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Love Was Never Part Of The Plan - 3

Summary: You are a jewel thief who’s semi-retired, but you agree to take one last job. However, there’s a catch: you have to steal the jewels from an auction where your former lover is now the head of security.

Character: Security!Bucky x Thief!Female Reader

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Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 ,-

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please leave a comment and reblog. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“How…” You were stunned. Absolutely floored.

Your breath hitched when Bucky stepped closer, calm, measured, deadly. His hand moved behind your back, slow and deliberate. Your heartbeat stuttered. Then you felt his fingers curl up, stop just at the nape of your neck—right where your hair was twisted into a sleek bun.

He felt it.

A smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his fingers brushed the hidden compartment. His voice dropped, low and mocking.

“Cute hiding spot,” he murmured. “But sweetheart, you really thought I wouldn’t check the bun?”

Then—click.

You flinched, only now realizing he’d already slipped a pair of handcuffs onto your wrist, snapping the other end onto his.

“It’s time to tame you, my little devil,” Bucky whispered with a glint in his eye. “No more running.”

The way he said little devil… it sent a flush to your cheeks, which you hated, because dammit, not now. Not when you’re literally cuffed to the man you were trying to outsmart.

💎💎💎💎

In that moment, you sat on a cold metal chair in the small interrogation room beneath the gallery, arms crossed, ankle bouncing—not out of fear, but impatience. You weren’t scared. You’d been in tighter spots before. This wasn’t your first game of cat and mouse.

But guilt? That was new. Not because of the diamond. Not because of Interpol breathing down your neck.

Because Bucky had found out.

Because the one person you didn’t want to lie to anymore now knew exactly who you were. And that cut deeper than any set of cuffs ever could.

Joe, one of the senior security guards, watched you from behind the two-way mirror in another room with Bucky.

“Uh… shouldn’t we be calling the police? She’s one of Interpol’s most wanted. Keeping her here might look… shady.”

Bucky stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight, his body still humming with adrenaline. “That would drag the gallery through a scandal. One break-in is enough. The diamond’s safe. That’s what matters.”

“Right…” Joe eyed him, then you, then back to Bucky. “Or maybe you just want to stare at your Peggy Sue a little longer before she’s gone?”

Bucky shot him a glare sharp enough to slice.

Joe held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying… But seriously—how’d you figure it out?”

They both went quiet when they heard you whistle from the speaker.

A soft whistle echoed through the basement. Just a casual tune on your lips—carefree, defiant.

“That,” Bucky said, eyes locked on you.

“That?” Joe was still confused.

Bucky didn’t explain. He didn’t need to. He just stared through the glass, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. But the silence said enough.

Yes. It was you.

It had been you all along.

The whistle had given you away. A simple, offhand tune—barely five seconds long—light and careless.

Thanks to today’s technology, they could hear the voice. It was brief, but Bucky remembered it—tormenting him and reminding him of his failures.

That exact sound had played on a grainy surveillance tape from the night the Queen Amélie rubies vanished. The cameras hadn’t caught a face, barely a silhouette. Just shadows.

He’d replayed it a hundred times. Not because it was evidence—but because it haunted him. Because it mocked him. Because the person behind it had vanished like smoke and left him with a gallery full of questions and a reputation cracked at the edges.

Then, days ago, you walked into his life again, whistling, like no time had passed. And there it was. That sound. That goddamn melody.

His gut twisted. He had wanted to be wrong. God, he had hoped he was wrong.

But his radar for trouble had never failed him before.

He wanted to prove himself wrong—that’s why he asked you out for coffee. In that moment, he just wanted to know where you’d been.

But as you spoke, all he heard were lies, one after another. He had looked for you, pulled every connection he had, tried to trace your work… but no archaeological site, no records, nothing. It was like your entire story had been fabricated from thin air.

But what gave you away again?

Your eyes. You have the look he used to have—a look with a mission. And you’ve got it. It wasn’t the look of someone excited to meet and share experiences. The way they searched the table for his phone. So, he baited you. Laid it right there. And just like he expected, you placed yours next to his—too close.

His device lit up with the silent ping of a data bridge.

Ooh, my little devil, he thought, it was you all along.

After that, he rewrote the entire security plan. Faked it. Let it leak. Made sure the decoy plans would lure you in.

Then he waited. He knew you’d go for the storage exit—predictable, classic you.

Right into his trap.

“She doesn’t look scared,” Joe muttered, arms crossed as he peered through the two-way mirror. “She doesn’t look guilty either.”

“That’s what you’re dealing with when it comes to kleptomaniacs,” came a voice from behind.

The security team turned to see a woman walk in—mid-thirties, sharp suit, dark lipstick, eyes that missed nothing. “Especially world-class ones,” she said, removing her sunglasses.

“Amy?” Bucky was surprised to see her here.

Amy shot a warm smile and walked closer to him. “Interpol sent me. Well—technically, I sent myself.” She moved to the glass and studied you calmly seated in the small basement interrogation room. “I’ll take it from here.”

