Novel & Cerita Steal Like An Artist Summary

Pathetic, I thought, lips curling. My pencil skidded across a blank page. I recreated her concept with more polish, more symmetry, embedding pave diamonds along the jagged metal shards she’d left exposed. By the time I was done, the piece looked nothing like hers. At least, not to the untrained eye. To me, it was obvious – an elevated theft. I smiled, adrenaline coursing through me. Outdo her. Outshine her. Outlast her. That was how I would keep Lucian by my side. That was how I would erase Eloise once and for all.

I eyed the golden watch on the table, pretending to be interested in something else while inching closer to the table. I knew it was wrong to steal but I couldn’t help it. I was hungry and I didn’t want to die. I couldn't afford to hesitate. I moved closer, each step calculated. Something in my head whispered caution, but hunger roared just a little louder. I could nearly hear the eulogy now: Artemis Vincent, dead at 22 because she was too virtuous to swipe a watch left behind by some rich guy.

“They are lots of people out there who are better than you, but the question is if they can survive me.” Natasha raised a brow. “People who steal from me don't live pass the next hour. But you, you actually survived to the next day, and you're still breathing. What does that imply?” He asked. She shrugged. “I don't know.” “If you can survive stealing from me, then you can survive stealing from other people. You have a special gift of stealing and getting away with it.” Natasha smacked his hand. “I’m serious. What if something goes wrong and I'm in a life or death situation?”

I knew that he would listen to my story, and that he would understand. "I have a story too," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "A story about betrayal, about hurt." The stranger nodded, his eyes encouraging me to continue. And so I did, telling him about my client, about the way she had betrayed me. "I thought I could trust her," I said, feeling a sense of pain and anger. "I thought she was my friend, my confidante. But it turned out that she was just using me, manipulating me for her own gain."

"You all forgot who put you in those suits you wear so proudly. You thought you could take my money and run?" One tried to mumble something through his gag. I walked up to him, leaned down, and whispered, "Let me remind you what happens when you bite the hand that feeds." I picked up the pliers and went to work. You see, when you steal from me, you’re not just stealing money. You’re stealing loyalty. Brotherhood, Respect. And that shit, gentlemen, is worth blood. Now when you defile my orders, you get a taste of it.” I bent beside the loudest one. Stripped the tape from his mouth. He gasped, begging.

I take the first drag slow, because pain that’s controlled tastes better than pain that surprises you. Kaylie slides into my head like a splinter. Kaylie — that whore who took my stash and disappeared. Ten thousand dollars worth of crack. Not cash. Not a stack of receipts. Product. Lines you sell, deals you front, pieces you hand to men who count loyalty like currency. She took my leverage. She took the thing that let me make other men bend and called it hers. I let the anger grow cold and flat, because hot anger gets you ugly and stupid. Cold anger gets you art.

They were to protect her from being hurt again, from letting someone see the raw, tender parts of her that were too often ignored or broken. By the time she finally stepped back from the painting, it was nearly midnight. The room smelled of paint and rain seeping through her window. She stared at the chaotic masterpiece in front of her. It was perfect in its imperfection. Angry. Vulnerable. Powerful. She realized she had poured everything into this piece: her heartbreak, her betrayal, her longing, and even a flicker of love she wasn’t ready to let go of. She sat on the floor, knees drawn up, breathing heavy, body shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline. For the first time in days, she felt… w

I breathed. "I’m obsessed," he corrected, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a chilling tenderness. "There’s a difference. Insane people don’t plan for ten years to take back what was stolen from them. Obsessed people don't stop until there is nothing left of their enemy but ash."

Logically, Scott's Remembrance Cultural Arts Entertainment would be on guard following the first theft, as it was impossible to make the same mistake again. But it had been very easy for the insider to strike again. Donell Cedar was too naive, he really disregarded Thomas Mayo's abilities and assumed he'd make the same mistake twice. The truth is, it was a trick within a trick. Didn't you enjoy stealing? Then I'll put it on display for you to grab. Pity Donell Cedar. He truly believed he had stolen a real gem, and spent a lot of manpower, resources, and money to publish the song and lyrics, and get it to the top of all the music streaming platforms.

he had told her to say to her enemies at least to ease the pains unlike the cowards in existence. She wouldn't love nor care about any damn single person or thing, and grows into what they made her become; an emotionless thief. Is it all about money, or love, or her? How manipulative she could be? "I won't only steal from him, I'll break him too, into pieces and shatters." That's what you get for bullying an innocent young girl. It's all about her. Her name is Sloane this is her story!