A Soft Answer Turns Away Wrath Novels & Stories

It made it look as if I were the perpetrator, and they were the victims. In the comments, a swarm of brainless fans cheered him on. "Good thing you ran. Staying under a black-hearted boss like that would drain you dry sooner or later." "Ryan is so loyal. Even after quitting, he still took everyone with him. That alone makes him way better than that boss who hides behind fake kindness." "Support!" Amid the praise, one different comment surfaced.

Thanks to her, I finally saw what a truly despicable person you are. He instantly became defensive. "No, that's not who I really am! I was just blinded by that vile woman!"

A hard thrust punctuated the next word: “—for someone who is nothing to you?” Her chin lifted, trembling. “Because—because he was the first to show me real kindness.” Silence cracked through the air. She felt the danger the moment the word left her lips. Kindness. Hell vibrated, heat pulsing through the floor, rippling through the walls, sparking in Apollo’s eyes like molten lightning. “There it is,” he whispered. “That word.” The word landed heavier than any accusation. Kindness was not part of Hell’s grammar. It was not accounted for in prophecy, not measured in bargains or blood. It did not obey. It did not require permission.

She had not only angered Gideon but awakened the fury of Wrath too who couldn’t help but roared, “Take one more step..” A pause. “…and see the consequences, MATE!”

That is the beauty of long plans. They do not announce themselves. They do not scream. They simply… begin. I turn away from the window and pick up another letter. Not for Hope. Not for Alaric. For someone in between. A man who believes he is loyal. But loyalty is only obedience before pressure is applied. I sit back slowly. I do not hate her. That is what makes this different. Hate is loud. Hate is emotional. Hate creates mistakes. This is not hate. This is correction.

“I’m trying.” “You’re not thinking.” He stepped in front of me. “Do you want revenge?” I stared at him. “Yes.” “Do you want to be feared?” “Yes.” “Then stop swinging like you’re asking for permission.” He shoved the blade back into my hand. “Try again.” I came at him harder this time, Faster than he expected. The steel clashed and sparks cold air between us. He blocked and never struck back. “You’re angry,” he said, circling again. “Good. Use it.”

Nathan said, slightly angry. Theo looked into his chestnut-colored pupils and smiled unabashedly, "Yes." Nathan was angry. "Go away, I won't sell it to you," Nathan exclaimed angrily. Theo, on the other hand, had a gentle and refined attitude, truly embodying the principle of using softness to overcome hardness. "Mr. Nanthan, no one dares to take your house except for me. Don't you know that your father has already banned this property?" Nathan instantly petrified like a statue.

“I don’t know how to stay hard without becoming cruel.” It isn’t for me. I hold it anyway, a small prayer wrested from a man who prefers iron to incense. I want to go to him. I want to place my draft—six thousand words and all their teeth—on the desk and say, We can be righteous together. I want to put my hand over his and say the other truth I never manage to keep on the page: I am afraid of softness too, but I don’t want to live without it.

“So, you will be punishing me? After I nearly lost my life twice today?” Lucan’s eyes softened slightly, though his voice was still as hard as steel. “Call it… correction.” “Correction?” I chuckled bitterly. “Who are you to correct me?”