Chapter 4

The five thousand dollars from the lottery ticket felt more valuable than any money I'd ever earned. It was a symbol. It was the first drop in a flood that was coming for the Petersons and Derek Stone.

My phone rang incessantly for the next two days. It was Chloe. I let every call go to voicemail. The messages started sweet and concerned, then quickly devolved into frustrated, angry demands.

"Ethan, where are you? Are you okay? Call me."

"Seriously, Ethan, this isn't funny anymore. My father wants to talk to you about the agreement. Everyone is asking questions."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to embarrass me? You walk out of your own engagement party and then disappear? You better have a damn good explanation for this!"

Her mask was slipping, revealing the ugly, greedy face beneath. It was satisfying to listen to.

Mr. Peterson left messages too, his booming voice laced with barely concealed threats.

"Son, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but it ends now. You will come to my office tomorrow at noon to sign those papers and we will put this foolishness behind us."

They were getting nervous. My disappearance was an unexpected variable in their neat little equation. They needed me compliant. They needed me signed on the dotted line to fully cement the ritual's power.

The real blowback, however, came from Derek's "accident." The news portrayed him as a tragic figure, but I knew the truth. The energy he'd tried to pull from me had been tainted by the obsidian stone. He' d reached for a piece of my luck and had gotten a face full of karmic backlash instead.

On the third day, I finally answered a call from Chloe. I made sure to sound distant and confused.

"Ethan? Finally! Where have you been?" she demanded.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice flat. "I just... I needed some time to think. Everything felt like it was moving so fast."

"Think? Think about what?" she snapped. "About humiliating my entire family?"

"No, about us," I lied smoothly. "About the future. That contract... it felt like a lot, Chloe. It felt less like a marriage and more like a business merger."

There was a pause on the other end. I could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she shifted tactics from anger back to manipulation.

"Oh, baby," she cooed, her voice suddenly soft and dripping with false sympathy. "I told you, that's just my father. He's old-fashioned. He just wants to make sure we're secure. We can talk about it, I promise. Just... come see me. Please? I miss you."

"I miss you too," I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

"I'm at The Gilded Cage tonight," she said. "A little celebration for Sarah's new job. Come meet us. We can talk after. Just us."

The Gilded Cage. The same overpriced, pretentious downtown bar where, in my first life, I had walked in on her and Derek celebrating my impending doom. They had been laughing about how stupid I was, how my bad luck was already funding Derek's new venture. It was the place my last shred of denial had died.

"Okay," I said. "I'll be there."

"Wonderful! I can't wait to see you," she chirped, and hung up.

I put the phone down, my heart beating a slow, steady rhythm. She thought she was luring me back into the fold. She had no idea she was walking right into my trap.

That evening, I didn't dress up. I wore jeans and a simple, dark jacket. I arrived at The Gilded Cage an hour before I was supposed to meet them. I found a small, dark table in a corner, partially obscured by a large potted plant, with a clear view of the main lounge area. I ordered a club soda and waited.

They arrived right on time. Chloe, her sister Sarah, and her parents. They took a prominent booth in the center of the room. A few minutes later, Derek Stone limped in, his leg in a large cast, a scowl on his face. My hand tightened around my glass as I watched Chloe rush to his side, helping him into the booth, her hand lingering on his arm for a fraction too long.

I took out my phone, opened the voice recorder app, and placed it on the table, microphone pointed in their direction. The acoustics in the bar were surprisingly good.

I watched them for the next hour. I saw the fake smiles and the hollow laughter. Then, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson left, followed shortly by Sarah, leaving Chloe and Derek alone in the booth. Their entire demeanor changed. The pretense dropped.

"Is he coming?" Derek grumbled, rubbing his cast. "I swear, this damn leg is killing me."

"He said he would," Chloe replied, her voice sharp with annoyance. "He's getting flaky. Walking out of the party, ignoring my calls. And he questioned the contract."

"He's a fool, but he's not a complete idiot," Derek sneered. "He's probably getting cold feet. We need that signature, Chloe. The connection is unstable without it. My funding is contingent on the next quarter's projections, and my projections are contingent on his 'bad luck' accelerating. This little trip down the stairs set me back. The ritual is sputtering."

My blood ran cold hearing it confirmed so baldly. They weren't even trying to hide it.

Chloe reached across the table and put her hand on his. "Don't worry. I'll handle him. He's in love with me, remember? He's a romantic fool. I'll cry a little, tell him how much he hurt me, how the contract is just a silly piece of paper to make my daddy happy. He'll sign. He always does what I want in the end."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Once we have his signature, once the link is permanent and we drain everything he has-his creativity, his finances, his future... we can finally be together properly. The way we always should have been. My family will have its security, you'll have your empire, and I'll have you."

Derek's scowl softened into a smug grin. He leaned in and kissed her, a long, possessive kiss right there in the open.

I didn't flinch. I didn't feel a surge of jealousy or heartbreak. All I felt was a profound, chilling calm. The last vestiges of the man who had loved Chloe Peterson died in that moment.

I watched them for another minute, their heads close together, plotting the rest of my destruction.

Then, I calmly pressed 'stop' on the recording. I saved the file, labeling it 'Insurance.' I paid for my drink and stood up.

I walked out of the bar without them ever knowing I was there. They were waiting for the romantic fool to walk through the door and fall into their trap. But that man was already dead. And the person who had taken his place was coming to collect.