Stolen hearts

Chapter One

The dimly lit dining room was thick with the scent of roasted meat and the sharp tang of whiskey. Ophelia sat at the long wooden table, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the worn surface as her elder brother, Max, leaned forward with his usual smirk, eyes gleaming with the thrill of their next heist.

"I'm telling you, this guy is loaded," Max said, tossing a folder onto the table. A picture of Jonathan Black slid out-a sharp-jawed man in an expensive suit, exuding power and arrogance. "He's worth billions, and we're going to take a slice of that fortune."

Their father, the ever-calculating and ruthless Leonard Denver, picked up the photo, his expression unreadable. Ophelia watched him carefully, waiting for the inevitable nod of approval. When it came, Max grinned and continued.

"We're hitting him on two fronts," he explained, tapping the table for emphasis. "Ophelia, you'll infiltrate his house. You're the perfect choice-small, innocent-looking, blonde, all damsel-in-distress vibes. He won't suspect a thing."

Ophelia swallowed hard, feeling her stomach churn. She hated this-hated the manipulation, the deception. But she said nothing. She never did.

Max went on, undeterred. "Meanwhile, Ethan will work his way into Black's company. We'll get a business deal in front of him, something tempting enough that he won't think twice before signing. Once he does, millions will be funneled right into our hands."

Ophelia frowned. "And how exactly are we supposed to do that? We don't even have a company, Max. What trick are we pulling this time?"

Max smirked, leaning back in his chair. "We have documents."

"Documents?"

"Fake ones," Ethan chimed in, grinning. "We're setting up a deal with hotels in Argentina. According to our spy, Black has been looking to invest there."

Max nodded. "So, we'll give him exactly what he wants. We'll forge the paperwork-make it look like we own a chain of luxury hotels in Argentina, properties Black will be dying to get his hands on. But here's the fun part-" he grinned, "those hotels are already crumbling."

Ophelia's stomach twisted. "So, you're telling me we're going to sell him a bunch of abandoned buildings?"

Max shrugged. "More or less. His greed for expansion will make him blind to the risks. Once he signs the deal and hands over the money, we disappear. By the time he flies down there to check out his new properties, we'll be long gone. He won't even know what hit him."

Ophelia clenched her jaw. Another elaborate scam. Another victim who wouldn't see them coming until it was too late.

She could feel her father's sharp gaze on her, watching, waiting for her to protest. But she didn't. She couldn't.

Max turned back to her. "Now, for your part-our guy on the inside will tip us off when Jonathan Black is driving alone. That's when you make your move."

"Right," Ophelia murmured.

"You step into the road-make it look real, but not too real. Just enough to get him to stop and take you to a hospital. Once you're there, you pretend you don't remember anything."

She nodded, already feeling the weight of the role pressing down on her.

"And," Max added with a smirk, "you're going to need a little extra touch. A hospital phobia."

Ophelia frowned. "A what?"

Max chuckled. "Scream, panic, throw a fit-whatever it takes to make him uncomfortable enough to bring you home. Once you're inside his mansion, you start gathering information."

She clenched her fists beneath the table. Another lie. Another performance.

Their father finally spoke, his voice low and firm. "You understand what's at stake, Ophelia?"

She forced a smile and nodded. "Yes, Father."

The meeting wrapped up, but Ophelia felt like she couldn't breathe. She excused herself, retreating to the solitude of her small bedroom.

Slipping on her headset, she closed her eyes, letting music drown out the world-the lies, the schemes, the suffocating weight of her family's expectations.

One day. One day, she would walk away from all of this. No more stealing. No more pretending. No more running.

But for now, she had a role to play.

As exhaustion took over, she curled up on her bed and let sleep claim her.

Two hours after her sleep...

A faint breeze slipped through the half-open window, rustling the thin curtains. Ophelia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind restless despite the exhaustion weighing down her body. Sleep never came easy-not when her life revolved around deception, theft, and survival.

She exhaled sharply, pushing herself upright. There was no point in lying there, pretending she could rest like an ordinary person. Because she wasn't ordinary. She hadn't been for a long time.

Ophelia's Point of View

Yes, I wish I could wake up and be someone else. But life isn't a bed of roses.

My name is Ophelia Denver, and I am a thief. A damn good one. My family couldn't be prouder of that fact.

I wasn't always a Denver. I was adopted when I was nine years old. My original parents-whoever they were-probably didn't want me, so they dumped me in an orphanage. But I don't care anymore. I'm too old to waste time worrying about who loves me and who doesn't.

Mr. Denver my father now-adopted me because, according to him, I had a "gift." Back at the orphanage, I was quick, clever, and had a sharp eye for things most kids wouldn't notice. He saw something in me. So, he took me home, and that's where I met my brothers: Max, Ethan and William. For the first time, I thought maybe I'd finally have the love I'd always longed for.

But love wasn't part of Mr. Denver's plans. He didn't take me in to be his daughter-he took me in to be his soldier.

Four of us. Four years. Trained to be his perfect little thieves.

At first, I loved it. The thrill, the adrenaline, the rush of every job. And I wasn't alone-I had my brothers by my side. Well, at least one of them. Ethan and I had been inseparable since the day I was adopted. William, on the other hand, always treated me like a little sister, even though I was older, while Max was tolerates me as long as I did bother him.

Every time we got a job, I was ready to do whatever my father asked of me. I had a gift-he saw it, and I never wanted him to regret pulling me out of that orphan