Chapter 1

My dad was a hardcore gambler. He always said he had the touch—that one day, he’d win us a mansion.

Instead, he stole my college savings, blew every cent at the table, and turned around to slap me across the face, blaming me for not hiding the money better.

When the loan sharks came to collect, he wanted one last buy-in.

He stole the only thing my grandma left me: her vintage gold heirloom bracelet. He pawned it and lost everything in a single night.

When the thugs kicked our front door open, he pointed at my mom and me to save his own skin.

"Take my wife! Take my daughter! Do whatever you want with them! Just don’t touch me!"

In the chaotic struggle that followed, I was stabbed to death.

As I lay dying in a pool of blood, my mom was kneeling, hugging his legs, and crying, "Frank, you’re so lucky. You’ll win it back next time! Please don't give up on us!"

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the very first day he dragged me into that underground casino.

Fine, Dad. You think you’re lucky?

In this life, I’m going to help you push your luck to the absolute limit.

The air was thick with the stench of cheap cigarettes, stale beer, and sweat. Around us, the clattering of poker chips and the crude shouting of desperate men filled the room.

My dad, Frank Miller, dragged me by the shoulder and shoved a greasy, low-value chip into my hand.

"Elena, you’re my lucky charm. Go on. Put it down and win Dad's money back!"

The warm plastic in my hand and the flashing neon lights of the dingy basement made me gasp.

I had traveled back in time.

I was sixteen again. It was the exact day my dad first dragged me into this illegal underground casino.

In my past life, I was terrified. I cried and begged him to go home.

He claimed I brought him bad vibes, kicked me away in disgust, and went on to lose every single dollar.

On the way home, he took out all his frustration on me, beating me so badly I couldn't get out of bed for two weeks.

From that day on, I wasn't his "lucky charm" anymore. I became his jinx, his personal punching bag whenever he lost.

This time, looking at his bloodshot eyes and greedy, expectant face, I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

I took the chip and gave him a sweet, obedient smile.

"Okay, Dad. I believe in your luck."

He blinked, caught off guard, and then grinned wildly, clapping me hard on the shoulder.

"That’s my girl! That's what I'm talking about!"

He shoved me toward the rowdiest table—the High/Low dice game. He pointed at the "High" section and mouthed at me:

"Put it on High! It’s been Low seven times in a row. High is due!"

I squeezed the chip, my palm slick with sweat.

I remembered this moment. This was the bet where Frank wagered all the money meant for my mom’s urgent surgery.

He put it on High, it came up Low, and he completely destroyed any hope of saving her.

The dealer's cold voice cut through the noise: "Last bets!"

Under everyone's watchful eyes, I stood on my tip-toes and gently placed the chip—which represented my dad’s entire hope—right onto the "Low" section.

Frank’s face turned instantly pale.

He lunged forward to grab it, but it was too late.

"Dice are up! Two, three, one. Low!"

Groans and curses erupted around the table.

Frank’s knees buckled. He almost fell to the floor. He glared at me, his eyes looking like he wanted to tear me apart.

"Why didn't you listen to me?!"

I lowered my head, pretending to be terrified, and whispered, "Dad, I heard the guy next to me say we have to bet against your instinct to win... He said your luck is so strong today that the table is trying to counter you..."

Before I could even finish my lie, a broke gambler next to us slammed his fist on the table.

"Holy shit, the kid is right! That’s how the house works!"

A flicker of confusion crossed Frank’s bloodshot eyes, followed by a sick, manic light.

He gripped the table to steady himself and stared at me.

"Yes... Yes! Why didn't I think of that?!"

He dragged me into a dark corner, pulled out his last few crumpled twenty-dollar bills from his pocket, and shoved them into my hands.

"Elena, my luck depends on you now! Go back there. Whatever they think is going to win, you bet the exact opposite!"

I clutched the crumpled cash, looking at his fanatic expression. My heart was cold as ice.

Your "good luck" starts now, Dad.