired, but when he saw me, his eyes widened.

“Vanessa?” he breathed.

“Hi, Mark,” I said, my voice dropping an octave, husky and vulnerable.

I didn’t wait for an invitation. I stepped inside and untied my trench coat. It slid off my shoulders and pooled on the floor, revealing the black silk and my bare skin.

“I saw the news,” I whispered, stepping closer to him. “And I realized… I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. I missed you, Mark. Not the money. You.”

I dropped to my knees. The floor was cold, but I didn’t care. I looked up at him, tears welling in my eyes (I had practiced this).

“Please,” I begged, taking his hand. “Can we start over? I was stupid. I was scared. But I love you.”

I waited for the anger. I waited for him to kick me out, to laugh in my face, to tell me he knew I was a gold digger.

Instead, Mark’s face crumpled. He dropped his glass. It didn’t break; it bounced on the rug.

“Nessa,” he choked out. “You came back.”

He pulled me up. He hugged me so hard it hurt. He buried his face in my neck.

“I knew you would,” he whispered. “I prayed you would. I don’t want this money alone. It means nothing without you.”

” really?” I asked, hardly believing my luck.

“Really,” Mark said, pulling back. He looked frantic, intense. “In fact, I want to prove it to you. Tonight. Right now.”

He walked to a wall safe hidden behind a painting of a ship (tacky, I thought). He spun the dial.

He pulled out a heavy duffel bag. He unzipped it.

Bundles of cash. Stacks and stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

“This is the first installment,” Mark said, his eyes wild. “Five million dollars in cash. I picked it up today. It’s yours, Vanessa. All of it. Half the winnings are already in a trust I set up. I can add your name in the morning. But this… take this now. As a promise.”

He shoved the bag into my arms. It was heavy. It smelled of ink and freedom.

“Mark…” I feigned shock. “I can’t… this is too much.”

“Take it!” he insisted, almost aggressively. “Put it in your car. Hide it. It’s yours. Just… stay with me tonight. Love me tonight.”

“Of course,” I purred. “I’m yours.”

Chapter 3: The Night

The night was a blur of passion and champagne. Mark was insatiable, desperate, clinging to me as if I were a life raft in a storm. He kept saying things like, “We’re in this together now” and “Nobody can separate us.”

I drank it up. I drank the expensive wine he opened. I let him ravage me. In my mind, I was already spending the money. A penthouse in Manhattan. A villa in Tuscany.

Mark fell asleep around 3:00 AM. He was snoring heavily, his arm draped over me like a heavy chain.

I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The duffel bag was sitting by the door, waiting for me. I felt a twinge of unease. It was too easy. Why did he have so much cash? Why was he so willing to give it away?

He’s just a lonely fool, I told myself. He always loved you more than you loved him.

I drifted off into a dreamless sleep, clutching the edge of the sheet.

Chapter 4: The Raid

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The sound shattered the morning silence like a gunshot.

“POLICE! OPEN UP!”

I jolted awake. Mark was gone. The bed beside me was empty and cold.

“Mark?” I screamed.

CRASH.

The front door splintered. Heavy boots thundered down the hallway.

“Bedroom! Clear left! Clear right!”

I barely had time to pull the sheet up to my chin before three SWAT officers burst into the room, rifles raised, blinding tactical lights cutting through the dim morning air.

“HANDS! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!”

“Don’t shoot!” I screamed, raising my hands. “I’m just… I’m naked! What is happening?”

An officer yanked me out of bed, throwing me onto the floor. He cuffed my hands behind my back while I sobbed.

“Where is he?” a detective in a cheap suit barked, walking into the room. He looked around. “Where is Mark Sterling?”

“I don’t know!” I cried. “He was here! He won the lottery! Check the news!”

The detective laughed. It was a dry, cruel sound.

“Lottery?” he sneered. “Is that what he told you?”

He walked over to the duffel bag by the door—the bag Mark had given me. He kicked it open. The cash spilled out.

“Well, well,” the detective said. “Looks like we found the loot. And the accomplice.”

“Accomplice?” I stammered. “No! That’s lottery money!”

