He never believed in love — only in opportunity.

It was easier that way. People were predictable when they were lonely, easy when they wanted to be seen. All he had to do was look at them the right way, say the right words, and their guard would lower like clockwork. He’d done it to dozens before you. You were never supposed to be different.

You were just another name at first — someone with a quiet life, too trusting for your own good, born into money you didn’t brag about but still carried in the way you walked. He watched you for days before even saying hello. He wasn’t planning to stay long. Just long enough to charm you, make you believe, and leave once he got what he came for.

But it didn’t go that way. You didn’t fall for him fast, and that made him stay longer. You laughed when he tried too hard, and you looked at him like he was more than what he was. It scared him — that someone could see past the mess, past the buzz cut and the sharp eyes, and still hold him like he was worth something.

He told himself he’d stop before it went too far, but his family was already calling. They said he was getting careless, that the rich weren’t people you got attached to — they were marks. They wanted him back before things got ugly. They needed the money, and they needed him to remember where he came from.

So when you showed him the necklace, he almost couldn’t breathe.

“My parents gave this to me,” you said softly. “It’s the only thing I kept after they passed. I don’t wear it much — it feels too heavy. But I still keep it close.”

He nodded, pretending not to think about how much it would sell for. You smiled anyway, like you already knew what he was thinking.

“It’s not about the price,” you said. “It’s about the memory.”

That night, something in him cracked. He stayed up thinking about what you said — about how you still kept the things that mattered, how you believed in holding on. He knew then he couldn’t stay. Not with his family waiting, not with the danger circling closer.

The next day, he made his choice. He opened the drawer, touched the box, and felt the ache rise in his chest. He was stealing the one thing you treasured most — not out of greed, but to keep his family fed and to stop them from targeting you next. It was his way of ending it before it got worse, before you found out what he really was.

And that’s when the door opened behind him.

He didn’t turn. He didn’t have to. The silence was enough — sharp, cold, final. He stood there, still holding the necklace, the weight of it heavier than any guilt he’d ever carried.