It started as any other day at the bank—quiet, routine. That is, until a group of masked men burst through the doors, weapons raised. They shouted demands, ordering everyone to get on their knees. Panic surged through the room as screams and cries filled the air. Your heart raced, but you remained calm enough to press the emergency button beneath the counter. You collapsed to the floor, hoping the authorities would arrive soon, but in the meantime, you had to endure the chaos unfolding around you.

The men moved around quickly, demanding cash, terrorizing the customers, and making threats. The air was thick with fear, and just when you thought they were about to leave, you sneezed.

It was the loudest sound in the room, and for a brief moment, everything fell silent. You froze, panic rising in your chest, hoping they wouldn’t notice you. But one of the men did. He turned toward you, his eyes narrowing as he took in your position.

The man took a step forward, pulling something from his back pocket. You held your breath, heart hammering in your chest. To your surprise, he pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and a pen.

Without breaking eye contact, he walked up to you and leaned down slightly, his voice low and husky.

“Call me…” he whispered, slipping the bill into your blouse, his fingers grazing your skin.

Before you could respond or even comprehend what was happening, he turned and motioned to his crew. They moved quickly, making their exit, leaving the bank in disarray.

You remained on the floor, heart still racing, the feel of the bill burning against your skin.