He Faked a Lottery to Choose Her—Until I Changed the Game Chapter 02

Grant stared at the box.

Something in his voice shifted. “The result’s gonna be the same, Laurel. There’s no point.”

I looked at him. And I smiled.

“You haven’t even pulled a name yet. How do you know?”

The words hit him a second too late.

His jaw tightened, but he kept his voice even.

“It’s been six years, Laurel. One more pull isn’t going to change anything.”

“I’ve got a flight to catch. Can we not do this right now?”

I didn’t move.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

Silence. Then he stepped forward.

“If I pull again, will you drop this?”

“Whatever it says, I’ll live with it. Pull.”

He held my gaze for a second.

Then he reached in.

He set the slip in front of me without looking at it.

“You don’t even need to open it.”

Of course he didn’t look. He thought he already knew whose name was on it.

I picked up the slip. Behind me, he was already reaching for his suitcase.

“Grant,” I called out.

I unfolded it and held it up in front of his face.

Every trace of composure drained from his face.

Not Celia’s name.

Mine.

He grabbed it out of my hand, flipping it over like it might say something different on the back. “That’s not… how is that possible?”

He went still.

“It should’ve been Celia’s, right? That’s what you were about to say?”

Every year, I’d told myself the same thing. This time it would be me.

But it never was.

Not once.

The first couple of years, I told myself it was just bad luck. That celebrating late was fine. That it was the same thing.

That next year would be different.

No one could be that unlucky.

Two slips. A fifty-fifty shot.

And every single time, he pulled hers.

Then two days ago, a friend came over and knocked the box off the table.

When I gathered the spilled slips, my fingers brushed the inside. A slip of paper, taped to the inner wall.

After she left, I sat down with the box.

I peeled off the first slip.

I froze.

Then I kept pulling them out. One after another, until they were all spread out in front of me.

Every single one said Celia.

I sat on the floor with the empty box in my hands for a long time.

Last night, I took out every one of those slips and replaced them. Taped new ones in. My name. On all of them.

Except one. I left a single Celia loose at the bottom.

On the first pull, he’d get the one he expected.

On the second pull, there was nothing left but me.

Grant’s voice went flat. “You knew. That’s why you asked me to pull again.”

“Yeah.” The smile on my face didn’t feel like mine. “Six birthdays, Grant. I spent six birthdays hoping you’d pick me.”

“I thought I was unlucky. Turns out it was never luck at all.”

He’d rigged it. Every single time.

It took him about three seconds to regain his composure.

When he looked at me again, he wasn’t sorry. He wasn’t even close.

“Cece needs me there. And I knew you’d make a big deal out of it, so… yeah. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m not the bad guy here, Laurel.”

A bitter sound escaped my throat. Barely a laugh.

I was supposed to just understand?

And who was supposed to understand me?

Six years as his girlfriend. Six birthdays spent alone while he flew to someone else.

I closed my eyes. Opened them.

Six years. I couldn’t just walk away without giving him one last chance.

“Fine, Grant. Your turn to choose.”

“Her or me. Pick one.”