Before anyone could respond, the door swung open again.

“Ah, ah, ah... you can’t interrogate her without me,” said a man in a dark tailored suit and round glasses, leather briefcase in one hand. He looked expensive—and smug.

Bucky’s brows knit together. “And you are?”

“David Rochefort,” the man said smoothly, extending a business card with a fake name that even sounded fake. “Legal counsel. She’s my client.”

Joe blinked. “How the hell did she manage to call you?”

Edward smiled, adjusting his glasses. “Good lawyers don’t wait for a call. Especially not when she’s involved.”

Bucky said nothing, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. The tension was subtle but undeniable—he didn’t like this guy. Especially since this lawyer spoke about you with an unexpected warmth.

Inside the room, you stood as Edward entered. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders like it was a long-awaited reunion.

“Why are you so late?” you whispered, voice low against his ear.

“I had to make my appearance believable. Can’t have you thinking I’m a getaway driver,” he murmured with a quick wink.

Across the glass, Bucky’s eyes narrowed before he looked away.

Amy caught the glance. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at Joe, who subtly mouthed something to her—“She’s the one. His ex.” That piece of information seemed to sharpen Amy’s temper.

Moments later, Amy and her partner entered the room. She tossed a file onto the table with a firm thud. “Let’s cut the act, shall we?” she said, leaning forward. “You broke into a highly secured international auction. You knew the camera angles, the power grid layout, the guard rotations. You timed everything perfectly. That’s not luck, sweetheart—that’s inside knowledge.”

You smiled politely. “Or a very good guess.”

Amy’s eyes darkened. “You think this is a game?”

“Only if I’m winning.” You smirked.

Edward placed a calming hand between you and the table. “My client isn’t obliged to respond to your tone or theatrics.”

“She’s toying with us,” Amy hissed.

You leaned toward Edward, eyes fixed on Amy. “Why do I feel like she wants to bite my head off?”

“Not just you,” Edward muttered.

Amy slammed her hand on the table, but the sound didn’t faze you. Not even a blink. Your confidence was bulletproof.

Edward calmly adjusted his cuffs, then leaned in, his tone even. “Let’s not get dramatic. My client didn’t steal anything. She temporarily borrowed an item—and now, the gallery has it back. No harm, no foul, right?”

Amy shot him a withering glare. “Is that really the argument you're going with?”

Edward gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m going with facts. You have the diamond. You have no solid evidence. And last I checked, attempted charm isn’t a criminal offense.”

The interrogation dragged on. They questioned your alibis, dug into your background, and analyzed every detail. But there was nothing solid. You were too careful. Too polished. Interpol left the room with clenched jaws and empty hands.

When Edward and you stepped into the harsh fluorescent hallway, the air felt too sharp.

Bucky stood there, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting for hours. His expression was unreadable as he looked at you.

“Give me your hand,” he said quietly.

You raised your wrist—the handcuffs still clinking softly.

He stepped forward, unlocking them with a soft click. “Don’t steal again.”

You held his gaze, lips curving into something wicked. “No promises.”

A flicker sparked in his eyes—like a match struck to dry kindling. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t say another word. But the electricity between you lingered, humming in the air like a live wire.

“So this is the side of you I never knew,” Bucky said quietly, eyes locked on yours.

You paused, the smallest twitch pulling at your lips. “It’s always been there,” you said, voice softer now, with the faintest edge of something raw. “I just hid it too well from you.”

He didn’t reply right away. The air between you felt like it might catch fire if one of you moved too fast.

You shifted your weight, heart doing something traitorous in your chest. “I never lied about how I felt about you,” you added, eyes searching his face. “Just… about who I am.”

Your voice barely wavered—but it cost you.

Bucky’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t look away. And for a second, you wished he’d yell. Or curse. Or laugh. Anything but this silent, smoldering restraint.

You stepped back, catching your breath like you’d been holding it the whole time. “Anyway,” you said with a wry smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “now you’ve seen it.”

Turning away, you walked toward Edward, your steps slow, weighted with something you couldn’t quite shake. Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed on your back, lingering longer than they should.

Edward opened the exit door with a flourish. “You’re free.”

But free from what? The cuffs were off, yet the guilt wrapped around your chest tighter than ever. Free only to face the ache of what was left unsaid—and the impossible space growing between you two.

💎💎💎💎

You and Edward slipped out of the gallery, the night air thick with the scent of rain and something electric between you both. You headed straight for your hideout, a dimly lit loft cluttered with scattered blueprints and stolen treasures.

“Fuck,” Edward muttered, tossing his jacket onto a chair. “We just lost seven million.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Was the client mad?”

Edward pulled out his phone, swiping to reveal an encrypted chat. “Yeah. The client who hired us—he dropped a million as a deposit, so he’s definitely pissed. I sent him the update: the diamond heist failed. His reply? Just one word. ‘Loser.’”

