Stolen Hearts.

Tick, tock, ding dong. As the clock struck 9 AM, a soft chime echoed through the Metropolitan Museum of Art. With a barely audible hiss, a bulletproof glass case slowly opened.

A delicate hand reached in, plucking an ancient Native American artifact from its display. Holding it up to the light, a voice murmured, "Hmm... an authentic Mississippian sun circle, circa 1200 AD. Shell carved, traces of pigment still visible... exquisite."

"That little trinket's worth $30 million?" A skeptical voice called from the doorway.

The woman at the display case smiled without turning. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the artifact towards the voice. "Pre-Columbian. What do you think?"

A tall blonde deftly caught it, raising an eyebrow as she examined the treasure.

The woman at the display wore a crisp white Chanel suit, a pale green Hermès scarf knotted at her throat. Her face bore a serene smile, bright eyes sparkling with mischief and intelligence. She exuded an aura of effortless cool, elegant yet carefree. Her unique presence often overshadowed her striking beauty, drawing attention to her remarkable charisma instead.

"Gold has a price, history is priceless," the blonde said, tucking the artifact into her jacket. "Too bad for them, it's only worth $30 million to us."

The woman in white chuckled, wagging her finger. "No, darling. Meeting us makes it worthless. It's only valuable because someone's willing to pay. For us? It's free."

They shared a knowing smile. As master thieves, why pay when you can take?

The woman in white surveyed the room full of priceless treasures, shrugging. "Lucky for them we have professional ethics. You're safe this time."

The renowned New York gallery housed artifacts from around the world, with a total value that could probably buy Delaware. Hence the state-of-the-art security system and ubiquitous cameras. But they'd forgotten: over-reliance on technology is often the easiest weakness to exploit.