Stolen Stories Novels & Stories

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The smile on my face grew colder. Three days after the stream ended, things began to shift. Quietly. Then, all at once. The first to fall was Tyson. Early Monday morning, a piece of news spread through every class group chat like a virus. Tyson had both his legs broken. He was in the hospital. Rumor had it that the bag of 30,000 dollars he found was not lost property at all. It belonged to a local underground banker, someone known for being ruthless. He had dropped it during a rushed deal.

I wаѕ, but not fоr thе rеаѕоn they thоught. THE END Thank you for joining me on this intense journey through Lost in Lust.️ If you enjoyed this story, I invite you to explore my other novel, “Wild Pleasure”️ A very sexual erotic novel. Nuzel.

"The lies you told. The money you stole." "I didn't steal anything," I protested. "You took ninety-two thousand dollars from me under false pretenses," Carmen said. "That's theft, Marcus." "I needed that money for the investigation," I insisted. "What investigation?" Carmen's voice rose. "There was no investigation. There were no experts. There was no evidence. Just you, lying to me for months so you could live off my money." People walking past were starting to stare. I lowered my voice. "Carmen, please. Can we go somewhere private and talk about this?"

Lines of code…mirror copies of the stolen data began porting themselves to a hidden backup labelled simply ASHES 02. And deep in an encrypted chat, Victor Crane sent a single message to Charlotte Reed: “They think they stole the truth. Let them. The false light always blinds first.”

Not because they were flawed—but because someone had tried to take them from me. I paused in front of one design in particular, fingers hovering just above the paper. Stolen , they had said. The word burned. I swallowed, then forced myself to breathe. I wouldn’t let their voices live in my head. I wouldn’t let this moment define my work or my worth. Still… the question lingered. Who? Later that afternoon, when the light outside began to soften and the office quieted, Mary-Jane returned with an update. “Most of the articles are gone completely,” she said. “Not archived. Deleted.”

Peter A jolt of shock and disbelief surged through me as I processed Vasil's words. Stolen? When? How? "Stolen?" I repeated, my voice edged with frustration and desperation. "What do you know about the theft?" Vasil sighed heavily, his expression revealing his own disappointment. "It was taken just a few days ago... Right around the time you went into a coma. The theft was executed with an alarming level of sophistication. The museum's security was bypassed entirely. They're working on recovering the surveillance footage."

Phoebe walked him into the room, she pushed the dressing table aside and brought out a laptop putting it on, “Drake, you know when I get enough coins we’ll go on a vacation to Hawaii.” “Yes,” he kissed her again, “and I’ll make sure you enjoy every…” “Wait a minute!” Phoebe snapped, she had inputted some words into the system, some words were springing out, some codes. A woman’s pic was all over the internet, she had reported a case of theft and had told the police she had footages, real one, “we’re in a big mess,” the woman, Mrs. Smith, the governor's wife said in her report that she had met a strange man in the store who had stolen her bag from her, the next day, her house was robbed, thou

I wanted to ask why I was just now being informed of this, but it didn’t matter and I wasn’t going to quabble. Harold was a once trusted accountant who had been stealing from us as it turned out for many years. He took such small amounts it didn’t set off any alarms for a while. That was the main problem with thieves. They would take a little bit and get away with it. Then they would begin to feel empowered, emboldened but then the greed would set in. They would feel like a little more wouldn’t go unnoticed, and so on … until they were in way over their heads and it was far too late.

The shamanistic bard opened his arms, indicating everyone in the room as they all murmured hypnotically in response, “Aanaittu tantaiyin peyarrril“. They chanted the words, low and guttural, repetitively as the bard continued. “For its safe and intact delivery into the hands in which it belongs, the esteemed leading families of the Verrraipucci, 100 gold coins, our sincerest apologies for the unfortunate accident that took a man’s life-” Stefan snarled. ‘Accident? My left foot!’ That was not what happened, and if he were Clarissa, he would tell them where to shove it. “-and her family’s indoctrination and adoption into the werecat tribe.”