Chapter 3

I watched in disbelief as the betting odds for the rookie running back plummeted in real-time. The market was flooded. By the time I tried to place my own bet, the value was gone. It was saturated.

My phone buzzed. It was Marco.

"What the hell, Maya?" he yelled, his voice raw with anger. "King K just made the call of the century, and you held out on us! We all missed the window because you were being selfish!"

"I didn' t hold out, Marco, I..."

"Save it! We see how it is. You' re keeping the best stuff for yourself now." He hung up.

The pieces clicked into place with a sickening finality.

There was no bad tip from a friend. There was no lost savings.

There was only a leak.

And the leak was my Uncle Leo.

He was feeding my analysis to this King K.

My hands were shaking, but my mind was suddenly sharp and clear. The fog of my past life' s trauma was burning away, replaced by a cold, hard rage.

He came home a few hours later, whistling.

"Did you get the bet in?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral.

"Not yet, kid," he said, patting his pocket. "The odds moved too fast. That King K guy must have gotten the same idea. Crazy coincidence, huh? Don' t worry, I' ll find a place to put it in."

He was a terrible liar.

"My friends are asking for a pick, too," he added casually. "Marco and the boys. They' re feeling left out. What should I tell them?"

A plan began to form in my mind. A dark, ugly plan.

"Tell them to go all-in on the star quarterback," I said, naming the most obvious, can' t-miss play of the week. A superstar QB against the league' s worst pass defense. "It' s a sure thing."

He smiled, relief washing over his face. "Thanks, Maya. You' re the best."

He left the room to make the call. I immediately went back to my laptop and pulled up King K' s social media feed. I waited.

Twenty minutes later, a new video dropped.

"Alright, my people, for those who missed the rookie, here' s a layup for you," King K said, oozing charisma. "The star quarterback against that pathetic defense. Bet the house. Thank me later."

He was promoting the exact same pick I just gave my uncle for his friends.

The betrayal was no longer a suspicion. It was a fact.

My uncle was systematically destroying my reputation in my own neighborhood while building a brand for his secret partner.

But why?

I started digging. I went deep into King K' s old Instagram posts, scrolling back months, then years. He was all flash-rented cars, gaudy jewelry, parties he probably wasn' t invited to.

And then I saw it.

A photo from about six months ago. King K was at a bar, arm around some guy, but that' s not what caught my eye. On his wrist was a watch. A very unique, custom Philadelphia Eagles watch.

A watch I had saved up for months to buy for my Uncle Leo' s 50th birthday.

The man in the photo with him, half-hidden in shadow, was my uncle. And King K-Kevin-was his much younger boyfriend.

The betrayal was absolute. It wasn' t just about money. It was about everything. My uncle was replacing me. He was building a new life, a new family, on the back of my talent, and he was willing to destroy me to do it.

This time, I didn' t tell anyone. I didn' t confront him.

I logged back into my betting account. I took my remaining funds-not much, but enough-and ignored the NFL completely.

I remembered my past life. I remembered the strange, fluke results from a series of international soccer matches that week. A red card in the 90th minute. A goalkeeper scoring a header. A massive upset in the Japanese league.

I placed a series of small, obscure player prop bets. Guaranteed wins that no one could ever predict.

Except one.

I added one more bet to the slip. A deliberately bad one. A bet on a star player to not score against a team he always dominated.

It was a test. A trap.