The Bet That Ruined Us Novels & Stories

What I was doing was wrong, but at this point, I didn't care anymore. There might be some part of my life that she didn't know about. Like how some guys placed a bet on me in college. I thought that since we were all in the university, we should all be mature and not play stupid games, but guess what? I was used as a pawn in dozens of their games. They had placed a 5000 dollar bet on me. The guy was to woo me and date me till I fell for him and then dump me. He was also required to make a video of the breakup and show the whole school.

I always race with Lucas. My car was parked out front, sleek and menacing under the neon lights—then his. I always come in first. Lucas second. I've only lost twice… maybe three times. I used Rhett’s money—or technically, my money—to cover the bets. The company’s mine too, anyway. I just don’t want to deal with the office side of things. Office life isn’t for me. Betting, gambling—that’s what I do. Earlier today, I even won a crude bet Lucas set up: whoever fucked Marirose—the new bartender—within a week would win fifty grand. I had her in less than a week.

Ross Global Media officially bankrupt within 72 hours if not contained. JM sank into his chair, the reality crashing through him like a blade. He ran both hands down his face, exhaling a trembling breath. Billions. Gone. Reputation. Destroyed. And the woman he once loved… turned into his executioner. He could still see her face from last night the madness in her eyes, the tremor in her voice when she’d said You’ll regret it. He closed his eyes. “You’ve already won, Eva,” he murmured bitterly. “There’s nothing left to destroy.”

I gripped the edge of the shelf for support, my knees threatening to give way. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the room kept spinning. I had spent my entire life not knowing them. Not remembering them. I had clung to the little fragments of them that I had left—old photographs, faded memories of lullabies, the stories I told myself about who they might have been. And now—Dante had ripped it all away. Betrayers. Criminals. People who had sealed their own fate. And mine. "Your father made one mistake," Dante said, rising from his chair. He moved toward the liquor cabinet, his steps unhurried, casual, as if we were discussing nothing more significant than the weather. "He trusted the wrong person

As if twenty million was just a clerical error, the way you forget a decimal point in an email. But no. Twenty. Million. Fucking. Dollars. It wasn’t gambling. It wasn’t a bad stock. This wasn’t carelessness. This was ruin—wrapped in crisp, legal font. And I was in it. All the way up to my signature. This has to be some type of mistake Wilbet was careless yes but surely he couldn't be this reckless right? My name was listed as collateral. I was a placeholder. A pawn. A possession. A token, lodged between a sports car and a country estate.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry. At least you have me and Maurice." "Only you." “What?” Betty frowns. "You mean-" “Yup,” I nod. "I'm single again." She covers her mouth with her hand. "Shit," she blurts. "This is way too much for one weekend, Mindy. I'll bring something to make this day tolerable." She comes back with a box of chocolate and opens it. "Now tell me everything." I take a deep breath and tell her all about Maurice, how he gambled away the IVF money, how he dumped me, and all the batshit crazy series of events.

How did wrecking Maxello’s life make him deserve me? “You’ve lost your mind.” We’d only met days ago and he was already acting obsessed. The bet was stupid, I hadn’t taken it seriously and he didn’t own me. “If you’re doing this for the bet, you haven’t won. The wedding isn’t called off yet. You have no right to touch me.” I said, and he let go. He stepped back, a dark smile on his lips while I rubbed my wrist where he’d held me. “Too late, I already won. You’ll get the news tomorrow. But don’t worry…I’ll wait until then to claim you.” He sounded like he meant it.

Three years ago, I suffered a miscarriage while helping Julian Holt, my husband, secure a crucial deal. The doctor informed me that my uterus had to be removed due to severe blood loss, and I would never be able to conceive again. Julian flew back that same night. He knelt by my hospital bed and slapped himself repeatedly. His eyes were bloodshot. “It’s all my fault! If it weren’t for me and that business deal, you wouldn’t be in this state, and we wouldn’t have lost the child… It’s all my fault!” Over the next month, he went back and forth between the company and the hospital, visibly growing thinner by the day.

I documented every transaction and theft. ‎ ‎And I discovered something beautiful, Marcus was an idiot. ‎ ‎He'd been so confident that I was dead, so assured that nobody would question his narrative, that he'd gotten sloppy. He'd left a trail of fraud that was almost laughable. He'd stolen from clients. He'd embezzled from the business. He'd hidden money in accounts with with stupid names. "BeachHouseFund." "VictoriasBitches." He might as well have labeled them "Illegal Money."

She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of the folder, attempting to guide my attention back to the text. "I know this is incredibly painful for you to face. Intimacy makes us vulnerable, and nobody wants to believe that the woman they loved was capable of such a deep, systemic betrayal. But the bank records don't lie, dear. Lawrence Vance has been using her from the very start to compromise your position on the board—" "Stop it," I said.