The Secret Whisperer
Leila, a young Austrian aristocrat and student in Classics, is drawn into a world of conspiracy and danger when her aunt is involved in a suspicious car accident. Leila travels to her aunt’s chalet to take care of her husky, but soon discovers a body in the drawing room. Terrified, she runs out and bumps into Dick, a nosy English banker who becomes entangled in the mystery.
When they return to the drawing room, the body has disappeared. Leila takes the husky for a walk and discovers that the body has been moved to a house recently purchased by another branch of her family. She finds a notebook with encrypted entries in the drawing room and uses her linguistic skills to decode them. She discovers the initials, address, and phone number of someone involved in the plot.
Leila calls the number and is warned against getting involved. Undeterred, she discovers a bizarre research center where a conference on German mystical past is taking place.She suspects that there is a bizarre cult operating underground. Leila learns about their plan to topple every democracy in Europe. The cult is after an artifact that may be hidden in her aunt’s chalet.
However, this is only the tip of the iceberg. Leila discovers that the aristocratic cult members are pawns in a larger game. They are unknowingly being manipulated to cause disruption in the European banking system using an AI virus.The chaos will cause turmoil in the Euro zone.
As Leila and her aunt race against time to stop the virus from being unleashed, they uncover an even more shocking truth: Leila’s own family members are part of the conspiracy. With betrayal and danger at every turn, Leila must use all of her wit to outsmart the cult.
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Chapter: 26Christina’s eyes went dark, like someone had just switched off the chandelier in a grand ballroom. “My father had an old mask in his collection,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s still somewhere in the attic. He used to tell me this wild story about Nazis organizing a secret expedition to find it. He was pleased to have it, of course. You’re telling me it’s a fake?”Dick Jones gave her a look that could’ve cut through stone. “Not quite. Your piece is a replica—at least three hundred years old, according to Yellen. What bothers me is Yellen came here looking for it and ended up dead. Yet the attic didn’t look disturbed. The mask was still there. That’s what makes my skin itch.”A faint cloud of hesitation swept over Christina’s face, and her eyes misted like fogged glass. “Oh my God. That poor man. I can’t stop thinking about him.”Dick didn’t bother softening his words. “I wouldn’t if I were you. It’s likely Yellen came here to kill you. Somebody else intervened. I’ve
Last Updated: 2025-03-24
Chapter: 25Nosy Dick—or rather, Agent Richard Jones—sat at Christina’s Black Forest table, stripping off his black leather gloves like he was settling in for afternoon tea. Snow dripped off his blue puffer coat in mournful little puddles. Wolfie eyed him suspiciously from her spot by the fire, giving the occasional low grumble just to make sure Dick knew where he stood on the guest list.Leila folded her arms and leaned against the 18th century cast iron stove, casually holding the rifle. “You scared the light out of us, Mr Jones. Sneaking around in the dark is a great way to get shot, you know. Or mauled. Wolfie’s pretty territorial about her lounge space.”Dick gave her a weary smirk, not bothering to even glance at the unnerved husky. “You’d be amazed how often I get shot at. Mostly by people more competent than you.” He pulled a neat silver flask from his coat pocket and took a swig, pulling his face as if the whisky had punched him in the throat. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d have to break
Last Updated: 2025-03-23
Chapter: 24The snow was still falling when Leila pulled the threadbare quilt tighter around her shoulders and glanced over at the notebook lying open on the low table. It looked innocent enough, the cracked leather and yellowed pages giving it the vibe of something that ought to be filled with long-forgotten recipes or notes on which fertilizer worked best for dahlias. But inside she found something else —a mess of Gothic architecture sketches, topographical diagrams and hastily written notes that looked like the fevered scribbling of a medieval cartographer gone mad.“That’s remarkable. Where did you find it?” Christina asked with a notch of suspicion.“Here, in the chalet, in that hidden place I’ve told you about. Wolfie and I were saving the owl that managed to get in through the broken attic window.”Christina leaned closer to the lantern’s dim light, tracing the hasty ink sketch with her finger. The combination of drawings, faint script and crude shapes made the page look like a treasure ma
