Novels by Little Bunny

And until his system came back online, he would have to rely on his own skills and instincts alone. He crossed the suite silently, pulling the curtains shut and checking his phone. No new messages. No updates from the system. Alone in the quiet, dim room, Klaus sat by the window, watching the street below, his mind already racing ahead, planning his next move. Klaus sat on the edge of the hotel bed, his fingers moving deftly over Allison’s phone. He connected it to a discreet black device Richard Fitzgerano had given him months ago, during the chaos of the hotel scandal. The device was a marvel of clandestine technology — capable of silently combing through every shred of data on the phone: text messages, call logs, voice recordings, images, even hidden notes. All of it was being quietly siphoned, streamed in a time-based format straight into Klaus’s laptop. The faint hum of the device filled the room, blending with the muted noise of distant city traffic. Klaus leaned back in t

The black van, monstrous and relentless, gave chase immediately, its front grill dented but very much operational. It was clear now — they weren’t interested in following him or intimidating him. They wanted him captured or worse. One hand on the wheel, Klaus grabbed his phone and quickly dialed the emergency number. His voice was steady despite the pounding of his heart. “I'm being chased," he said curtly as he took a sharp left turn, tires squealing. "Black van, license plate—" he glanced in his rearview mirror, barely catching the numbers through the blur, "—partial plate 67P5. I’m headed toward Eastbrook Avenue. Requesting immediate assistance." He ended the call without waiting for a response. He couldn’t afford to split his attention any further. Right now, every ounce of focus was needed to stay alive. The city around him turned into a maze of obstacles — honking cars, confused pedestrians, flickering neon signs. Klaus dodged in and out of lanes, slipping between a deli

"This asshole insulted me after trying to hit on me!" Vanessa cried, crocodile tears welling up instantly. "I think you must have fallen on your head as a child," Klaus said, voice dripping with disdain. "To accuse me of hitting on you is laughable." Donavan’s jaw tightened, puffing himself up like a rooster ready to fight. "You got a big mouth for a nobody. Maybe you need a lesson in respect," Donavan said, cracking his knuckles. Klaus tilted his head slightly. A slight grin curved his lips. The atmosphere thickened, the energy in the casino crackling. It was about to be another headache. Before Donavan could lunge, Klaus’s demeanor changed. Like flipping a switch, Klaus unleashed the aura he normally kept locked down—a low, oppressive pressure that weighed on the mind and body, subtle yet unmistakable. Only those tuned to instincts felt it first. The nearby players shifted uncomfortably. Vanessa paled without knowing why. Klaus’s voice dropped into something silkier,

But for now, she’d retreat. Regroup. Plot. Because no one made Allison Hunt feel small and got away with it. Not even Klaus Whitlock. The look in her eyes as she walked away was a quiet vow, a storm gathering at the edges of the night, promising this wasn’t over. --- Klaus watched her leave with a small, amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Some people never learned. He tucked his hands into his pockets, remembering the phone he had "liberated" belonging to Allison, and the mysterious auction items that his system had made him buy. His mind shifted back to the more immediate concerns—Isabella. He went upstairs where Isabella was waiting for him, perched elegantly on a velvet settee like a queen in exile. The room they used for private meetings was awash with soft golden lighting, casting long shadows across the mahogany floors and marble-topped side tables. From here, the hum of the casino below was just a distant whisper, like a restless ocean under the

A jackpot machine erupted in celebration. But at a table, seated beneath a cascade of golden chandeliers and a low halo of smoke and velvet light, the atmosphere was something else entirely. Klaus Whitlock now leaned back in a chair. Across from him sat Allison Hunt, radiating poise and danger in equal measure. She wasn’t just another pretty face dressed in designer silk with a glint of charm in her eyes. No—Klaus had never expected the woman he once loved to be so shameless and calculated. “I’ve never really had a good friend,” she said softly, tracing the rim of her wineglass with a manicured finger. “Everyone I meet is after something. Status, money, fame. I just... I think you and I could be different. You seem real, Klaus. Like someone who’s above all the noise.” He didn’t respond immediately. His eyes studied her, not with lust or curiosity, but with the same scrutiny one might give a snake basking in the sun. Attractive, yes. But venomous. Then Klaus leaned in slightly,

Klaus felt a slight twinge of skepticism but kept his expression neutral. He didn’t trust her words, but it was difficult not to notice the softness in her tone, the subtle allure in her body language. She was being careful—too careful. It was all an act, and Klaus was a master of recognizing when someone was playing a game, even when they dressed it in sweetness. "I’d love to buy you a drink, Klaus," she continued, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability now. "I think we could talk, get to know each other better. It’s been so long since I’ve had a real conversation with someone who doesn’t have an agenda, you know? It’s been... so lonely." She sighed softly, as if the weight of loneliness was somehow too much to bear, though Klaus was well aware of how she wore it like a mask. He could sense the subtle shift in her approach, the way she dropped the pretense of high society, trying to pull him into her world of fragile sincerity. But Klaus wasn’t fooled. He had seen enough lies