I'd been on a legendary streak of bad luck my whole life. Family, women, jobs—you name it, I lost it. So when the ball clattered into the number 3 and the dealer announced the win on my thousand-dollar bet, I almost didn't believe it. For once, I'd actually won.
The mysterious man next to me had whispered a moment earlier that I should bet on that number. He swore I'd regret it if I didn't, and told me to throw in every dollar I had. Honestly, on any other day I would've ignored him—who's dumb enough to trust a stranger like that? It's not like I've got unlimited cash.
My girlfriend of four years had dumped me last month, saying she'd found someone else—a man more mature, with more money, obviously. Someone who wouldn't take her on dates in the park or clip coupons at the grocery store. The funny thing is, she'd lived rent-free in my apartment for three years and didn't even have a job.
I met her right after college, and to me she was everything. I always tried to give her the best, to spoil her. When my grandmother—the only family who'd cared for me since I was a kid—was hospitalized last year, money got tight. She didn't win that battle. What I regret most isn't the money I spent on her care, but not visiting her enough while juggling three part-time jobs.
Still, I had managed to save a little, thinking it might go toward a future wedding with Sophia. After a month of drowning in self-pity, I made the worst decision of my life: I blew it all on gambling and cheap women. By the time that stranger spotted me at the roulette table, I only had a thousand dollars left. My grand plan to win Sophia back by becoming a millionaire had never even taken off.
But damn, I'm glad I listened. Right now I'm jumping and shouting. Even the dealer, who had given me that pitying look when I placed my bet and asked if I was sure, looked genuinely shocked. He even had to call in a supervisor—or whatever the hell their ranks are—and instead of chips, they handed me the cash straight up.
The addictive thrill of gambling had me insisting on $6,000 in chips. At some point, the mysterious guy disappeared. I kept playing for hours—though time loses all meaning in a haze of spinning wheels, clattering balls, and the faint smell of stale smoke and spilled alcohol. By the time I finally left, it was night, and after losing all my chips, I forced myself to go home.
As I stepped outside, the neon lights buzzed and flickered above me. That's when I saw him again—The misteryous man, sitting alone at a 24-hour diner. Nervously, I decided to go thank my benefactor. I walked over, my heart pounding, and took in his appearance: messy hair, dark circles under sharp eyes, yet his posture was impossibly elegant. His suit was tailored, neat, almost incongruous with the wild disarray of his hair and tired gaze. An older man, with the air of someone who read too much and slept too little, a thick beard giving him an academic, almost prophetic look.
"—I don't want to bother you… I'm Johan, the guy you helped at the casino. I just wanted to thank you," I said, my voice catching slightly.
"Ah, young Johan, I'm very glad to see you. Why don't you join me if you have the time?"
His tone was warm, undeniably friendly, but after his help at the casino, I couldn't say no. Maybe because I was staring a little too intently, he added, "Oh, pardon me—I haven't introduced myself properly. Call me Sam."
At that moment, a couple of donuts and two cups of steaming coffee appeared on the table. I sat down across from him, and to my surprise, he was pleasant, almost calming. He didn't speak much, but he listened, asked the right questions, and nodded in all the right places. I felt a strange freedom telling him why I was in Vegas, stories about my grandmother, and even cursing my ex and her new boyfriend. He smiled the whole time, as if he understood.
"—It's getting a bit late, so we should probably head home," he said eventually. "But… would you like to make one last bet?"
Suddenly, he raised his arm. A gold watch gleamed under the harsh diner lights, but its surface was mottled with a greenish-brown patina, like rust creeping across its edges. There was something about it—old, worn, and yet… significant.
"—This is a very valuable watch," he said. "How about a coin toss? Heads, you keep it. Tails, you give me $10,000 for it. Either way, you win—it's worth more than $10k."
My first thought was that maybe everything—the help, the diner—was some elaborate scam or bizarre joke. The watch didn't look that valuable; maybe he wanted a cut of my winnings. But after talking to Sam, he didn't strike me as malicious. And… I was alone enough that a little money would let me enjoy life for a while. Besides, I knew how hard it was to earn. On a whim, I agreed.
It was heads.
Sam stood, removed the watch, and placed it on the table. His voice dropped to a deep, reverent tone:
"—Fortuna, goddess of fate."
Then he left, leaving the watch—and the money from my account—behind.
After the strangest experience of my life, I picked up the watch. The first thought that crossed my mind: It's a damn Rollie!! I didn't even notice that the few other customers in the diner, the waitstaff, and the cooks all turned to look at me in unison, like puppets, their eyes wide and unblinking.