Steal Writer Novels & Stories

“Not everything. But I knew enough. Enough to know that they would stop at nothing to control what they thought was theirs. And they started to get the idea that you – your writing – everything belonged to them.” “I worked hard for that manuscript. I thought that manuscript was mine.” I spat out in anger, my blood boiling over. “But Tanya... she... she stole it.” He nods slowly. “And she’s not the only one who’s been stealing from you, Skyla. Carl... he’s always had his eyes on you. You were never just a pawn in their game. You were the prize.” My skin prickles at his words. “What exactly do you mean?” I ask, leaning closer.

She wrapped the healed burn on her neck with it. She talked to herself — not a prayer. > A vow. "They don't own my name." She looked around the room for a pen. She wrote two columns again — again precisely the same. What they stole. What I still possess. She wrote at the end What I'll recreate. And then, below that: Discover who stole the other $20,000. And silence shall be my ally. Leya may have been humiliated. But she is not victimized. Eleanor thinks her sin is in the rearview mirror.

However, his tone suddenly shifted. "I have a bad habit. I enjoy the thrill of stealing," he confessed. "My life is a meticulously crafted timetable. From what I'll eat to the path I'll take, every aspect has been planned out for the next ten years. One day, I witnessed someone slipping a loaf of bread into their pocket at a convenience store. It triggered an adrenaline rush, and I couldn't resist the temptation to imitate it. It felt like an intangible sword hanging over me, ready to strike at any moment—the thrill, the nervousness, the excitement—it stimulates every fiber of my being. I slowly found myself stealing more often and even got caught a few times, so I’ve learned to be more caut

"He stole your manuscript?" "More than that. He stole my voice, my story, my characters everything I'd put into that book. And when I tried to prove it was my work, he convinced everyone that I was a scorned ex-lover trying to steal credit for his talent." Emma felt tears prick her eyes. "My agent dropped me. Publishers blacklisted me. I had to start over completely—new pen name, new agent, new everything." "Emma, I'm so sorry. That's not just theft, it's a complete betrayal of trust."

I might have known beforehand that I needed a Harris to open up to. “I couldn’t believe it at first,” I continued. “She’s the last person who I have known who can do that to me.” I notice that right now, I really want to cry but my body might have dried out of tears, I can only breathe out heavy sighs. I gulp more of my words. “You see, Harris, that issue has been a big deal with my company for weeks now. It all started when one of my critiques stumbled upon a less-read novel with a different title but the same content as mine. The Author’s notes of it have been disturbing, too. The writer somehow low-key believes that her work has been stolen. I got quite confused at that time. I said to my

He looked at the girl's arm—at the script written on her skin. "You're a 'Reader,' right?" Leo asked. His voice was cool, despite the fact that his body was literally dripping onto the floor. "You think you’re the boss because you bought the book. But I’ve spent twenty years chasing people like you. People who think they can write their own laws." "I'm not a criminal!" the girl shouted. "I’m the Author now! I wrote on my skin! I changed the genre!" "No," Leo said, pointing a shadowy finger at the words on her arm. "You're a 'Copycat.' You're using the ink we brought with us. You're not writing a new story; you're just 'Tagging' the wall."

Grabbing a pair of her combat apparel, she went for a bath at a nearby underground spring and found the other assassins who were either covered in dirt or blood. “The queen came! Hah! I won the bet!” Secora exclaimed and raised her fists up in the air. “Imma have five gold coins from you.” “Tsk. I thought the king would surely delay her a day or two,” Cataleena mumbled as she tied her red hair in a bun before dipping into the water. Emery started to undress as well. Shaking her head, she stated, “I cannot believe that while I fought my way back here, you would be making bets like this is gambling.”

I felt like all the blessings are much more than what I deserve. THE END. Thank you so much, my dear readers, for supporting my story. I hope you have a great time reading it! lovesassydreamer xoxo

The stranger's words tumbled out in urgent desperation, "Of course! Your wife stole my wallet while I was shopping! Multiple witnesses saw her hiding it in her jacket! You must compensate me! This is theft! I'll drop the charges only if you pay me!" I'm utterly bewildered by the stranger's relentless, venomous outbursts, his every phrase dripping with vitriol and an unyielding fixation on "compensation." His repetitive demands for financial reparation reverberate like a mantra, hinting at an ulterior motive, a calculated ploy to exploit the situation for personal gain.

I don't know about the little girl they came with that day, but all I know is that if he doesn't pay me part of that investment money he told me about, I will exposed him to his wife of the kind of person he really is and I don't care whether I would go to prison or not, I just want him have a taste of being betrayed by someone that he never imagine could betrayed him," he said. Rosela hated him that instant, she felt like strangling him to death yet she still pretended to be fine "Well that's up to you but if we corporate, we will get something from him trust me," she said. "But why are you doing this to your own father?,"Jacob asked. "Well, wen I learnt about this same cash I asked him fo