You exhaled, sinking onto the worn-out couch. “Well… we kinda deserved it.”

For a long moment, you just stared at the ceiling, your mind racing. Four years. Four years of silence, four years of running—until Bucky busted you and found out who you really were. That revelation still burned under your skin. A mixture of defeat, defiance, and something sharper—regret? No. Something else. A flicker of something complicated.

Before you could dig deeper, Edward’s voice cut through the silence.

“I found out why that Interpol cop hates you so much.”

You sat up, curiosity sharp. “Why?”

He smirked, pulling up another chat on his phone. “Turns out, Amy’s been on some arranged-date thing with Bucky.”

Your heart jolted. “WHAT?!” You sprang up from the couch and leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the screen.

The message thread showed a casual introduction: Co-worker 1: “You should meet Amy. She’s sharp, good with cases.” Bucky: “Fine.”

You frowned, a sudden heat kindling in your chest. “Wait… I don’t think Bucky’s interested. See? He just replied with ‘Fine’ and that’s it. No emojis. No follow-up.”

"And look at his message history—he barely mentions her. So the date didn’t go well!" you added, or maybe just trying to convince yourself.

Edward rolled his eyes, clearly amused. “Alright, Miss Delulu.”

You sighed dramatically, crossing your arms. “Aww shit. Why am I feeling this? Why do people like us always fail at romance?”

Edward shrugged with a grin. “Our teacher was a disaster at this stuff too. But hey—he did manage to steal the real Mona Lisa.” He paused, then shook his head. “Honestly, just give up. Besides, you two are on different sides. He’s the good guy. You’re… not.”

Your jaw tightened at the truth. The thought of Bucky and Amy together twisted your gut in ways you didn’t want to admit. You didn’t want to see them like that—like a pair.

Edward nudged you gently. “Stop thinking about it. Let him go.”

You stayed silent, staring off into the distance.

“Shit. I’m gonna need a hot shower,” Edward muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he headed toward the bathroom.

💎💎💎💎💎

Bucky lay on his bed, shirtless, wearing only his boxers. His eyes traced the cracks on the ceiling as memories of the day replayed relentlessly. The woman he’d fallen for—the one who’d haunted his thoughts—was the thief behind the ruby jewelry once owned by Queen Amélie of France.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. He hated it. Hated seeing you, so calm and untouchable, with that smug lawyer by your side. That smugness, the way he touched you—it stabbed deeper than any blade.

So, four years ago, while you both shared the same bed, you were secretly planning to steal the ruby, with him sleeping right beside you, completely unaware that you were using him to get the security details.

Suddenly, the window slid open with a soft creak. Bucky sat up, muscles tense. There you were—sneaking in like a shadow, casual but impossibly bold.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared.

You stepped further inside, tossing a small box onto his bed. It landed with a soft thud. Bucky opened it, eyes narrowing as he saw the ruby necklace gleam in the dim light—the stolen jewel.

“What do you want after this?” His voice was low, rough. “You think this fixes everything?”

Bucky stood, tall and bare-chested, the faint moonlight tracing every line of his sculpted body. You swallowed hard, cheeks warming under his gaze—he’d clearly been working out more lately.

“You can’t just come back and fix things like this. I’m not your plaything,” he said, stepping closer until you could feel the heat radiating from him.

You looked down for a second. “I… I know.”

He crossed his arms, eyes sharp. “Then why are you here? You could have just returned this to the gallery.”

You hesitated, then took a step back toward the window, the cool night air brushing your skin.

“I’m here because I want to declare something.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, curiosity flickering behind his guarded stare.

You smiled—soft, genuine—because you saw the concern in his eyes, the way he still cared.

“I want to tell you... I’m going to steal your heart.”

His eyes widened, disbelief and something else flashing between them.

Before he could say a word, you leapt from the window frame, landing lightly on the pavement below.

Bucky sprinted to the window, heart pounding as he watched you speed away in a sleek convertible with no roof. The same lawyer sat confidently behind the wheel. His guess was right — that lawyer is your partner in crime too.

He stood frozen for a heartbeat, her words replaying in his mind—“I’m going to steal your heart.” A slow, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his usual guarded expression cracking just enough to let something raw and real slip through.

She’s a thief—always has been. But maybe this time, she’s trying to steal something that matters.

"Damn it,” he whispered, voice low and rough, “why does she have to be this good at breaking me?”

💎💎💎💎

Inside the speeding car, the wind whipped through your hair, but you barely noticed. Edward, a picture of calm amusement behind the wheel, glanced at you. "So... you just professed your love to him, huh? What are you going to do next, send him a dozen roses?"

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. The adrenaline from the heist and the escape was fading, replaced by a mortifying wave of embarrassment, shyness, and a dizzying mix of emotions. "I don't know!" you wailed, your voice muffled. "I just... I don't know!"

Author’s note: What will she do to get Bucky back? As an author, I also don't know. Lol 🤣

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