He Faked a Lottery to Choose Her—Until I Changed the Game Chapter 01

My boyfriend Grant Whitmore pulled out the birthday draw box. Same as every year.

Celia Voss and I shared a birthday, so Grant left it up to chance: a blind draw to pick which one of us got him for the day.

Five years. He’d never once pulled my name.

This time, before he reached in, I stopped him.

“Will it be me this time?”

His hand hovered over the box.

“That’s not how it works, Laurel. It’s random.”

Something guilty crossed his face. Just a flash.

“Fine,” I said quietly. “Go ahead.”

He unfolded the slip. Celia. Again.

Six years straight. Not once.

He tucked the slip back in. Not even a flicker of surprise.

“Guess you’re on your own again this year. I ordered a cake for you, though. Don’t forget to pick it up.”

I didn’t say anything.

He was halfway to the door when I finally spoke.

“Grant. I’m done.”

…

He stopped.

He turned around slowly.

He blinked. “Break up?”

I held his gaze. “You heard me.”

“I want to break up with you, Grant.”

I didn’t expect it to be that easy to say.

The strange part was how calm I felt.

No pain. Not even a little.

Maybe I’d gotten used to it. Or maybe there was nothing left to feel.

He stared at me for a long beat.

“Is this about the draw? Because I’m not spending your birthday with you?”

I didn’t answer.

Grant let out a frustrated breath.

“You and Cece have the same birthday. You agreed to this. I didn’t force you.”

“So, what? I don’t pull your name and suddenly it’s over? That’s really where we are?”

Cece. That was what he called Celia, his childhood best friend, the one who’d been in his life long before me.

She’d always had fragile health. She’d been recovering in Harborwick for years.

Grant hadn’t missed a single one of her birthdays since they were kids.

My birthday fell on the same day.

When we started dating, the draw box was his solution.

I didn’t want to fight about it. So I said yes.

Two slips. Fifty-fifty odds. That’s what I kept telling myself.

He pulled her name every single time.

Year six. Celia again.

“This isn’t a tantrum. I want out.”

“Laurel.” His voice went sharp.

“You want to end six years over a birthday draw? Seriously?”

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

Nails biting into my palms.

The sting crawled all the way up to my chest.

A thousand little needles pressing in at once.

So I could still feel after all.

My voice came out raw and broken.

“Yeah. Just because of that.”

“So we’re done.”

He looked at me like he was trying to read something that wasn’t there.

The silence stretched. Then he exhaled.

He looked at me like I was being completely unreasonable.

“Why do you always have to make it a competition with Cece?”

“A competition?”

I’d never competed with her.

Even if I had, I wouldn’t have won.

Grant’s eyes drifted to the box on the table.

When he looked back at me, his voice had dropped. Gentler now.

“Let me fly out to see Cece first, and I’ll catch a late flight back so we can celebrate yours. Okay?”

That was his compromise. Every year. The same one.

He’d go to Celia first.

Then come back and give me his leftover hours.

I was done being the afterthought.

“Why can’t I come first? Just once. Go to her after.”

I wasn’t yelling. I wasn’t even angry anymore. “I’m your girlfriend, Grant. And you rely on a slip of paper to decide if I’m worth showing up for.”

Grant froze.

His gaze dropped.

“You know how fragile Cece is. She counts on me being there, and she always has.”

“I already drew her name. I can’t just bail on her…”

And just like that, the last thread of hope I was holding snapped.

I uncurled my fists.

I picked up the box.

Shook it twice. Set it back down.

Then I slid it toward him.

He looked at me in confusion.

“Fine. Draw again.”

“Go on.”