Novels by Little Bunny

Tonight, he had not just outbid Raphael Martel. He had outmaneuvered him. And as the golden egg was handed over to its overpriced new owner, it was clear to everyone present: Klaus Whitlock had already won. The price had soared beyond reason, a bidding war turned blood sport. Martel had taken the bait, pushed to the edge of logic, and now he sat with a hollow victory. The room hummed with the quiet energy of spectacle, champagne glasses poised at lips as guests exchanged knowing glances. Klaus leaned back in his chair, allowing himself the indulgence of a slow sip of scotch. The liquor burned just enough to anchor him, but not enough to distract from the real prize—the flicker of fury in Martel’s eyes. His opponent’s fingers drummed against the polished wood of the auction table, a restless staccato betraying what his carefully schooled expression would not. His jaw was tight, his nostrils flared—rage barely leashed beneath a mask of civility. Then, just for a moment, the mask

Klaus watched as the golden egg was revealed, gleaming under the chandelier lights. At the same moment, his system bank account flashed before his eyes—funds flowing in real time from his businesses. The casino earnings, restaurant profits, supermarket revenue, and hotel income all funneled seamlessly into his growing wealth. The auction hall pulsed with an electric tension, an undercurrent of unspoken rivalries and veiled ambitions. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the opulent crowd, illuminating fortunes that had stood for generations. The scent of aged whiskey and expensive perfume mingled in the air, a testament to the excesses of the elite. Klaus Whitlock sat with the practiced ease of a man who belonged, yet refused to conform. His sharp gaze skimmed the room, calculating, assessing. The golden egg was unveiled under the chandelier's brilliance, its polished surface gleaming with promise. A fortune contained in an object—a mere symbol to some, but a statement of

Klaus sensed that this title ability was far from straightforward, and he experienced a warm sensation in his palms before it faded away. As they drove away in the newly purchased Rolls-Royce, Harriet stared at the city lights flashing past, wondering just what game her boss was playing—and who the next fool would be to underestimate him. The night before the event, Klaus received an unexpected call. The voice on the other end was smooth, confident, and tinged with a European lilt. "Mr. Whitlock," she purred. "This is Isabella Rossi. I believe we share an interest—Mega Bucks Casino. As fellow shareholders, I think it’s only right that we get acquainted, i want to know you." Klaus leaned back in his chair, intrigued. Isabella Rossi was a name he was familiar with—one of the principal owners of the casino empire. Mysterious, cunning, and known for getting what she wanted. "I assume you have a proposition?" Klaus asked, swirling the bourbon in his glass. A soft chuckle. "Just

"And now you’re here pretending to be rich? There’s no way you can afford this house. I’d advise you to stop embarrassing yourself and leave before you make a fool of yourself." Harriet’s fists clenched at Monroe’s audacity, but Klaus remained composed, a slow, knowing smirk forming on his lips. "And what price are you negotiating?" Klaus asked, his voice eerily calm. Monroe puffed out his chest. "Twenty million. Of course, I’m working out a deal to bring it down a notch, but the agent knows I’m serious." Klaus let a beat of silence pass. Then, with the ease of someone ordering coffee, he said, "I’ll take it. Full price along with the two smaller houses beside it. No negotiation. One hundred and fifty million dollars. Keep the change." The air shifted. The agent’s eyes widened. Monroe’s smirk froze before disintegrating into disbelief. "O-One hundred and fifty million?" the agent stammered. "Are you certain, sir?" Klaus gave a small, knowing smile. "I believe I said that

Klaus leaned forward slightly, his voice smooth but firm. “Then I propose a solution. Increase the pressure. Make it clear that unless they settle their debt in three days, they risk being swallowed whole by a larger entity.” Laurent raised an eyebrow. “And if they go scrambling for an investor to save them?” Klaus’s smirk widened. “I’ll be waiting with open arms. I’ll offer them salvation—on my terms.” Laurent let out a low whistle. “That’s quite the play, Mr. Whitlock. Ruthless and effective. Why the sudden interest in DHL Logistics?” Klaus finished his drink and stood, extending a hand. “I have a keen interest in acquiring struggling companies. So please, see it through. I trust you can handle your end.” Laurent considered for a moment before gripping Klaus’s hand firmly. “Consider it done. I look forward to seeing how this unfolds. And perhaps, this could be the start of a valuable friendship.” Klaus smiled, amiable yet calculating. “I’ll hold you to that.” --- As

"Hmph, you should be grateful I saved you from embarrassing yourself in front of your girlfriend. I know you can't afford a luxury yacht like this," Smith retorted, sizing Klaus up. Looking at Klaus, he started to take notice of his facial features—the slicked-back red hair, neatly trimmed goatee, perfectly carved eyebrows, sharp ice-blue eyes, and his towering height of almost six feet, making Smith feel insignificant in comparison. "And you can?" Klaus shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Absolutely. I’m Smith Hunt. My brother's name is Ethan Hunt, the Zonal Director of Chimera Bank. I own a Diaspora fashion company and several other businesses. A pretty boy like you, who has never seen real wealth, wouldn’t understand my influence," Smith declared loudly, brimming with arrogance. Klaus chuckled lightly, as if he were watching a clown perform, and felt a strong urge to give Smith a hard knock on his obtuse head full of short blond hair. "I don’t care who you are or what you own;