You were working.
You were a teller at the bank.
“I need a withdrawal of $1,000,” the customer said.
“I have to go to the back for that. Do you mind waiting?” you asked.
He shook his head and you went to the back.
You had worked at the bank for two years.
The bank was mostly safe.
There was one time that you were held at gunpoint.
The bank was being robbed and you were the only teller working at the moment.
Just as you were about to be shot for refusing to give the robber money, he had been taken out by one of the guards.
You shivered at the memory.
You heard some humming.
You went to the vault.
A man was there.
He was tall and emptying the vault into a duffel.
You quietly tried to retreat, but he turned and spotted you.
“Hey, wait!” he said.
You ran.
You bumped into a built chest.
You looked up to see the same robber.
“Sorry about this, love,” he said.
He put two fingers to your forehead and knocked you out.
You woke up in a strange bed.
You stood immediately.
You were scared.
The robber was in front of you.
“Where am I?” you asked.
“My house,” he said.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” you questioned.
“Why would I want to do that?” he responded.
“Why wouldn’t you?” You challenged.
He shrugged.
“My name is Balthazar,” he said.
“Y/N. Can I go home now?” you replied, standing.
“You know I can’t do that,” he chuckled.
“Why not?” you demanded.
“You’ll tell the police,” he said.
“I swear I won’t. I just want to go home,” you begged.
“I’m a thief, love,” he told you.
“What does that have to do with anything?” you asked.
He walked up and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him.
He leaned into your ear.
“It is now my mission to steal your heart.”