Last Updated: 2025-03-23
Chapter: 23Leila pulled up to Christina’s hideaway, the car’s headlights slicing through the frostbitten gloom. The house sat hunched against the snow, a dark silhouette of pine and cold secrets. She’d driven fast—too fast for the icy roads—but when your aunt called with that tone, you didn’t stop to admire the scenery. Inside, the room was a furnace. The black iron stove glowed like it was working overtime, and the wood stacked high in the corner promised it wasn’t getting a break anytime soon. Christina was in her usual spot, a blanket over her knees, looking like the queen of a tiny, crumbling empire. Her eyes, though, were sharp and on point, pinning Leila like a hawk spotting prey. “Lock the door,” Christina said. No hello, no pleasantries. Leila did as she was told, the click of the deadbolt echoing louder than it should. “What’s going on?” she asked, pulling off her gloves. She kept her tone light, but her gut was doing flips. Christina didn’t answer right away. Instead, she pulled
Last Updated: 2025-01-30
Chapter: 22That afternoon Leila was waiting for him in wane, as Tom got distracted. His boss decided to pay an unexpected visit. The winter sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting a soft glow through the tinted windows of Tom’s high-tech office when Mikhail Grossman decided to darken the door. The man loomed like a storm cloud in an Armani suit, his scowl deep enough to hide a weapon. “Evening, Mikhail,” Tom said with the ease of a man greeting an old friend rather than a mafia boss who snaps necks like breadsticks. He wondered whether Mikhail Grossman heard the news about Vlad. Tom leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “Cut the pleasantries, Tomas,” Grossman growled. His voice was a low rumble, the kind that preceded an earthquake. “You know why I’m here. Your work. The Green Dragon virus—you’re going to hand it over. Now.” Tom chuckled and tapped his fingers on the scratched surface of his desk, where beneath lay layers of encrypted
Last Updated: 2025-01-29
Chapter: 21A tiny, no larger than a pack of cigarettes, combat drone silently fell off the roof two floors above the office where Vlad Voronin was glued to the computer screen. It smoothly descended to his window, peeked out stealthily from behind the wall and froze in the upper left corner. The cameras adjusted the focus to Vlad’s stand-alone laptop. The camera was filming the program commands running in a fast line on a black background.The owner of the computer had no idea about all that. He was busy with the guest. Smiling snottily, Voronin pulled the flash drive out of the laptop and put it inside a small brown envelope.‘That’s perfect,’ he patted his guest on the shoulder.‘I have to return it,’ the guest muttered nervously stretching out his hand. ‘My share, as agreed?’‘Don’t worry,’ Voronin frowned. ‘Assume that you don’t owe us anything anymore. '‘Fine. You have to give me a receipt. For the records.’‘OK,OK. You’ve become too suspicious, Ash,’ Vlad pulled out a four-fold piece of p
Last Updated: 2025-01-29
The Vision She Hid
She pretended not to see. He pretended not to care. Now the whole mafia clan watching them burn.
When Leo Christofides saved a man’s life, she lost everything—her sight, her future as a prima ballerina, and her freedom. For two years, she’s lived in darkness, relying on the man who once promised to be her eyes. But when her vision returned, the first thing she sees is betrayal: her fiancé tangled up with her nurse, wearing the same smile he used to give only to Leo.
Before Leo can escape this nightmare, she’s handed over like a pawn in a blood-soaked stand-off between two gangs. She is sold to an attractive, enigmatic mafia boss with a gun on his hip and secrets in his eyes. His name is Vic, and he introduces her to his clan not as a hostage but as his wife.
Now Leo must play blind in a house full of killers, where power is the only hard currency and trust is a suicide. But she’s not the helpless girl Hermano thinks she is. Leo has a dark secret of her own. She is watching. Waiting. The next move is hers, and it can be deadly.
The Vision She Hid is a dark, seductive thriller dripping in secrets and slow-burn heat, where power struggle meets mafia romance with a blade between its teeth.
