It sounded like a hyena cackling through the streets of Belmond—but it was no animal. It was Billy Jr., seventeen, grinning as wide as the divide between the two empires.
A pair of denim jeans hung over his shoulder, and he was nearly breathless from laughing at the man chasing him.
"Get back here, you little shit!" the man bellowed. He was heavyset, older, and wearing nothing but a stained white A-shirt and blue plaid boxers—with a crumpled tissue still clinging to his rear.
Billy kept running, and some bystanders murmured, "Isn't that the kid who's been robbing houses?"
And others said, "Someone needs to lock him up."
He heard the rumors, but he didn't mind them. "The Thief of Belmond" was a title he was glad to accept.
He doubled over, tears in his eyes as he laughed at the man. "Oh, you want these?" he called, waving the jeans.
Then he vaulted over a tall black gate, flipped the man off, and tossed the pants onto a nearby rooftop. Still laughing, he jogged toward Belmond High.
***
The lunch bell rang just as Billy strolled onto campus, still grinning from his morning escapade.
His best friend Ben stepped out of class, smiling wide. "Billy, where've you been?"
"Oh, just having a little fun," Billy said, chuckling.
Ben rolled his eyes and gave him a playful knuckle to the head. "The thief of Belmond never sleeps, huh?"
Billy laughed, rubbing his scalp. "Not when there's boxers and rooftops involved."
The two headed toward the cafeteria, side by side, like nothing could touch them.
***
The cafeteria buzzed like a circus—popular girls gossiping about boys and drama, teachers griping about unruly students, and Billy recounting his morning chase.
"And then I threw his pants on the roof!" Billy said, nearly choking on his food.
Ben burst out laughing, slapping his knee. However, their laughter died when Ethan Blackwell strolled past the table—broad-shouldered, slick-haired, and built like a coach who'd forgotten he wasn't one.
"What are you two pieces of garbage laughing at?" he sneered.
Billy looked down. "Nothing," he muttered.
Ethan scoffed, straightening his pristine family jacket—the name Blackwell stitched in gold across the back—before walking away without another word.
Billy sighed. He wanted to stand up for himself. He really did. But it was hard. The world wasn't equal. Ethan and his kind were born into privilege, into admiration. Billy and Ben? They were just poor kids trying to stay afloat.
He frowned, until a girl passed by—blonde hair like sunlight, skin pale as snow. She moved with quiet grace, and for a moment, her eyes met his. Then she turned and joined her friends.
Billy exhaled. "Violet's so hot."
Ben nodded. "Yeah... but she's rich and popular. She wouldn't want us."
***
Billy thought about asking Violet to prom. The dance was Friday, and the idea had been gnawing at him all week.
But fear held him back—what if she laughed in his face?
Still, he built up the courage, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, and breathed deeply to slow the thudding in his chest.
He pushed back his chair, ready to cross the cafeteria and ask her.
But Ethan got there first. "Violet," he said with a cocky grin, "wanna go to prom with me?"
Billy sighed. Of course she'd say yes.
"No," Violet replied.
Ethan blinked. "Wait—why?"
"Because I don't like you," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Ethan's face twisted. He stormed out of the cafeteria, flipping over a few chairs on his way. The teachers saw, but didn't intervene—they'd long since stopped trying to control him.
"Wow," Ben muttered. "Dude's such a bitch."
Billy stood, heart pounding. This was his chance. He walked up to Violet, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hey, Violet."
Her friends turned toward him, eyes full of disdain. Doubt surged through him.
If she'd rejected Ethan, why would she want him?
Violet opened her mouth. Billy braced for rejection.
"Would you like to be my prom date, Billy?"
His jaw dropped. So did Ben's, still watching from their table.
"Y-yes," Billy stammered.
"Great. See you Friday," she said with a smile.
Billy returned to his seat, stunned. He and Ben sat in silence, the moment hanging between them like a dream.
***
The next few days flew by, and prom was just hours away.
