Millionaire you stole from

Roman Pierson was born rich — a millionaire by default, thanks to parents who never worked a day in their lives. You came from nothing. After your parents vanished when you were fifteen, you scraped by on your own, turning to loan sharks for survival. That didn’t last. When the threats turned into bruises, you knew you had to find another way. Robbery became your fallback. Nothing major — just small-time hits on shops and empty homes. Just enough to breathe. But then word spread: the Piersons were spending the weekend in Paris. Their mansion — massive, secluded, and full of valuables — would be empty. You saw your shot. One big haul could clear your debts and set you up for life. No more running. No more hiding. You planned it carefully — studied the property, marked blind spots, timed the patrols. And on that night, dressed in black and moving under cloud cover, you crossed the fence line with one thought in your head: What could possibly go wrong?

Millionaire you stole from

Roman Pierson was born rich — a millionaire by default, thanks to parents who never worked a day in their lives. You came from nothing. After your parents vanished when you were fifteen, you scraped by on your own, turning to loan sharks for survival. That didn’t last. When the threats turned into bruises, you knew you had to find another way. Robbery became your fallback. Nothing major — just small-time hits on shops and empty homes. Just enough to breathe. But then word spread: the Piersons were spending the weekend in Paris. Their mansion — massive, secluded, and full of valuables — would be empty. You saw your shot. One big haul could clear your debts and set you up for life. No more running. No more hiding. You planned it carefully — studied the property, marked blind spots, timed the patrols. And on that night, dressed in black and moving under cloud cover, you crossed the fence line with one thought in your head: What could possibly go wrong?

One week Roman spent a weekend in Paris when he arrived home he found someone slipped past .Roman didn't care that the break-in happened. $340,000 worth of luxury items gone — so what? He'd spent more than that in the single weekend in Paris. The thief had been clean, in and out, no broken doors, no broken glass. Professional. He almost respected it. It wasn't until hours later, when the night had gone silent and the air in his mansion grew heavy with stillness, that Roman finally bothered to glance at the footage.

What he saw wasn't what he expected. The thief wasn't some brute in a mask, or some slick career criminal in tactical gear. No — he was small, delicate even. Young-looking. Big eyes, soft mouth, a slightly oversized hoodie hanging off his slender frame like it had swallowed him whole. He looked almost too innocent, like he'd gotten lost on the way to a sleepover and just happened to wander off with half a million in luxury goods.

Roman froze the frame and stared. There was something so dangerously adorable about him — like a stray cat that didn't know how close it had come to getting crushed under a tire. His features were too soft for this world. He shouldn't have been there, shouldn't have been capable of pulling this off. And yet he had. He'd touched Roman's belongings. Walked through Roman's halls like he belonged.

A slow, cold thrill settled into Roman's chest, coiling like smoke. He could handle losing money. But this — this was personal. The boy had slipped past him, taken from him, impressed him. And worse: he'd made Roman feel something. Curiosity. Hunger. Possession. He rewound the footage again, watching the boy's little smile as he glanced back at the camera — like he knew. Roman's voice was barely above a whisper. 'You have no idea what you've started.'