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Chapter: 131The helicopter came in low over the roofs and shook flour off the bakery like dust from an old rug. The rotor wash turned the square into a wind tunnel and gave everyone a free bad hair day. People ran to their doors because that’s what people do when a machine drops from the sky on their town. Dogs barked because nobody was there to tell them off.We stood in the alley by the basil cans and waited for the noise to become something we could work with. Celeste kept one hand in her pocket and the other on the old stone wall. Maria shielded her eyes with a flat hand. Andrew looked like a man counting his unpaid debts. Elky was there, but only just. I tasted jet fuel and lemons and thought the mixer is vile.The pilot settled in the schoolyard at the edge of the square. The school had a roof with a gap where a tile should. When the rotors slowed down, a man in a black suit jumped down and unlatched the side door like he did so every weekend. He didn’t care to look at us. He looked at the
Last Updated: 2025-11-01
Chapter: 130My humble abode above the bakery kept the day’s heat like a jar with an air-tight lid. The fan moved air from one corner to another and called it cooling work. I pulled the curtains half-closed and set the night-vision camera on the sill covered in dead flies. The glass was streaked with flour dust. I wiped a patch with the heel of my palm and left a clear oval and a smear across my hand. It smelled faintly of yeast and felt good. Well, definitely better than rotten fish at the docks.The hill house sat across my window, a black shape cut out of the darker sky. A line of trees marked the lemon grove. The wall ran under them, old stone and newer unsighty patch, the kind of repair you get when money shows up late.In the square below me, the last voices faded. Chairs scraped the pavement. A scooter coughed and went quietly away. The bakery clinked and hissed under my feet, then settled to a slow breathing—trays in, trays out, oven door, TV chatter. The old woman sang a bar in the wrong
Last Updated: 2025-10-31
Chapter: 129The engine came up the hill and died out like a cough that didn’t want doctor’s attention. The sound bounced off the church wall and slipped into the water. The docks went back to being docks—tar, rope, diesel, and dead fish. Nets lay in heaps like tired laundry. A gull stood on a bollard and watched us without much respect.Maria pulled her jean jacket tighter. “That’s the second truck I’ve heard doing that,” she said. “Up, down, stop. Like a metronome.”“Yeah. They have bad rhythm,” Andrew said. He had his hands in his pockets and his collar turned up. He looked like a man trying to be part of a wall.I watched the hill. A thin line of lights ran along the ridge like a dotted sentence. It didn’t say much. The air was heavy, damp, and still warm. I kept feeling salt on my lips. A ferry horn moaned somewhere out in the dark and a smaller boat answered.“We don’t follow engines,” I said. “Engines don’t love us back.”“So what do we follow?” Maria asked.“People,” I said. “They leak in
Last Updated: 2025-10-31
Chapter: 128The ferry landed in a burst of heat. Air heavy with salt and exhaust pressed against us when the ramp came down. The sun had no merci; it glared at everything and everyone to burn.The road from the docks climbed past warehouses streaked with rust and white salt lines. The tires crunched over gravel. No wind. Only flies and the faint sound of a radio playing an old love song that ended in white noise.We stopped at a square where the smell of baked bread mixed with diesel. A narrow bakery leaned between two houses. Its windows were clouded from flour; the paint on the sign had peeled to faint blue ghosts of letters.Inside, the air was warm and dry. The counters were bare except for three loaves that looked tired but serviceable. An old woman stood behind them. She wore a plain cotton dress and an apron that had been washed too many times. Her hands were white with flour up to the wrists. Her hair was gray and pulled tight. The perfume on her was sweet and old-fashioned; it mixed with
Last Updated: 2025-10-31
Chapter: 127The storage place had a hallway that smelled like damp concrete and dirty secrets. Yannis walked ahead of us with the bored menace of a man who could bend a door with his left shoulder. Andrew ghosted behind us, hands in pockets, eyes on all corners at once. Marta’s heels clicked out a rhythm that told the future to come but at a reasonable pace.Unit 17B’s paint was the color of old gunmetal. The lock took the key like it was paid money for it. The door rolled up, complaining like a choir of lifetime smokers.Inside: a busted metal shelf, an old trunk, a cardboard box with a slit down one side, and a portable projector case. The air had that stale, sweet smell of old paper that’s learned to lie elegantly.I stepped in while the others kept the distance. Flicked the trunk. It protested wildly. I opened it anyway. Clothes. Men’s, then women’s. Not my style, not anyone’s decent. The kind of anonymous fabric you buy when you know you’ll be leaving fast. Beneath the second layer, a plasti
Last Updated: 2025-10-31
Chapter: 126Nicos keeps the good whiskey in a cupboard that squeaks on purpose. He says it’s an alarm—lets a man consider his choices before his hand meets the bottle. I poured two inches into a heavy glass and let it kiss the air while the city tried on its evening cologne: diesel, sea salt, and that old, dear to my heart perfume of evening prayers.The study had been cleaned up, which meant the blood has become a rumor and the carpets were back to being legal. Cigarette smoke from the morning still clung to the green lamp shade like a crime with an overstretched alibi. Leather books lined the walls with that stubborn still dignity written things wear when they’ve learned in this house men will shoot at anything that moves or disagrees. The whiskey looked like sunlight that had decided to retire early and take up residence in crystal palace.Elky sat in my father’s leather chair, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, bandage tugging a square of pain under the linen. He was getting better—color back, e
Last Updated: 2025-10-14
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