When the final school bell rang, Billy and Ben bolted out the doors. Billy still hadn't picked out a suit, so Ben offered to help.
They headed to the most extravagant store in town—Belmond's Finest.
Inside, they browsed racks of velvet, silk, and sequins.
Ben's eyes lit up. "Hey Billy, check this out."
He pointed to a purple silk tuxedo, finely woven and gleaming under the lights. It practically radiated prestige.
Billy's jaw dropped. He grabbed it and rushed to the dressing room.
When he stepped out, Ben whistled. "You are the man, Billy. Not only are you going to prom with the hottest girl in school—she asked you out. And now, wearing that? You're unstoppable."
Billy grinned. "Your turn."
Ben changed into a gold suit with embroidered vines curling up the sleeves.
"Looking sharp, dude," Billy said.
They strutted to the counter, feeling like royalty.
"That'll be $2,499.99," the clerk said flatly.
"What?" Billy and Ben gasped in unison.
Billy's face fell. He stared at the clerk and muttered, "Fuck you."
Then he bolted out the door. "Run, Ben!" he shouted, sprinting down the street.
Neither of them had a car, so they ran—all the way to prom, laughing the whole way and taking their stolen tuxedos with them.
***
They arrived at the prom, held at a sprawling sports complex on the outskirts of Belmond.
"We're a little late," Ben said, checking his watch.
Billy panicked, straightening his clothes and wiping sweat from his brow. "How do I look?"
"Great," Ben replied. "Me?"
Billy grinned. "Phenomenal dude." Then his expression softened. "You don't have a date, do you?"
"Don't worry about it," Ben said. "I asked someone earlier."
Billy smiled, and they fist-bumped before heading inside.
***
The gym was alive with music and movement—students dancing on polished floors, teachers lingering near snack tables stacked with crackers, sandwiches, and vegetables with ranch.
Ben spotted his date and wandered off.
Billy scanned the crowd until he saw her.
Violet stood alone in the center of the dance floor, her purple dress shimmering under the lights. Her makeup was subtle, her diamond earrings catching the glow.
Billy's breath caught. "Hey, Violet," he said, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. "Sorry I'm late. Had to find a suit."
She looked him up and down. "Billy... where did you get that lovely suit?"
"Uh... my uncle gave it to me," he said, not even convincing himself.
"You stole it, didn't you?"
He hung his head. "Yeah."
She smiled. "That's alright. Come dance with me."
***
A warm feeling enveloped him. The prom lights seemed to swirl in the distance, and she guided him toward them.
She pulled him close, and the music shifted—slow, romantic, perfect for swaying.
Billy hesitated. "I don't know how to dance," he admitted.
Violet chuckled. "Doesn't matter. Look around."
He glanced at the other couples—awkward, clumsy, ridiculous. "Right," he said, smiling.
She guided his hands to her waist. He blushed, but held her gently.
"You know," he said, "I still can't believe you asked me to prom."
"Why?" Violet asked. "Do you really think popularity matters? I'm not like those spoiled brats. After graduation, none of this will mean anything. So forget it. Just dance with me."
Billy felt seen—really seen—for the first time. He tightened his grip, just slightly.
"The thief of Belmond," she whispered in his ear.
He smiled. "So you've heard the stories?"
"Some of them," she said. "I'd like to know the rest. How about we get out of here?"
Billy blushed. "Yeah... that'd be nice."
They held hands and slipped out of the gym.
Ben caught Billy's eye, waved, and whistled. Billy waved back.
Violet's little white car waited outside. Billy climbed in, heart pounding, as they drove toward her home.
***
Ben watched them leave, a quiet smile on his face. "Good job, buddy," he said softly.
Then the gym doors burst open. Ethan strode in like a storm, wearing a gold jacket embroidered with black vines. Across the back, in bold letters: Blackwell.
Ben's date didn't hesitate—she rushed past him and threw herself at Ethan. "Oh Ethan, you're so hot! Dance with me!"
"Stop," Ethan grunted, trying to push her off. But she was too heavy, and he toppled backward, smacking his head on the polished floor.
