Dear Ex-Wife, the Apocalypse King Has No Mercy.

Chapter 4: The Lottery and the Trap He Set for Himself

Lexi hung up the phone with a derisive click of her tongue.

Marrying Rhys had been nothing more than a masterstroke of convenience. 

It was a hasty shield to avoid the scandal of an unmarried pregnancy, keeping her real lover’s reputation pristine.

Better yet, Rhys had been criminally easy to manipulate. He was essentially a live-in servant who cooked, cleaned, took care of the child, and handed over nearly every dollar he earned.

Now that her son was eight years old, the threat of scandal had long evaporated. It was just a shame to lose such a reliable, free laborer.

The next morning, Lexi arrived at the county courthouse and found Rhys already waiting outside.

"Don't think divorce is this simple, Rhys," she warned, attempting to reign him back under her control. "There's the house, the assets, custody... it's a mess."

Rhys met her gaze with chilling indifference. "I don’t want the house or the savings. You keep the kid, and I'm not paying a cent in child support."

“What?” For one second, Lexi thought she had misheard.

After discovering the affair and proving that Chris was not biologically his, Rhys could have demanded a share of their marital assets. He might even have been able to pursue compensation for the years of deception.

Instead, the idiot was offering to walk away with nothing!?

Exactly as she had always believed, Rhys was hopelessly weak.

“If that’s really what you want,” She lowered her eyes and pretended to hesitate. “I suppose I can agree.”

Rhys saw through her performance immediately but said nothing. 

Because she had no idea that his surrender was deliberate.

He needed the divorce completed before he purchased the lottery ticket.

If he fought Lexi over the house or their existing savings, the proceedings could drag on for weeks. By then, the jackpot would become part of the dispute, and the Stowes would descend on it like starving animals.

So, he surrendered it all. Once the apocalypse hit, he would have plenty of ways to settle the score.

Barely able to hide her excitement, Lexi followed him inside.

With Rhys waiving all claims to the marital property and the DNA evidence removing any question of paternal responsibility, the paperwork was processed in record time.

Just like that, their nine-year marriage was over.

Stepping back out into the open air, a crushing weight lifted from Rhys’s chest.

He tilted his face toward the blazing sun. For the first time in nine years, it was shining on a free man.

And he finally can start carrying out his plan.

He killed time until two in the afternoon, then pushed open the glass door of a lottery retailer two blocks away.

Rhys didn't hesitate. Pulling a betting slip from the rack, his pen dug into the thin paper, shading the bubbles with mechanical precision. It was a sequence burned into his cortex through years of apocalyptic hell.

He paid in cash, buying a hundred identical wagers for the upcoming drawing. The jackpot was maxed out at five hundred million dollars.

With the timestamp on the ticket and the security footage at the registry, his timeline was ironclad: the ticket was purchased solely as a single man. Not one cent would go to Lexi.

Satisfied, Rhys hailed a taxi and rode across the city to Sydvale’s wealthiest district.

There, he entered one of the most extravagant hotels in the city, placed his identification on the marble counter, and booked a luxury suite for the night.

He didn't blink when the clerk quoted him fifteen hundred dollars for the penthouse suite. A brutal, exorbitant sum that, in his past life, would have twisted his stomach into knots.

For years, he had lived on a pathetic allowance of one hundred dollars a month, bleeding himself dry for a wife who despised him and a child that wasn't his. What an ultimate, tragic cuckold.

Never again. 

That evening, Rhys sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his suite, looking out over Sydvale. The city glittered below him like an intricate map, pulsing with a vibrant life that was blissfully oblivious to the fact that it only had ninety-one days left. For the first time in two lifetimes, his heart was completely at peace.

Across the room, the ten o'clock drawing flashed onto the television screen. The colorful little balls tumbled in their glass drum.

First number: match.

Second: match.

Third, fourth, fifth... they fell exactly as they were burned into his memory.

The final number rolled into place. Match.

Rhys looked down at the slip of paper in his steady hand. Five hundred million dollars.

Outside the window, Sydvale continued to shine, unaware that its future king had just claimed his first weapon.

Leaning back in his plush chair, Rhys felt no urge to shout, jump, or celebrate. There was only that same cold, crystalline clarity that had settled into his bones the day he read the DNA report.

He knew exactly what he’s going to do next.

Picking up his phone, he dialed the luxury real estate agent he had reached out to earlier that afternoon.

"I want Estate Number Eight in Maple Grove," Rhys said, his voice smooth.

There was a pause on the line. "OK, sir, and I’m obligated to inform you that the estate is directly across the street from a property owned by the Darby and Stowe family."

Rhys's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I know," he replied. "That's exactly why I want it."