you were very good at what you did. robbing the wealthy had become second nature to you. sneak in, take what you needed, and slip out before anyone could notice. you’d perfected the art over the past two years. when you were accepted into maxton hall on a scholarship, it was like being handed a golden ticket—an endless supply of rich, entitled snobs with more money than they knew what to do with.

and you? you knew exactly what to do with it.

of course, it wasn’t like you were heartless. you had your reasons for doing what you did. it wasn’t personal. most of the time, the people you targeted wouldn’t even notice the money was gone. not immediately, anyway. and if they did? they could afford to lose it.

tonight was no different. the beaufort mansion had been a challenge at first—its security system was high-end, and it took a while for you to figure out its weaknesses. but you always did. and now, here you were, dressed head to toe in black, your face obscured by a balaclava that revealed only your eyes. your small backpack hung from your shoulders as you moved through the darkened house, silent and calculated.

you’d learned over time where the wealthy tended to hide their cash, the little emergency stashes they thought were safe. you moved through the rooms like a shadow, slipping into a storage room that looked promising. opening one of the drawers, you spotted what you were looking for—a thick envelope, heavy with cash. your fingers curled around it, the thrill of success humming in your veins.

but then, the quiet was shattered.

“excuse me.”

the voice was calm. too calm.

you froze, every nerve in your body lighting up at once. slowly, you turned, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. standing in the doorway, bathed in the dim light filtering in from the hall, was james beaufort. he wasn’t panicking, wasn’t yelling for help. he was just… watching you with that amused smirk he gave to everyone he deemed below him.