On the third night Lima lay on his chest, tracing lazy circles with her fingertip, and asked softly,
"Why are you so generous with us?"
Raphael kept his eyes closed, voice lazy.
"You call this generous? Honey, you have no idea how far some simps will go. Trust me—the real ones make this look like pocket change."
Alessandra rested her head on his shoulder and gave a quiet laugh.
"Simps? That word is brutal. But yeah… some guys would literally drop to their knees and stick their tongues out if we asked."
Raphael didn't bother correcting her. He'd given up on Alessandra ever grasping slang.
The fourth morning he slipped out of the Aman, boarded the jet, and flew back to Los Angeles.
February 28th — Biltmore Hotel, downtown L.A.
The joint press conference for Lake Shore Pictures and R.L. Productions was packed. Dozens of outlets crammed the ballroom, cameras and microphones aimed at the long table onstage.
A massive backdrop screamed in bold letters:
Underworld Trilogy — Global Launch
Raphael sat dead center. Gary Lucchesi, president of Lake Shore, was on his left; Philip sat on his right. Next to Gary was the director they'd locked in—Francis Lawrence. The guy was still under the radar in 2003, but his future résumé (Constantine with Keanu, I Am Legend, The Hunger Games) made him the perfect fit for the new Underworld vibe.
Ari and Kate sat in the front row with the rest of the key creatives.
Gary spoke first, announcing that Lake Shore had wired fifty million into the joint production account, with the remaining thirty million coming within the next week. Total budget: one hundred fifteen million. All three films shooting back-to-back.
Then Philip took the mic.
He calmly stated that R.L. Productions was adding twenty-five million to the pot, plus Raphael's ten-million salary converted into equity. Combined, they now owned thirty-five percent of the backend—Lake Shore had quietly conceded a little more on the split than expected.
Camera flashes went off like fireworks.
The Q&A started normal—plot questions, character talk, shooting schedule.
Kate fielded a couple of role-specific queries. Raphael gave a long, polished answer about his vision for vampire lore.
Then the tone shifted.
A guy in glasses stood up, mic aimed straight at Raphael.
"Raphael, I have a question."
Raphael's Force perception pinged instantly—hostile.
"Go ahead."
"Outside sources have been speculating heavily about the funding for your Marvel acquisition."
The reporter spoke slowly, every word crystal clear. "Fox News reported that your mother is just a mid-level executive at Ernst & Young making under a million a year—nowhere near enough to support a multi-hundred-million-dollar purchase. So… where exactly did the money come from?"
The room went dead quiet.
Every eye locked on Raphael.
Gary's face tightened. Kate shot him a quick glance.
Philip sat up straighter in the front row.
Raphael stayed silent for a beat, then smiled.
"That's a great question."
He leaned back, gaze sweeping the entire room.
"Since you're all dying to know, I'll tell you."
He paused.
"In 2002, during the Korea-Japan World Cup, I bought some tickets in Britain."
A low ripple of murmurs swept the crowd.
Raphael kept going, calm as ever.
"My luck was apparently pretty good. I nailed every single match."
He looked straight at the reporter.
"You want to know how much I won?"
The guy didn't answer, but his eyes were lit up like a kid who just smelled a massive scoop.
Raphael didn't drag it out.
"One point three eight billion. Dollars. And thank you to the generous British government for letting me bring every penny home."
The room detonated.
Flashes exploded. Reporters half-stood in their seats.
Raphael stayed seated, face completely neutral.
Gary looked stunned. Kate looked stunned.
Even after living in this world for a while, Kate still understood exactly how insane $1.38 billion was.
Down front, Philip covered his face with both hands.
Done. It's all out now.
Raphael picked the mic back up for one final line.
"I'm only saying this once. I won't comment on it again."
He set the mic down, stood, and walked offstage.
Behind him the press conference turned into pure chaos.
By the end of the day the entire country had lost its mind.
New York Post front page: 1.38 Billion! Raphael Lee Admits He's the World Cup Betting God
Los Angeles Times: Another Bombshell: One Lucky Bet Changed Everything
Wall Street Journal went financial: If true, this is the largest single sports-betting win in history
TV, radio, talk shows—all of them ran the story nonstop.
