He Wants to Steal Me From My Boyfriend

Gwendolyn Morris had just returned home when her phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the screen and saw an eye-popping figure: one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Her jaw dropped in disbelief at the sum.

After a moment, she closed the message, kicked off her shoes, and hung her coat on the hook by the door. She settled onto her bed and called Marco Griffin on WhatsApp. Marco answered almost instantly, his smooth voice coming through the speaker.

“Gwendolyn, did you get my payment?”

“Mr. Griffin, this amount is excessive; it doesn’t feel right,” she replied.

Marco chuckled softly. “It's calculated based on your boyfriend's earnings. Besides, there's no such thing as 'too much.'”

Joey’s income was indeed substantial, but not to that extent. Gwendolyn was never one to believe in something for nothing and was cautious of people being overly generous without reason. As she pondered how to handle the situation, Marco’s voice broke her thoughts. “I can explain it better in person. I'm actually near your place; let's meet up.”

The area around Gwendolyn’s neighborhood was mostly filled with bustling eateries, not ideal for a chat, so they decided to meet in his car.

As soon as she got in, she caught a faint whiff of whiskey on Marco. He smiled and said, “I was at a whiskey tasting tonight and had a couple of glasses. I was just passing by your neighborhood.”

His explanation put her a little more at ease. She pulled out her phone. “Why don’t you give me your account info? I’ll send back the excess money.”

There was a pause, and she looked up to see the colorful city lights reflecting in the car, casting a glow over Marco’s face. He was looking at her with a gentle expression, which made her slightly uneasy. Doubts crept back into her mind. She spoke directly, “Mr. Griffin, I have a boyfriend, so I’m not entertaining anyone else’s advances.”

Marco remained silent, his eyes soft but now with a hint of seriousness, a faint smile on his lips. His silence made her more unsettled, until suddenly Marco’s smile widened. He laughed lightly, a touch of mischief in his eyes as he shook his head.

“Gwendolyn, did you really think I was making a move on you? My apologies…”

Despite the potential awkwardness, his demeanor was sincere and oddly charming. He leaned back, folding his arms, and asked earnestly, “Then tell me, why would I be pursuing you?”

Gwendolyn was caught off guard, momentarily speechless. Yes, why would someone like Marco chase after her? And using such indirect methods, no less. Was she being overly confident?

But her instincts were usually accurate, and she had a strong sense that Marco wasn’t entirely indifferent. Yet, she couldn’t pinpoint the reasons.

In the car, it was just the two of them. Boone had stepped out when she got in. The atmosphere felt charged.

Marco leaned in slightly, his face closer than before, just watching her with those gentle eyes. One second, two seconds, three—and then Marco grinned. “You didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?”

He straightened up, retreating to a safe distance, when Gwendolyn surprised him. She reached out, hooking a finger inside his collar, pulling him back down. Their noses nearly touched; she could see each of his eyelashes.

Marco’s heart raced, his pulse quickening in a way he hadn’t experienced before. He was unsure of Gwendolyn's intentions, but a sense of anticipation built up within him.

Just as the tension peaked, she turned slightly, her lips brushing his cheek as she whispered in his ear, “You didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?” She echoed his words back.

She pushed him away, leaning back with an easy smile. “Mr. Griffin, I'm not interested in a game of push and pull. There can be many reasons behind a pursuit. Let’s make tonight our last meeting. We come from different worlds; there’s no need to force it.”

It felt like the game was over.

Gwendolyn exited the car and shut the door. Before walking away, she leaned back down, waved her phone at him, and said, “Since you’re not worried about the money, Mr. Griffin, I’ll keep the compensation.”

For the first time, Marco found himself flatly turned down by a woman. Yet, despite the rejection, he wasn’t angry; instead, he felt an irresistible urge to pull her back and hold her close.

His eyes lingered on her retreating figure, noticing how sensitive she was to the cold. During their visit to the retirement home when the weather unexpectedly warmed up, most women had switched to lighter clothing, but Gwendolyn had worn a thick coat. And during most of their encounters, she had been bundled up in a wool parka.

March in the north wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t cold enough to warrant a heavy coat every day. The only time he had seen her in regular attire was when they first met—she wore a light gray sweater over black leggings, rushing to help her boyfriend.

“Does she really care for him that much?” Marco wondered aloud as he watched her enter her building.

His phone buzzed beside him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and answered.

Chandler Hunter’s voice came through excitedly, “Marco, I found something. I knew I’d seen that woman, Gwendolyn Morris, before. I’m headed your way now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes with some confidential info.”

An hour later, Marco sat in his study, a manila envelope marked "confidential" in front of him. Chandler's so-called “confidential” file turned out to be just two pages.

Marco glanced over the sheets, his eyes widening, his grip on the pages tight until his knuckles turned white.

The file contained information on a crime—a case of two deaths and one survivor. The deceased were a trafficker and a kidnapped young woman, while the survivor was Gwendolyn, who had narrowly escaped from the mountains where she had been held captive. When rescued, she was severely injured.

Gwendolyn’s ordeal had begun during her college summer break, when she had helped a stranger in distress—a decision that led to her abduction.

After reading, Marco picked up a lighter and watched as the papers caught fire, reducing them to ash. He stared at the burning flame, his previously feigned gentleness now replaced by a somber darkness.

“So, you’re a survivor of great trials,” he murmured to himself. “Having already faced one ordeal, I’ll spare you another.”

Watching the ashes smolder in the tray, he whispered four words, “The game is over.”