Novel & Cerita Bitter Love

The Bitter Retribution These words were like a sharp knife slicing through his heart. Liam Martin felt a wave of agonizing pain, as if his soul were being carved out. "I have already made everything perfectly clear to Sara Jay. What I felt for her before was nothing more than basic pity and a sense of guilt. The person my system truly loves is you." "Love me?"

She actually appreciated the deep, earthy undertones, completely forgetting to act like Kendra. Behind his dark lenses, Damien’s eyes narrowed. He knew Kendra hated Cabernet. "You aren't complaining," Damien remarked, taking a slow sip of his own. "I expected a lecture about the temperature, or perhaps a demand for something sparkling. My files were very specific about your... let's say, particular tastes." Avery forced a tight, artificial laugh, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was already slipping up. "I... I decided to expand my palate tonight. A new life deserves new tastes, don't you think? You can't trust everything written on paper, Damien."

“Bastard.” There’s a slight pause. I can see some men at a nearby table looking over with interest. “A bastard in a good way?” hazards Lorcan. “Or … oh.” He sees my face. “I lied. Daniel is the biggest nightmare that any divorced wife has had to put up with, and I’m bitter, OK? I’m bitter!” Just saying it is a relief. “My bones are bitter, my heart’s bitter, my blood is bitter.…” Something occurs to me. “Wait. You’ve had sex with me. You know I’m bitter.”

I felt like I caught him off guard for a moment as I continue, "and that's not it even in my nightmare you are calling me sweetheart. " "Sweetheart, it must be a coincidence-" I cut him off. "No, I thought the same but explain to me. How could it be a coincidence when before today I never met you but you are appearing in my dreams and how could you be that same guy who kidnapped me in real life?!" I tried my best to make him understand what I am saying. "If you want to make me your wife then that's at least I should know, No?" He stares at me, silently for a few moments, observing what I said before he spoke. "Would you believe if I say we both were lovers in the past life? and your parents

One that comes from the heartaches of betrayal. Her voice cut through the silence, heavy with betrayal and bitterness. “I sacrificed my friendship with her for you, Vincent. I was hated, insulted, and cursed for stealing you from my best friend! Yet I didn’t care, because that is how much I loved you. And this is what I get in the end? You cheat on me like this? Really?” Hatred colored every word and every breath. It was all over her face, so raw and ugly — and somehow, I loved watching it. She was finally tasting her own medicine. I didn’t understand why she found it so bitter when it was her turn to taste it.

She was brewing Jasmine tea in our kitchen like it could fix all troubles in my little world. She used to cool the cup with two spoons of honey. “Sip, little dumpling,” she’d murmur, and my name in her mouth made me feel invincible. The tea was honey-sweet, with a bitterness that only arrived after the second spoon. I thought that was what love tasted like—warm up front, bitter sweet in the afterthought. Years later the bitterness got a diploma and a label: tincture, solution, microdose. But back then it was just a flavor that made me stronger in all the ways I couldn’t name.

He said. I glared at him then, all the cheesiness gone, before pushing him away from me. "Just so you know, I'm not sharing this cake with you." I said, picking up the delicious cake. "Sadly, this lazy-ass person loves chocolate more than you." He rolled his eyes before looking up at the sky. "One day your heart will only be mine, Anderson." It already was. 

That shit tastes as bitter as love. I’ve come to realize that loving someone who doesn’t give a flying fuck about me was definitely as bitter as coffee. Roland made me have a taste of how bitter and life-draining loving someone could be and I doubt I will ever fall in love again. I would rather focus on my career and be an independent woman feared by many than to be a shadow of myself. A woman with low self esteem. A woman begging to be loved. That flashed my mind back to my grandfather’s favorite mantra. ‘Fool me once, Shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’

She asked her, and she got silent thinking about all the moments she has spent with him. Most people will tell you that there is nothing like love-shove. “Just a few months of drama, and then you just cry,” they will tell you with no sense of sadness. But is it really true? Do they really believe that love does not exist? Here is the harsh reality. We all know that love is the most beautiful emotion. We all know that nothing touches your soul like true love. But when you don’t get that real love, we become bitter about it in our subconscious. I am not calling people liars or fake. No. They are just burning from what they thought was love. And those flames of regret, those flames make them bi

His muscles were solid beneath my fingers, rock solid, and his grip on me tightened as he tried to control the shaking of his hands through shallow breaths. I felt the burn of tears as I sat there, completely powerless to stop whatever was going through his mind. He could be remembering anything, any horror, and there was no way I could stop it. I had been there so many times already and it had ripped my heart apart each and every time. But I wouldn’t leave. Love was stronger than hate. Whatever hate was locked inside his body and whatever hate was burned into his mind, I knew our love could push it out. I believed in the power it gave us.