What Practical Tips Does 'Stolen Focus' Offer For Focus?

“Fuck! You’re so thick… give me every inch of that beautiful cock.” The other person's voice echoed right then, and I froze as the moonlight spilled over their profile. Blonde hair, damp and messy… my brother, Hunter. No! My body stilled as if my heart had stopped beating, my lips numb as I whispered their names. “Nikolai? Hunter?” *** With her job covering the cost of a luxurious week-long year-end retreat, Reva was looking forward to a well-deserved vacation that she hoped would provide a reset and opportunity to relax. But after a wild night of partying, she awoke to discover her husband missing from their bed. Disoriented and hungover, she stumbled through the villa, drawn in by strange sounds. Following the sounds, her world collapsed at the sight of her husband and brother tangled in the dark. *** Humiliated and shattered, Reva nearly made a fatal decision—until she was saved by the last man she ever expected: Dr. Levi Price—her boss. The brilliant neurosurgeon and cold, untouchable heir to the powerful Price medical empire presented Reva with a shocking revenge plan. “Let's pretend we're dating and show him something he never expected to see." Reva knew it was reckless. Dangerous even. But she quietly said, “It's the craziest thing I've ever done, but let's do it and show the bastard." A fictitious relationship between boss and employee should have been straightforward. Just a performance. *** But what happens when revenge turns into obsession, and fake love becomes something neither of them can escape?

On the day I rejected Isabelle Hale, Wall Street's newest golden girl, everyone thought I had lost my mind. She had everything: a Wharton degree, a national finance championship, a perfect family name, and a résumé polished enough to make doors open before she even knocked. But I knew what was hiding behind that name. Fifty years ago, her grandfather stole my grandmother's acceptance letter, her New York scholarship, and the future she had earned with her own hands. He used them to escape an Appalachian coal town with another woman, then built himself into a celebrated Ivy League professor who lectured rich students about ethics. My real grandmother, Grace Walker, was left behind in coal dust and shame. My mother grew up carrying the weight of that stolen life. They lifted me out anyway. I made it all the way to Manhattan, to a glass conference room at Northbridge Capital, where Isabelle sat across from me in a black suit tailored like victory. She thought her family name would protect her. She thought I would bow. Instead, I closed her file and said, "You didn't pass." By the next morning, they had fired me, dragged my name through the mud, and turned a press conference into my public trial. They forgot one thing. I didn't climb to the top of Wall Street to beg for a seat at their table. I came to take back every name, every chance, and every voice they stole from women like us.

When her marriage ended she thought it was the end until she dusted herself and reentered the working world. She never thought she was going to find her life and the love like no other. The Stolen Moments kept her on her toes and alive

My wife's first love was bound to an "overachiever" system—every ounce of exhaustion he racked up from grinding away at work got transferred straight to me. He pulled seven straight all-nighters to land a multi-million-dollar deal and became a legend in the industry. Meanwhile, I ended up in the ER with heart failure. When I tried to explain it to my wife, she shot me a look of pure disgust. "You're just born lazy," she snapped. "You can't stand seeing him succeed at such a young age, so you make up some sick fairy tale to accuse him." After that, every late night he pulled chipped away at my body. First came nervous exhaustion, then organ failure—until I was hanging on by a thread. I went to the hospital for tests, but the doctors couldn't find a thing. A few even hinted I might be suffering from paranoid delusions. Then, to get his company listed on the stock exchange, he locked himself in his office for two weeks straight. I wound up dead from overexertion in my own room. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night of his very first all-nighter. This time, I bolted the door, pulled out a full strip of sleeping pills, and smiled. "Time to sleep."

Adrian Wells just wants to be left alone. Quiet nights, warm tea, and his sketchpad are all he needs to survive in a world that has taken too much from him already. Scarred by the fire that claimed his family and plagued by anxiety that keeps him from truly living, Adrian has grown used to solitude. But someone else has been watching—and waiting. When a black box appears at his doorstep, filled with unsettlingly personal gifts, Adrian brushes it off as a prank. But the messages grow bolder. The intrusions into his life become impossible to ignore. Someone knows him. Someone sees him. And that someone is Evan Thorn. Evan isn’t just a stalker—he’s a protector in his own twisted way. Rich, intelligent, and obsessive, he believes Adrian is his to love, to shield, to possess. From anonymous letters to watching from the shadows, Evan orchestrates a careful descent into Adrian’s world, eliminating anyone who gets too close. But he isn’t the only one watching. When a more violent rival stalker emerges, Adrian finds himself caught between two versions of danger: the chaos of the unknown and the devil he’s slowly come to understand. As the walls close in, Adrian is forced to rely on Evan—the very man who shattered his sense of safety. What begins as fear turns into something darker: a toxic intimacy that blurs the line between captor and comfort. As Adrian starts to feel seen for the first time in his life, he questions whether love can grow in the shadows—or if it’s just another kind of cage. In a story about obsession, trauma, what, If someone breaks you just to put you back together, is that still love? And when you finally escape them, do they ever really leave?

Granny Agnes Forrest, an old traveling spiritual medium, said the sister we'd finally found after ten years missing had been so badly frightened that her soul had slipped loose from her body. She needed my memories to burn as lamp oil. Forty-nine days, start to finish, before Harper Ellison's spirit would finally settle. The first time they drained a memory from me, I forgot I was allergic to shellfish. I ate the shrimp my brother Grayson Ellison put on my plate and went into shock, straight into the ICU. Mom and Dad sat in the next room over, watching cartoons with Harper. They said the sound of my monitors was too loud, so they shut the door. After the twentieth draining, I forgot how to act sweet and needy around my own parents. After the fortieth, I forgot how to stay up waiting for my brother to come home from work at night. Today was day forty-nine. The last one. For the first time I could remember, Grayson walked into the basement himself, carrying a bowl of hot soup. "Once we finish draining the last of it today, we'll call it even. You'll have paid off the ten years you took from her. After this, we'll treat you like our real sister too." I looked up and watched him quietly, without a word.