At three in the morning, the light bulb in the rental apartment flickered in the unstable buzzing of voltage. She stood at the door with her suitcase, the cold light from the screen cutting out flickering red and green K-lines on his face.
"You chose this." She took one last look at the screen filled with liquidated contract positions, her voice as light as a stop-loss closing, "It's either the coin or me."
The sound of the door lock clicking shut was more piercing than the liquidation alarm. He stared at the remaining 0.3 BTC in his wallet — that was the entire bet placed on the last leverage, using the rent deposit she had left behind.
Two years later, in the VIP hall of Wynn Macau, he signed his first eight-digit OTC trading contract, the lining of his suit still hiding that coffee-stained group photo. The fountain downstairs rose and fell with the real-time price fluctuations of Bitcoin, resembling that long needle which eventually broke through his stop-loss line back then.
The phone screen suddenly lit up — a message from an unknown number:
"Is that you in the news, wearing Armani?"
He slowly extinguished his cigar and placed the mug she didn’t take with her into the bulletproof glass display case sent by Sotheby’s. In the crypto world, all losses will return in another way — except for love.
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