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

"I don't want the bottle."

I cut him off cold.

Ryan's eyes lit up instantly. I kept going.

"But I have conditions."

I held up one finger.

"First—you leave with nothing. Except this bottle, everything else is mine."

"Second—you broke into my car and damaged it. You'll cover every cent of the repair. I'll have the dealership assess it tomorrow. Transfer the money to my account by end of day."

"Third—"

My gaze sharpened.

"The house fund had $200,000 of my savings in it. Return that too. Tomorrow. Every last cent."

"In your dreams!"

Mrs. Lambert shrieked first.

"Leave with nothing? Why don't you just rob us outright?"

Ryan's face flushed crimson. "Joy! Don't push it! Even in a divorce, assets get split fifty-fifty! This house, this car—I have a stake in them!"

"And that money—I can't just pull it out of thin air!"

"Can't pull it out?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Then we have a problem, Ryan."

I deliberately slowed my words, giving them time to stew.

"I could just... not divorce you. Wait until after you claim the prize, then file. Half that money would still be mine, wouldn't it? Even if it gets frozen and tied up in court for a year or two..." I tilted my head. "Can you afford to wait?"

His expression curdled.

He knew I was right.

If this divorce didn't happen now, ownership of that windfall would become a legal nightmare.

Delay meant risk. For them, not me.

I let myself smile, just a little. Time to twist the knife.

"My terms are simple: house transferred to my name, car repairs paid, $200,000 returned. Miss even one, and I won't sign."

"We can drag this out as long as you want. See who breaks first. Hint—it won't be me."

I turned as if to head back to my room.

"Wait!"

Ryan's voice cracked with urgency. He shot a desperate look at his mother.

I caught the conflict churning in her eyes.

"Joy..." His tone shifted, pleading now. "Can't you give us a few more days? That's not pocket change. I really can't get it together all at once—"

"Tomorrow."

I didn't flinch.

The longer this dragged, the more chances they'd catch on to my game.

"Non-negotiable."

"If you can't make it happen, I won't just refuse to sign—I might call the cops. See if they're interested in whoever broke into my car..."

The living room went dead silent.

A full minute passed.

Then Mrs. Lambert grabbed Ryan's arm and hauled him toward the balcony corner.

"...loan sharks... your cousin knows someone... handle it first... once we get the five million... we'll make it all back..."

I couldn't catch everything, but enough fragments drifted over.

I smiled to myself.

Cornered dogs really do jump walls.

After a while, they came back.

Ryan looked like he'd aged ten years, but his eyes held a reckless, all-in kind of resolve.

"Fine." His voice was hollow. "I agree. The house is yours. The car money, the $200,000—I'll... I'll figure it out by tomorrow. We sign. We divorce."

"You're sure?"

I held his gaze.

"Once you sign, there's no taking it back. The bottle's yours. Everything else—including whatever debts you might rack up—has nothing to do with me."

"I've thought it through."

Mrs. Lambert rushed to answer, as if afraid her son might back out.

"Hurry up and sign! After this, you won't have the slightest thing to do with the Lyons family anymore!"

Ryan, standing beside her, nodded with a resolute look in his eyes.

Very good.

That's exactly what I wanted you to say.