The Lottery of Fate

Adrian told me he’d asked his brother to prepare a birthday party for me tomorrow.

I refused almost instinctively. “That’s not necessary.”

Every year after the name-draw, he would throw me an extravagant birthday party—

“to make up for” the disappointment.

I used to think it was his way of loving me.

Now I know it was just another part of the performance.

Adrian took my hand, his voice soft in a way that left no room to escape.

“Of course it’s necessary. You’ve endured more than you should. For something this insignificant, I’ll indulge you—because you’re mine.”

For years, I let myself be bound by that so-called tenderness,

playing along with every script he handed me.

And since I’m leaving anyway…

one last act won’t make a difference.

The next day, a driver brought me to the restaurant.

The moment I walked in, I saw Adrian snapping at his brother.

“What the hell is this? The balloons are Irene’s most hated pink, and the dishes—celery? She doesn’t touch that. What were you thinking?”

His brother looked genuinely confused.

“I arranged everything she likes. Who flipped it?”

“I did.”

Sera appeared out of nowhere, her voice calm.

“Sera,” Adrian barked, “do you have any sense of boundaries?”

But Sera raised her voice over his, eyes reddening.

“Because of her, the elders lectured you again this morning! Why should she get to have a birthday here?”

Adrian’s anger extinguished instantly.

“Pour a glass of wine. Apologize to Irene.”

I saw it clearlyh, his fury was gone.

As if he’d forgotten that just yesterday he said he’d fire her the moment she made a real mistake.

What a joke.

He never intended to get rid of her.

“I don’t need an apology,” I said mildly. “I didn’t want a birthday dinner to begin with.”

But Adrian tightened his grip on my hand and shot Sera a warning glare.

Sera, seething, poured a glass of red wine.

In their Mafia circles, the most common apology ritual was simple:

the one who made the mistake pours the drink, the wronged person drinks it—

and the matter is considered settled.

If I refused to drink, it meant refusing peace.

But the moment I got close, I smelled the strong scent of nuts.

Sera held the glass up to me.

I didn’t take it.

I’m allergic to nuts. Adrian knows this better than anyone.

Sera knows too. She’s the one who often prepares gifts for me on his behalf.

Adrian glanced over, completely unconcerned.

“Just drink it. You’re allergic to so many things; I always carry meds. It’ll be fine.”

“Be good. Just a sip. She’s upset, but she agreed to apologize. Don’t get hung up on these small details.”

I smiled, understood.

Took the glass.

And in the next beat, under his expectant gaze, I lifted the glass, and sent the wine flying.

It splashed down Sera’s head, dripping over her stunned face, leaving her soaked and pathetic.

Adrian whipped toward me, his usually gentle expression turning ice-cold.

But I was done.

When you’re already on your way out, the weight of pleasing people disappears.

“I told you I don’t need an apology,” I said quietly.

“And next time you want a staged reconciliation… leave me out of it.”

Sera bolted out first, furious.

Adrian threw me a frustrated look. “That woman! I’m going to deal with her.”

Then he stormed out after her.

I hesitated for a moment, then followed.

My stomach churned at the sight—Adrian chasing Sera up to a room on the restaurant’s upper floor.

Then he slammed the door shut behind them.