Seraphina Lestham is one of the richest women of her generation. In a slightly altered version of the present with a much wider wealth gap, glaring inequality seems to be a fact of life. While Seraphina and her glittering society indulge in their hedonistic pleasures, a shadow looms over Europe: Susurrus, a mysterious terrorist organization, leaves carnage in its wake. One night in a Parisian bar, Seraphina meets her closest confidant, Nickolas Demerant. She passes him a cryptic message for his sister, Andelena. The next day, Seraphina’s body is found at the bar. As a young woman whose beauty and fortune ignited both adoration and scandal among her society, her sudden death stuns the elite. But for Nick, crippling grief quickly turns to fear that Andelena might be next. Their search for the killer leads the siblings across Europe’s glistening cities. But as they dig deeper, they uncover a twisted tapestry of violence and death, each thread darker than the last.

The young woman left her hotel room that evening with a purse clutched in her hand. A snob, people called her. An upstart. A pretender. She was all of these things and more. She was a queen in everything but name. Her money, influence, and power carried their own weight.

It’s funny: my novel was my first dip into creative writing. In one of the early days of Covid, I opened a blank document. With no plan or method, I put words on the page. I had a flash of an image in my head, and I wanted to write till I reached it. It turned out it would take me thirty chapters and a few years to get there.