Prologue

Viviane

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I have always been observant...

Just a glance and I can piece together someone's story. Their clothes, the way their hair is styled, the nuances in their speech, and their mannerisms—all of it tells me something. Most of the time, I'm spot on. It's like reading an open book, only the pages are made up of subtle cues and unspoken words.

Take the guy sitting at the bar, for instance. His suit is expensive but slightly wrinkled, suggesting he's been wearing it all day, probably in a high-pressure job. His hair is perfectly styled, but there's a hint of gray peeking through. He speaks with confidence, but there's an edge to his voice, a tension that reveals more than he intends. He's trying to project power, yet there's a vulnerability in his eyes.

Or the woman across the room. Her designer dress and polished nails scream wealth, but the way she clutches her purse and glances around nervously tells a different story. She's uncomfortable, out of her element, perhaps trying to blend into a world she's not quite a part of.

Reading people is second nature to me. It's not just about what they say, but how they say it, how they move, and what they choose to hide. Every detail is a clue, and I have the ability to put the pieces together.

It's not just a skill—it's an art that I was born with.

The Kanes had always been extraordinary. My father, a sharp lawyer, and my mother, a brilliant doctor, set the bar high. My sister became a therapist, healing minds, while my brother was a man of the law.

Intelligence runs deep in our veins. We Kanes were gifted with sharp minds, and it was up to each of us to decide how to wield that power. Most chose the path of righteousness, upholding the family legacy. But I took a different route.

I became a thief, a pickpocket, and I excelled at it.

Growing up, I enjoyed every privilege. But life has a way of throwing curveballs, forcing choices between being good and surviving. When that moment came, I chose survival. I may not have anything to my name now, but that doesn’t mean it will always be this way.

The thrill of the game, the adrenaline rush when slipping a wallet unnoticed, the satisfaction of outsmarting someone—it all called to me. My skills were honed, my instincts sharp. I learned to read people, to understand their vulnerabilities, and to exploit them.

Take the crowded subway, for instance. People pressed together, lost in their own worlds. A perfect setting. I’d spot my mark—a businessman engrossed in his phone, a distracted tourist with a loose grip on her bag. A quick bump, a deft hand, and the prize was mine.

But now it wasn't cutting anymore. From simple pickpocketing, I needed to move on to bigger scores.

The world is full of opportunities, and if you don’t have something, you can always steal it—that was my motto.

The Kanes might have chosen their noble paths, but I forged my own. I thrived in the shadows, where the rules were different, and right now, I had spotted the perfect target.

With one glance, I knew he was the perfect mark.

He exuded power and danger, draped in a suit that whispered wealth—a custom-made masterpiece worth around one-hundred thousand dollars. The Alexander Amosu Vanquish II Bespoke suit fit him perfectly, showing off a lean, muscled build that spoke of both discipline and strength. His hair, thick and dark, was meticulously styled, he likely spent a fortune on maintaining it.

His eyes were a striking blue, so deep they seemed to pull you in, yet they were cold, devoid of any warmth. They held a darkness, an indifference that hinted at a capacity for cruelty. It was the kind of look that pierced right through you, making you feel both exposed and insignificant.

His cheekbones were sharply defined, like the edge of a blade, and his lips twisted into a perpetual sneer that seemed to mock the world around him. He carried himself with an air of superiority, as if he knew he was better than everyone in the room and found it endlessly entertaining.

Every detail about him screamed expense—from the subtle glint of a custom watch on his wrist to the polished leather shoes that gleamed under the lights. He was the epitome of luxury and danger, a lethal combination that made him all the more enticing as a target.

He moved through the crowd with a predatory grace. I could see the way people deferred to him, their smiles strained, their gazes averted. He thrived on their fear and admiration, basking in the power he held over them.

This man wasn't just rich; he was the embodiment of danger wrapped in the finest trappings money could buy. And I was determined to make his wealth mine.