Raphael's name owned every headline.
What surprised everyone was the public reaction.
Instead of skepticism, America fell in love with the ultimate underdog story.
Lottery. Gambling. Stocks. As long as it was legal, it was pure American Dream.
Add Raphael's mixed features and that "regular guy who made it" vibe, and the narrative flipped positive overnight.
Polls showed more than eighty percent of people thought he was "cool." Less than ten percent questioned it.
Even better for Raphael: the new Underworld suddenly became the most talked-about project in Hollywood.
The day after the press conference, Lake Shore's phones melted.
Foreign distributors, DVD buyers, TV networks, even game companies flooded in asking about partnerships.
When Gary called Raphael, his voice was actually shaking with excitement.
"Raphael, because of what you said, this project is now the hottest thing in town! We haven't even started shooting and it's already generating more buzz than half the A-list movies that are about to release!"
Raphael leaned back on the couch, genuinely surprised.
"That's… good?"
"It's fantastic!"
Gary was laughing. "I'm only worried about one thing."
"What?"
"That you don't say anything else that blows up the internet again."
Raphael's face froze for half a second.
"Don't worry. When I need to shut up, I shut up."
Early March, Raphael got an unexpected call.
Philip's voice sounded weirdly amused.
"Rafe, somebody's been spamming the company inbox with dozens of emails."
"Who?"
"Stephanie Meyer."
Raphael didn't catch it at first, then it clicked—this was the Twilight lady he'd been waiting for.
"Who?"
"A stay-at-home mom in Arizona."
Philip said, "She's sent dozens of emails, each with a story outline about vampires and werewolves."
"You read any?"
Philip sounded like he was in pain. "I did. It's… extremely soapy. Vampires and werewolves in love, a human girl stuck in the middle, nonstop angst. I got goosebumps in the worst way."
Raphael laughed silently. Good. Now you know how I felt.
Philip kept going.
"Her outline has a ton of overlap with the one you gave us. Same forbidden love, same love triangle, same… addictive trash that makes you hate yourself for wanting more. Definitely aimed at female readers."
Raphael took a deep breath.
"Where is she?"
"Phoenix, Arizona."
Philip sounded nervous. "You want to meet her? I can handle it—"
Raphael rolled his eyes. "What are you thinking? You fly out tomorrow. Sign her."
"Sign her? How?"
"Give her a writer credit. Not full-time—just let her handle the outlines. Copyright stays with us, she gets paid. Be generous on the fee."
"How much?"
Raphael remembered the Twilight books had made Stephanie tens of millions in royalties eventually.
"Start her at two hundred thousand. Tell her we'll renegotiate if it becomes a book series."
Philip sounded shocked.
"Rafe, are you serious? Over a housewife's cheesy vampire-werewolf story?"
Raphael shook his head, amused. I already feel like I'm being too nice, and you're worse.
"Philip, trust me. This woman's writing is going to be worth a fortune one day."
Philip sighed.
"Fine. I'll fly to Phoenix tomorrow."
---
One week later Philip called back.
"Done."
Raphael was on the couch.
"How'd it go?"
"Stephanie Meyer. Mid-thirties, three kids, full-time mom."
Philip sounded half-impressed, half-bewildered. "When I showed up she was changing a diaper and the living room was covered in toys. Her husband was at work—he had no idea she even wrote."
"She signed?"
"She signed. Two hundred thousand. She didn't even hesitate. Kept saying she just really loved the story."
Raphael exhaled in relief.
With the contract in place, he now owned his golden goose.
Of course he believed her—she really did love the rewritten Underworld (which was basically Twilight at its core). She created the damn thing.
"You gave her the outline?"
"Gave it to her."
Philip sounded relieved. "She says she'll have the first draft in twenty days. I read her old stuff—it meshes perfectly with yours. Same addictive, hate-watch style. Female audience all the way."
Raphael nodded, satisfied.
"Tell her to send it to me the second it's done."
He hung up and couldn't help laughing quietly.
Stephanie Meyer—the original Twilight creator.
Who would've thought she'd come knocking on his door?
Butterfly effect? Hell yeah.