Ben stifled a laugh, covering his mouth to avoid being caught.
Eventually, Ethan peeled her off and glared at her with disgust.
Then he spotted Ben. "Well, look who it is—the loser named Ben—wait a minute."
He squinted. "Did you copy my suit?"
Ben rolled his eyes. "No."
"Even if you did, mine's better. It says Blackwell on the back."
Ben nearly choked on his laughter. "Right."
Ethan sneered. "So, where's your wannabe thief friend?"
Ben smiled. "He just left. With Violet."
Ethan's eyes bulged. Steam practically rose from his head.
He bolted outside and spotted Violet's car fading into the distance—Billy in the passenger seat, laughing.
Ethan dropped to his knees and screamed at the sky, a garbled mess of rage and heartbreak.
Then he turned, eyes blazing, and locked onto Ben.
"Oh no," Ben muttered. "Nope."
He ran. Ethan chased. Ben laughed as he sprinted through the chaos. "Have fun, Billy," he shouted. "You deserve it!"
***
After about fifteen minutes of driving, Billy and Violet arrived in a neighborhood deep within the inner part of Belmond, where many of the city's elites lived.
Violet pulled into the driveway of a mansion so massive Billy couldn't speak. It was the largest house he'd ever seen—too grand, too ornate, more like a government building than a home.
The mansion rose four stories high, supported by four towering pillars. The lawn was a flawless carpet of freshly cut grass, and behind the house stretched a fifteen-foot pool—so deep someone could drown and never be found.
Violet stepped out and glanced at Billy, who was still frozen. "Are you coming inside?" she asked.
Billy blinked, trying to process the scale of it all. He nodded and followed her through the two enormous front doors.
Inside, the floors gleamed with white marble. Portraits of Violet's family lined the walls—one of Violet, one of a stunning blonde woman who was presumably her mother, and one of a stern, tan-skinned man who was likely her father.
Above them hung a golden chandelier, its bulbs shimmering with what looked like embedded rubies.
In the center of the room sat a sleek black leather sofa.
Violet glided over and sat down, patting the cushion beside her.
Billy joined her, still in awe. "This is... incredible," he said. "I've never seen anything like it."
She smiled. "I guess it would look that way the first time."
Then her expression shifted—intense, focused.
***
"But Billy," she said softly, "I didn't bring you here to admire my house. I brought you here because I see something in you I don't see in other boys."
Billy leaned in, hanging on every word.
"You're different. I know you act out, joke around, stir things up—but even from the little we've talked, I can tell you have substance. I want to know you."
Billy's heart pounded so hard it hurt. "I don't know what to say, Violet. I've always liked you. I just never had the courage to say it."
"You don't have to," she whispered, leaning closer. "Kiss me."
Her lips parted slightly, her eyes locked on his. Billy hesitated—mind spinning, breath caught—as his vision narrowed onto her. Everything else was a blur.
So, he closed his eyes, leaned in—and they kissed.
Warmth flooded his body. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel her fully.
She chuckled softly. "I like you, Billy."
"I like you too."
Then—the sound of the front doorknob turning.
"Oh no," Violet gasped. "I didn't think they'd be home so soon."
Billy's breath caught.
The door swung open, revealing the man and woman from the portraits—Violet's mother, Susan, and her father, Mario.
Mario was a large man—six-foot-three, burly, with the face of someone who knew only hate. "What is going on?" Mario barked, his voice deep and raspy.
"It's nothing, Dad," Violet said quickly. "Just my prom date."
Mario's eyes snapped to Billy. He scanned him up and down, then scoffed. "Really, Violet? You chose this trash? Why not someone from a proper family—someone worthy of your caliber?"
Violet lowered her head, unable to meet Billy's eyes.
"Get out of my house," Mario commanded.
***
Billy clenched his fists, trembling with anger. He looked at Violet, but she still wouldn't look at him.
"Leave!" Mario shouted.
