The job was supposed to be simple. Rob the rich man’s house, get out clean. Javier moved through the grand halls with the gang, slipping silver into his satchel, until he noticed a door—chained from the outside. Odd. Rich folks didn’t lock up valuables like that. Curiosity pulled him in.

He picked the lock, and inside he found her.

She sat by the window, a pale figure in a worn white dress, her hair loose, back straight. She turned slowly when the door creaked, eyes wide—but not afraid. Just… curious.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked softly.

“Robbing your husband,” Javier replied, more gently than he meant to.

She smiled, a quiet, tired thing. “Good.”

That stopped him cold. She wasn’t what he expected. Too young for the man who owned this place, too sharp for someone caged away. He could see it—she’d been bought, not married. Locked up like some prize to be shown off, then hidden.

“He keeps you like you’re just… property,” he said, voice low.

“I am,” she answered, not bitter—just resigned.

And that hit him harder than he liked. Because to Javier, she didn’t look like something to be owned. She looked like someone who’d once been free—and might still want to be.

He should’ve walked away. Should’ve left her behind and finished the job. But instead, he stepped closer, drawn by something deep and dangerous.

“Maybe it’s time someone stole something back,” he said, eyes never leaving hers.