In a dimly lit café nestled in a quiet corner of Beverly Hills, a woman sips her espresso, her eyes scanning the room with practiced vigilance. To the casual observer, she appears to be just another patron—elegant, composed, poised. Yet, beneath this façade lies a labyrinth of secrets and a past woven deeply into the clandestine world of espionage. And not just any kind of espionage… Sex espionage.

This is Aliia Roza—her voice may be familiar from To Die For, the hit podcast that hints at her past, but her full story has never been told. It has remained shrouded in mystery.

Long before she was slipping trackers into men’s coat linings and poison into criminals’ tea, Aliia was just a quiet girl in Soviet Russia—submissive, disciplined, the dutiful daughter of a military family who idolized her grandfather, a decorated national hero who fought the Nazis in World War II. Raised in a traditional Kazakh-Tatar household, she was taught to listen more than speak and to follow rules she would one day break upon escaping espionage—courageously and unapologetically.

Her journey from an unassuming girl in Eastern Europe to a covert operative navigating the treacherous corridors of international intelligence is a testament to resilience and cunning. Her story—marked by perilous missions, double lives, and a constant balancing act between duty, self-preservation, and the growing moral cost of her work—offers a rare glimpse into the world of honeypot spycraft.

“Were some of my missions as simple as pretending to be a prostitute? Yes. Have I assassinated targets? Sure—though only when I was certain they deserved it. Criminals who trafficked children. Arms dealers supplying terrorist cells. But the most dangerous assignments were rarely so direct. They required more than sex or a bullet. They required time. Trust. I had to seduce my way into becoming their long-term lover, their business partner, the person they called in the middle of the night. They had to believe I was theirs completely—before I could unravel their entire world from the inside.”

She says it with the ease of someone describing a morning commute—steady, almost casual, like it was just part of a normal job.

Many of the missions were not the kind that required a gun. They required patience. Precision. A long game of shadows and soft manipulation.

One target—“the Pablo Escobar of Russia,” as she calls him—was too guarded to fall for a classic honeytrap. So the agency built him a story. A Truman Show existence, crafted piece by piece to pull him into the fantasy they needed him to believe.

They placed a passionate couple outside the corner market he visited every Sunday: a man and woman who looked eerily like him and the only woman he had ever loved. They laughed the way he used to. She touched the man’s arm just like she used to touch his. A few days later, another couple appeared—same resemblance, now with a baby. The timing was never off. The clothes they wore were nostalgic. The music playing nearby. The scent in the air. The memory it triggered. All of it carefully orchestrated.

Day by day, they reopened old doors in his psyche and whispered through the cracks: Don’t you miss this? Don’t you want it back?

Aliia was not just sent to seduce him—they had engineered his loneliness. Through careful priming, narrative shaping, and environmental control, they softened him like clay. By the time she appeared, he was already waiting for her—he just did not know it yet. He fell so madly in love with her that when his gang eventually discovered she was a mole, he chose to sacrifice his own life rather than handing her over.

In another mission, Aliia was sent to build a long-term romantic relationship with Roman, a charismatic club owner whose venue in Moscow pulsed with rich kids, students, and the city’s restless youth, dancing under strobe lights until morning.

What no one knew was that beneath the dance floor, the club doubled as a logistics hub—distributing custom-laced drugs that had left dozens hospitalized, some dead. Over time, Aliia embedded herself in Roman’s world, learning the routes, the chemists, the codewords. That is when she uncovered something darker: Roman was collaborating with Afghan operatives and a rogue scientist working on a new compound—one designed not just to addict, but to manipulate. Something eerily reminiscent of CIA’s MK-Ultra, aimed at Russia’s youth.

Aliia reveals that sex espionage is more common than we think.

“Sex spies are everywhere—you just don’t realize it,” she says. “They’re powerful tools, used not just by Russia, but by governments around the world. These unsung heroes sacrifice their bodies—and often their lives—without anyone ever knowing who they were or what they did. No badge. No medal. No name on a wall. Just gone. And yet they save lives, prevent wars, stop terror attacks, and allow the world to live in ignorant safety.”

 

“It’s hard to get into the program, but even harder to get out. Most of the agents I knew are either trapped in sexpionage… or dead. I refused to be one of them.”

 

We talk further, and she says:

“These techniques are powerful and bulletproof. They saved my life. Designed by KGB psychologists to bypass logic and go straight to the emotional core. I realized that if you strip away the manipulation, those same techniques can help people positively turn their lives around—by building real confidence, presence, self-expression, and by deepening connections. Not just in the bedroom, but in the boardroom, in relationships, in family dynamics—everywhere.”

 

That is what she teaches her students now.

“The transformations I witness are incredibly rewarding,” she says. “Because I know I’m finally fulfilling my true mission: helping everyday people step into their authentic power.”

 

Visit Aliia’s Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/aliiaroza
Learn more at: www.todieforspy.com

Credits:

Photographer: Daniel Rubinshtein
Gaffer: Denys Liamin
MUA & Hair: Zukhra Akhmet using Armani Beaty and Balmain hair couture Products
Stylist: Alejandro Garcia
Yellow Dress: Oscar de la renta 
Pink and orange bog dress: Richard Quinn 
Red dress: Tess Mann
Golden plastic corset: Anne Fontaine 
Shoes: Giam battista valli