I won a massive lottery jackpot — $384 million — but I didn’t tell a soul. And the first thing I did wasn’t celebrate. I just sat there, letting the silence swallow the room. I wanted to know who would really still be there for me, so I called my family and pretended I’d hit rock bottom and needed help right away. I sat alone in my living room, the TV still on… and when the numbers started appearing, the remote slipped right out of my hand…

She knows you don’t trust her. She told us everything.

I froze in the middle of the aisle. My phone buzzed again.

You shouldn’t have moved it.

This time the message came with a photo. Grainy, dark, but clear enough. It was a picture of me standing outside the new bank—the exact one where I’d moved the ticket three days earlier.

Someone had been following me. I didn’t know who or how, but they were always one step ahead. And if they knew where the ticket was again, then I wasn’t just being watched. I was being hunted.

I drove straight home after that message, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. Every time headlights flashed behind me on the interstate, I thought it might be them, whoever they were.

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