Olivia By The Whispers Novels & Stories

We were safe for now, but the silence between us felt heavier than the mountain air. ​"Julian," I whispered, stepping closer. "Put it away. We won. We’re free. Why are you still digging?" ​He didn't look up. "Because this isn't just a signal, Clara. It’s an archive. And it’s been waiting for me to open it." ​He hit the final command. A holographic projection shimmered into existence above the device, casting long, distorted shadows across the wooden walls. It wasn't code. It was video—raw, unfiltered footage.

Olivia whispered as she settled onto the bed. Trisha bowed and left. Once she was gone, the room felt like a cage. Yara was pacing back and forth relentlessly, scratching at the walls of Olivia's mind. I need to run, Olivia. Now, she whined. "No," Olivia muttered under her breath. He's out there, Yara added pleadingly. I can feel him. Olivia exhaled slowly. She hated that part of her that reacted to him without permission. She lasted all of three minutes before she gave in. "Fine," she whispered.

When our wolves first recognized each other, I felt complete. But maybe a bond wasn’t enough. Maybe love still required choosing. And Rowan hadn’t chosen me. I stopped at the riverbank. The water was dark and restless. Lyra’s voice trembled. He’s our mate. Is he? I whispered back. Or are we just convenient? The answer hurt because I already knew it. My phone felt heavy in my pocket. I stared at it before dialing the number I’d avoided for three years. It rang twice. “Isla.”

She reached up, her hands framing his sharp, shadow-stubbled jaw. "Then let it take you, Victor," she whispered fiercely. "I don't want to fight it anymore." Victor’s jaw clenched, a sudden, heavy wave of reverence washing over his rugged features. He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing still ragged. In the dark, dangerous world of the underworld, both of them carried heavy armor. But as they stood on the absolute precipice of total surrender, a deeper, unspoken truth hung in the air between them.

You worked with May to kill me and take the pocket watch for yourself, so that you could provide that intel to the enemy! "Other than the method to open it, there's actually one last secret to this pocket watch… "This pocket watch is actually a voice recorder, too!" "You… Impossible!" His face turned pale. This was the final straw. The thing that would bring everything to an end. I turned the crown three times counterclockwise and pressed the button. This was the last message my husband had left for me before he died. In front of everyone, the recording played clearly. "You… you really were a spy! You were behind everything!" This was Ben's voice.

What if there was truth buried under her venom? Phones went up. Screens glowed. Someone whispered not-so-quietly, “Oh my God, this is going to be everywhere.” Olivia circled me, her eyes glittering with triumph. “Look at you,” she said, disdain dripping from her tone. “Playing dress-up, pretending you belong. Walking around like you’re the lady of the house.” She laughed, sharp and hollow. “Newsflash, I am still Mrs. Blackwood. You? You’re a distraction. A mistake he’ll eventually erase.”

Leon whispered. She was staring into his eyes and panting. "It's... perfect," Olivia whispered. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted me to be your whore." His hands reached around and grabbed her firm arse cheeks. "You are my whore!" He growled and pulled her all the way down his big, black cock. "Ooooh fuuuck mee!!" Olivia moaned and flung her head back. "Yes! Yes, I'm your whore, Master!!"

Olivias pov I moved forward towards the voice. The tunnels bent and swirled around me, a labyrinth that seemed to stretch into infinity. I called out again, gentler this time, "Hello? Is anyone there?" My voice felt tiny in the vast darkness, threading through the heavy silence. Suddenly, I caught a whisper—a voice faint yet persistent—a single word that seemed woven from the air. "Olivia..." I hesitated, feeling a tremor of both hope and fear. That voice, so distant yet unmistakably real, beckoned me with a familiarity I couldn’t ignore. My grip on the wall tightened, anchoring me as I ventured further in, letting the whisper guide me.

A silence fell again, heavy with uncertainty and fragile hope. Then a voice cut through. “Who is she?” A woman called out, eyes locked on Aurelia. All heads turned. Aurelia stood motionless, her calm, regal presence like snow waiting to fall. “She doesn’t smell like a wolf,” the woman added. Suspicion in every word. I glanced at Aurelia and gave her a small nod. She stepped forward, voice clear and steady. “Hi. My name is Aurelia. I’m the High Priestess of Winter.”

She took a slow breath, letting the recollection sharpen: the heavy bass pulsing through her chest, golden lights sweeping across the crowd, the air thick with a dozen different perfumes. “A man I never saw again.” The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was expectant. Ísis carefully placed the mask back in the box and leaned back on her hands, stretching her legs across the bed like someone settling in for a good story. “Now you’ve got me hooked,” she murmured with a soft grin. “Tell me everything, girl. The boss isn’t home yet and you’re already ready.” Olivia gave a faint smile, but something shifted in her eyes—a quiet uncertainty, a piece of the past that still carried weight she co