“Lady,” the detective crouched down, getting in my face. “There was no lottery winner in this state yesterday. Mark Sterling didn’t win a dime. But the First National Bank downtown was robbed yesterday morning. Five million dollars taken. Two guards killed.”

My blood turned to ice.

“Robbed?”

“And the getaway driver,” the detective continued, “was identified as a woman. Or at least, someone wearing a wig. Mark has been on our radar, but we didn’t have the cash. Now we do. In your possession.”

“He gave it to me!” I screamed. “He tricked me! I didn’t know!”

“Save it for the judge,” the detective said, standing up. “Officer, get her out of here.”

“Wait! Where is Mark?” I yelled as they dragged me out.

“That’s the funny part,” the detective said. “His car is gone. His passport is gone. Looks like he left you holding the bag. Literally.”

Chapter 5: The Interrogation

I was in an interrogation room for twelve hours. They showed me photos of the dead guards. They showed me the security footage of the robbery. The robber wore a mask, but the build matched Mark.

“I wasn’t there!” I insisted for the hundredth time. “Check my phone location! I was at home eating noodles!”

“We checked your phone,” the detective said, tossing a file on the table. “Your phone was turned off from 8:00 AM to 12:00 PM yesterday. During the robbery.”

“My battery died!”

“Convenient,” he said. “And here’s the kicker, Vanessa. We found an email on Mark’s computer. Sent to you yesterday morning. Detailed instructions on the robbery plan.”

“I never got an email!”

“It was in your ‘Drafts’ folder, actually. On an account linked to your IP address. It looks like you two planned this for months.”

I realized then how deep the water was. Mark hadn’t just framed me. He had constructed me as the mastermind.

“He hated me,” I whispered. “He did this because I dumped him.”

“Or,” the detective said, “you’re a greedy ex-girlfriend who came sniffing around when you thought he was rich, and got caught up in his mess. Either way, you’re looking at twenty years to life.”

Chapter 6: The Letter

My lawyer—a public defender who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week—handed me a sealed envelope a week later. I was in the county jail, wearing an orange jumpsuit that smelled of bleach.

“This came for you,” he said. “Postmarked from a non-extradition country in South America. The cops opened it, screened it, and let it through. They think it’s a confession.”

I opened the envelope with trembling fingers.

It was a single sheet of paper. And a lottery ticket.

I looked at the ticket. It was a Powerball ticket.

I checked the numbers.

It was the winning ticket. The real one. From two days ago.

The note read:

Vanessa,

I didn’t lie about winning the lottery. I really did win. $150 million. The ticket is real. You can check it.

But I knew you. I knew the moment you saw me on TV, you would come crawling back. You can’t resist a payday.

So I made a choice. I could give you half, and spend the rest of my life watching you pretend to love me while you spent my money.

Or, I could solve my other problem.

You see, I owed some bad people a lot of money. The bank robbery? That wasn’t for the cash. That was to clear a debt with a local cartel boss who demanded a “favor.” I had to do it. But I needed a fall guy. Someone to take the heat so I could disappear with the lottery winnings.

When you walked through that door in your sexy little coat, I knew God was listening.

The cash in the bag was from the robbery. The police found it with you. The email trail? I planted it while you were sleeping.

I’m gone, Ness. I’m in a place with no extradition, with $150 million in a secure account. I’m finally free. Of the debt. And of you.

P.S. The ticket I enclosed? It’s real. But I already claimed the cash option anonymously through a trust before you arrived. That piece of paper in your hand? It’s worthless. Just like your love was.

Enjoy the jumpsuit. Orange never was your color.

– Mark

I stared at the worthless ticket. I stared at the note.

I started to laugh.

It was a manic, broken sound that echoed off the concrete walls of the cell.

He had won. He had actually won the lottery. And he had used the robbery—a crime he committed to save his own skin—to imprison me. He traded a few million dollars of stolen cash to buy his freedom and my destruction.

I looked at the bars.

I had come for a fortune. I ended up with a life sentence.

And somewhere on a beach, Mark was drinking a margarita, toasting to the best investment he ever made: My greed.