He Faked the Wine, So I Faked a $5 Million Prize—Now He's Ruined

He coaxed me like he always did.

Facing the pitch-black night outside the car window, I silently tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"Got it," I answered obediently. "Then I'll head back now."

After hanging up, I picked up the exquisite gift box on the passenger seat.

Bulk liquor at eighteen dollars a pound, poured into a bottle worth a fortune, instead became the fishhook that could reel them in.

The real show had only just begun.

The car pulled into the underground garage of the apartment complex. The moment I opened the door, Ryan's face arranged itself into a stiff smile.

"Joy, you're back?"

I changed into slippers and walked into the living room like nothing was wrong. Ryan and his mother sat side by side on the couch, their eyes locked on my empty hands.

"Joy, where are those two bottles of liquor?"

Ryan couldn't wait—he stood up, his gaze searching behind me.

"I left them in the car." I said it lightly. "Something that expensive—carrying it up and down, I was afraid I'd accidentally bump it. Anyway, it's the underground garage, and the car's locked. Safe enough."

Mother and son exchanged a quick look.

Mrs. Lambert pulled out a fake smile and scooted closer toward me. "Joy, well, um, winning a prize is a huge deal. How are you planning to use this money?"

Here it comes.

I lifted my eyes and met her flickering gaze. "How to use it? Wasn't it planned ages ago? Buy a bigger place and bring my mom and dad over so we can all live together."

Her fake smile froze instantly, and her voice shot up. "Buy a place and bring your parents over? No! Absolutely not!"

"Mom, what are you saying?" I frowned slightly. "What is there to disagree with? A bigger place, my parents here to enjoy their retirement—it won't affect you. Isn't that a good thing? Ryan and I agreed on this a long time ago."

"Agreed on what!"

Mrs. Lambert waved her hand dismissively. "This liquor was bought with my son's money! The prize money belongs to him—to the Lyons family! We decide how to use it!"

"What does this money have to do with your parents? Bringing them here to live—no way!"

Her words were like knives, fast and vicious.

I turned to Ryan. He was staring at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Ryan, say something."

I called his name.

"Didn't we plan this together? Save up, buy a place, bring my parents over? Didn't we open a special home-buying fund and deposit money into it every month? You agreed to all of this. You planned it with me."

His body stiffened. His head drooped even lower; his Adam's apple bobbed, but no sound came out.

After hearing this, Mrs. Lambert only grew more aggressive.

"What home-buying fund? That's just you two playing house! Can that be taken seriously? Besides—"

She shot me a sidelong look, the corner of her mouth twisting into an ugly sneer.

"Your dad and your mom—what kind of people are they? Country folks who farm, reeking of dirt. If they came to the city, could they even adjust?"

"Not to mention their habits, their limited worldview—how could that ever match ours? Why should they live with us? It'd be chaos every single day, the whole household turned upside down! The Lyons family can't afford that kind of embarrassment!"

Every word stabbed straight into my chest.

"My parents are farmers. They make a living with their own hands—honest work, not stealing, not scheming." I spoke slowly, deliberately. "They raised me, paid for my schooling, never shortchanged me. Never shortchanged Ryan either. If you look down on them, you're looking down on me."