Naomi Ross Of Leaks Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Message received. The territory is yours. Every blood-soaked inch of it." Valentina’s smile was a razor blade. "Tell Takahashi the transition is complete. Tell him I’m ready for my throne." But 5,000 miles away in Tokyo, the throne was already on fire. A screen flashed red. Kenji leaned into the glow. "What am I looking at?" "Lina Rossi," the assistant whispered, trembling. "The reporter. She didn't just leak the deal—she leaked the evidence. The offshore accounts, the hits, the names."

I could see it in the way his mind worked, the way his anger simmered just beneath the surface, cold and controlled. I was thinking too. Not just about the Rossettis, but about what Adrian had said. Someone had leaked that footage. Someone had been holding onto it, waiting for the right moment to use it against us. And it had not just been the Rossettis. There was more to this. I glanced at Levi. "We need to figure out who had access to that footage in the first place. The Rossettis might have been the ones to leak it, but that does not mean they were the only ones involved."

But this — leaking that video — it wasn’t just an attack on Helen. It was an attack on me, on my company, and on my image. Would she risk all that just to hurt Helen? Well, if she believed Helen was still a threat to her place, maybe. But something didn’t add up. Rose is cunning, yes, but she’s not sloppy. This leak was messy. Emotional. The kind of hit you launch when you’re not thinking straight. Still, I couldn’t shake the image of her face the last time we spoke about Helen — the way her jaw tightened, the way her eyes flashed. The warning I’d brushed off.

A tiny subheadline snaked beneath it, dripping with malice: “Exclusive from Insider: Nora Rozier Was Once the Upper East Side’s Most Infamous Mistress…” Ava didn’t take the newspaper. She just lifted her gaze, her eyes a void of dead silence. She didn’t tell Summer to trace the IP address of the leak, and she didn’t explode in rage. She merely spoke in a quiet, steady voice. “Arrange a meeting. Tonight at eight. The usual private booth at Le Coucou.” “Don’t tell her I already know everything.” Manhattan, Le Coucou, 8:00 p.m. Sharp

“You’ll lose yourself.” He cupped her face gently. “I already did. The moment I realized loving you gave them leverage.” Tears burned her eyes. “Don’t do this for me.” “I’m not,” he said softly. “I’m doing it to them.” THE BLOOD THAT SPEAKS The move came before dawn. Three accounts exposed. Two private networks dismantled. One offshore facility burned—digitally and literally. By morning, headlines screamed about leaks, resignations, arrests. But buried beneath the chaos was a quieter truth:

She had expected the storm, but the force of it still unsettled her. Noah entered carrying a folder of updates. “It is everywhere. Investors are nervous, though most remain steady because of your speech yesterday. But the press will not let go easily. Claudia is feeding them more. She has leaked partial ledgers, pages torn from records in Geneva. None prove ongoing corruption, but they look damning at first glance.” Hana followed, her expression sharp. “We traced the leak. The pages came from documents in the private collection of one of Claudia’s allies. They were cropped to remove context. Without the full record, they imply more than they prove.”

She stumbled into the hall, phone in her hand, hair a mess like she hadn’t even finished getting ready for the day. “What?” I asked, heart slamming. Isabella held out her phone, her voice shaking. “You need to see this. Right now.” I took it. My fingers froze. My name was everywhere. Alongside Ricci’s. Headlines flashing. News channels picking it up. Social media exploding. Reporter Sophia Leigh leaks explosive documents exposing Ricci Russo’s role in assassination attempt. Wife or traitor? Ricci Russo's betrayal—and the woman who exposed him. I couldn’t breathe.

He was the one funneling money out of the company, using Clara as his inside agent to keep Leo distracted. A floorboard creaked behind me. I slammed the laptop shut and spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs. Leo was standing in the doorway, wearing a silk robe, his hair still damp. He looked like he hadn't slept either. "What are you doing, Rose? It’s nearly dawn." "Leo, I found something. Something dangerous." I opened the laptop and showed him the ledger. I told him about the recorder, playing the muffled voice for him. His face went from tired to lethal in a matter of seconds.

She wasn’t admiring them. She was looking for cracks. Every connection now looked like a possible breach. Every new face in the Foundation, a potential saboteur. Behind her, Ruth entered the room, her expression unreadable, laptop tucked under her arm. “We found it,” she said flatly. Lena turned. “Found what?” Ruth set the laptop down, tapped a few keys, and rotated the screen toward her. “The leak. Someone inside the Foundation’s media division has been forwarding internal documents. Grant drafts, security scheduling, early press releases—some altered, some raw.”