Blurb：
Avery, a young woman trapped in a toxic household with her manipulative mother Brenda and passive father Gary, scratches a "Platinum Jubilee" lottery ticket in her beat-up sedan. To her shock, she wins $10,000,000—a fortune that feels like a weapon and a second chance. Haunted by memories of being institutionalized in a psychiatric ward by her mother, Avery vows to break free. Returning to her cramped home in Crestwood Falls, she lies about the ticket to her dysfunctional family, including her concerned sister Hazel. As Brenda falls for a TV psychic's predictions and promises $20,000 to her brother David for cousin Christopher's wedding, Avery plots her escape. This intense drama explores themes of mental health, family betrayal, and redemption, perfect for fans of suspenseful women's fiction with elements of psychological thriller and revenge plots.Content：
§01The scratch of the coin against the card was the only sound in the suffocating silence of my beat-up sedan.
One line. Two lines. A match.
My breath hitched.
Beneath the shimmering silver dust, a symbol appeared: a platinum trophy.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the faded upholstery.
I scratched off the prize box below it.
A one. Then a zero. Then another, and another, until the number stretched across the small rectangle like an impossible dream.
2000-50000,000,000.
A strangled laugh escaped my lips, half-sob, half-hymn.
Ten million dollars.
The world outside my foggy car window—the dreary, strip-mall parking lot in Crestwood Falls—melted away.
This little piece of cardboard, this “Platinum Jubilee” ticket I’d bought with the last three dollars in my pocket, wasn’t just money.
It was a key. A weapon. A second chance.
My fingers, shaking, folded the ticket carefully, tucking it deep into the worn leather of my wallet.
Then, the cold dread hit, sharp and sudden as a shard of glass.
The smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils.
The sterile white walls of the psychiatric ward pressed in on me.
*“It’s for your own good, Avery,”* my mother’s voice, thick with false concern.
*“Your daughter is a danger to herself,”* a doctor’s detached monotone.
*“Just sign the papers, and we can get her the help she needs.”*
The memory was a ghost, and it was choking the life out of me.
I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white.
Not this time.
This time, things would be different.
This time, I was ready.
§02
The front door of our cramped little house creaked open, and the smell of stale coffee and my mother’s anxiety hit me.
Brenda was pacing in the living room, her eyes glued to the TV where a gaudy, sequined woman—her favorite TV psychic—was shouting about cosmic alignments.
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