Billy scoffed and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Inside, Mario's voice erupted. "Out of all the boys in Belmond, you chose a no-name sewer rat? What if he got you pregnant, huh? Then you'd be carrying the child of a nobody. That's not the daughter I raised. You'll only date someone I approve of—because I know what's best for you, and you do not."
"No, Dad, I—"
"Shut up!" he snapped.
Violet stormed off to her room.
***
Outside, Billy stood in the front yard, tears streaming down his face. His hands shook at his sides. "I'll show you," he whispered.
Billy waited until every light in the mansion was off, every door locked, every voice silenced by sleep.
Then he pulled a bobby pin from his front pocket and a mini multitool from the back.
He flipped it to the screwdriver and knelt at the front door.
He felt for the pins, whispering to himself as each one clicked into place. "One... two... three..."
The knob turned.
A vindictive smile crept across his face as he slipped inside.
***
The house was dark. Billy dimmed his phone flashlight to its lowest setting—just enough to see, not enough to be seen.
He crept up the spiral staircase, footsteps soft against the polished wood.
He checked the first door: Mario and Susan, asleep.
The second: a jewelry cabinet gleaming in the shadows. He opened it and found gold rings, diamond watches, pearl necklaces—wealth in every color.
He stuffed his pockets, then moved to the third door.
Violet lay peacefully in bed.
"Violet," he whispered, poking her shoulder.
She stirred. "Billy? What are you—"
He pulled out the jewelry. "This is what happens when someone disrespects me. I'm teaching your dad a lesson."
Her eyes widened in horror. "No, Billy. You have to put it back. You don't understand." Her voice grew louder. "Please."
Billy saw the fear in her eyes. He hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
He returned to the cabinet, emptied his pockets, and gently closed the door.
***
Then he turned—and Mario was standing in the doorway.
"You really thought you could steal from me?" he growled.
Billy backed away, but Mario lunged, grabbing him by the hair. He dragged Billy down the stairs, his head thudding against each step.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Mario threw him out the front door.
Billy crashed into the white wooden stairs outside, pain shooting through his back.
"You little piece of garbage," Mario spat. "First you try to ruin my daughter, then you steal from me. Do you have any idea who you're fucking with?"
He pulled a snub-nosed revolver from his coat and aimed it at Billy's face.
The cold steel pressed against his forehead. It could all be over in an instant.
Just moments ago, he'd felt the warmest moment of his life. Now, he was in the cold.
Billy froze, breath shallow.
Mario sneered. "I'm the leader of the Rising Phoenixes of Belmond."
Billy gasped. He knew the name—drug smuggling, loan sharking, forbidden contact with the Eastern Empire. The most feared mafia faction in the western territories.
"I'll shoot you right here," Mario said. "And have your body gone by morning."
"Please," Billy whispered.
Mario cocked the gun. "Why shouldn't I?"
Billy swallowed. "Because I'm useful."
Mario scoffed. "Useful? You're a kid."
"I'm the Thief of Belmond," Billy said, voice steady. "I've broken into homes, businesses. I even broke into yours. You only caught me because I went back to return the jewelry. If I'd wanted to steal it, I'd be long gone."
Mario paused, squinting at the mischievous teen before him—the one he fully intended to kill.
Billy stepped forward. "You need someone like me. I'm seventeen. No training. And I'm already this good. Give me a chance, and I'll be your best soldier."
Mario stared into Billy's eyes—and saw it. Fire. Conviction. Survival.
He stood there, silent—as if waging war within his own mind, his finger still resting on the trigger.
The two locked eyes, each weighing the other's resolve.
Then, slowly, he lowered the gun. "Well then," he said. "Starting tomorrow, your life belongs to me. Fail a mission, and you die."
Billy gasped, then exhaled in relief. He nodded, his heart still pounding.
"Go home," Mario said. "You'll be contacted."
Billy turned and walked away. Behind him, Mario shut the door.
Upstairs, Violet watched from her window, eyes full of sorrow. "Billy..." she whispered, pressing her hand to the glass.