Con artist

Begining of a con

My name is Natasha, and this isn't a fairy tale. No princesses or knights in shining armor, and definitely no happy endings. This is about survival, the kind that sticks in your throat like a knife.I was born into poverty. That's the truth. I've spent most of my life running from it. I hate it more than anything else in the world. It's the kind of thing that gets under your skin and turns you into something you never thought you'd become. I know this because my parents didn't want me—not because they didn't love me, but because they couldn't afford to. They left me at the orphanage when I was five. I remember my mother's face, wet with tears, her lips moving to tell me it would be "just for a little while." But "a little while" became forever.For thirteen years, I lived in that orphanage. I was surrounded by other kids with the same story as mine—left behind, forgotten, or just unwanted. The days blurred into one another, always the same. Waking up to cold cereal, sitting through endless chores, and staring out the window at a world that seemed to forget we existed. I made a few friends, sure, but I learned quickly that friends didn't last. Either they got adopted, or they got smart and found a way out.I stayed until I was 18. Then, as quickly as they'd taken me in, they threw me out. "Sorry, Natasha," they said. "There's no room for adults here."The truth was, I had nowhere to go. No family, no skills, no future. And that's when I met Pierre Cardin.He was standing outside the orphanage the day I left, like he'd been waiting for me. He had this slicked-back gray hair, a fancy suit, and a French accent that made him sound like he knew things, important things. His eyes gleamed like he could see through me. At first, I didn't trust him. I mean, who would? But I was cold, hungry, and desperate."You look lost, mademoiselle," he said, that smooth voice wrapping around me like silk.I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. What could I say? That I had no clue what to do with my life? That I was scared?"I can help you," he said, his smile like a serpent's. "I see potential in you. You don't belong on these streets."I wasn't stupid. I knew when someone was trying to play me. But what choice did I have? He offered me a chance—a way to escape the life I had always known. So, I followed him. That's when my real life began.Pierre wasn't just some random guy; he was a master of deception, a professional con artist who had spent years perfecting his craft. He ran a network of thieves, liars, and swindlers, all under the radar of the law. He taught me everything—how to pick a lock, how to forge signatures, how to read people, and, most importantly, how to take what I wanted without anyone knowing until it was too late.For three years, I trained under him. Every lesson was a new skill to master, every job a new challenge. I was good. No, I was the best. I learned to walk into a room and own it, to make people trust me with just a smile. Money, jewels, cars—it all came so easily after a while. Pierre always told me, "You're not stealing, you're simply correcting the balance. The rich don't need what they have."That was Pierre's philosophy, and I bought into it, hook, line, and sinker. I had nothing growing up, so why not take from those who had too much? It made sense. It felt good, too—getting away with it all. I felt powerful, like I had control over my life for the first time ever.But then I met Elijah.It was during one of my cons. I was at a high-end art gallery, scoping out potential targets for a painting that Pierre wanted. It was worth millions, something I could never even dream of owning. I was supposed to charm some rich investor into letting me "borrow" his credentials for the night. Just a typical job, like any other.Elijah stood out the moment I saw him. He wasn't like the other guys there—stiff, dressed in suits that cost more than I made in a month. No, he was different. He wore a simple black shirt and jeans, and his eyes were...kind. That was the first thing I noticed. He wasn't there to show off, and he didn't look at people like they were dollar signs. He looked at the art like it actually meant something to him.I walked up to him, all charm and confidence, the way Pierre had taught me. "Beautiful, isn't it?" I asked, standing next to him in front of a large painting.He turned to me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, it is. But I don't think beauty is the right word."I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What would you call it, then?""Hope," he said, without missing a beat. "This painting...it feels like hope."That wasn't the answer I expected. It caught me off guard, and for a second, I didn't know how to respond. We talked for hours that night, longer than I had with anyone in a long time. He wasn't rich or flashy, and he wasn't a target. He was just...Elijah.After that night, I couldn't stop thinking about him. He wasn't part of any con, but I kept finding excuses to see him. Coffee dates, walks in the park, late-night conversations. It wasn't long before we were more than just two people who met at an art gallery. We started dating, and for the first time in my life, I felt something real, something pure. But then things took a turn neither of us expected. I found out I was pregnant. It wasn't planned, and it definitely wasn't something either of us were ready for. When I told Elijah, his face turned pale. I braced myself for him to leave, to walk out like so many people in my life had. But he didn't. Instead, he pulled me into his arms and told me, "We'll figure this out. Together."That should have made me feel better, but it didn't. Because as much as Elijah was in this with me, I wasn't in it with him. Not fully. I was still lying to him about who I really was. Every time he looked at me with those kind eyes, I felt the weight of my lies pressing down harder. How could I tell him that I wasn't the person he thought I was? That I wasn't the girl who worked a regular job, that I was a con artist, that I had spent the last three years stealing and deceiving?Elijah had secrets of his own, though. One night, he finally told me what I hadn't expected: he was a man of God—a pastor's son, in fact. He had left his small town to follow his calling, to help people. I couldn't believe it. I had fallen in love with a man of God, while I was living a lie.I tried to tell him the truth, I really did. But every time I opened my mouth, the words wouldn't come out. How could I tell him that everything about me, our relationship, had been built on lies?Pierre didn't care about any of that. All he cared about was the next job, the next score. He kept pushing me, telling me that Elijah was a distraction, that I needed to focus on what mattered—money, power, control. But I couldn't. Not anymore.One day, I decided I was done. I was going to walk away from it all—the lies, the cons, Pierre. I wanted to be better, for Elijah, for the baby. But getting out wasn't going to be easy. Pierre wasn't the kind of man you just walked away from.And that's when things started to fall apart.