Cruel Intentions Journal Novels & Stories

The whole world seemed to spin for a moment as guilt burned deep in my stomach. Yes, the journal. It was full of Jonathan’s dirty secrets. The boy had written detailed dreams about being a cum slut for older men. He fantasized about both me and Bryce taking him, using him, and owning him completely. I had hidden it because I wanted Jonathan all to myself. I did not want to share him with anyone, not even with my best friend, who he had also fantasized about.

"My name is Jennifer Elie. My sister, Linda Argwins, has been in a coma for six years following a deadly car crash in December 2014. A month ago, I went to her house back in the village to do some cleaning. And while I turned over her pile of clothes, I came across this secret journal that contains overwhelming information about her woes and sticky wicket, and which might be helpful in resuscitating her health." 💫🌟🌟🌟💫

As I perused the shelves, my eyes landed on a weathered journal, its pages filled with untold stories. I carefully opened the journal, my fingers trembling with anticipation. The pages crackled under my touch, revealing a glimpse into Alexander's life—a life he had chosen to keep hidden, even from me. The words on those pages painted a picture of a complex and enigmatic man, a past fraught with secrets and shadows.

"You're insane! How long did it take you to plan that shit you just did? Or was this part of your plan all along? Was I just your next conquest?" "Jesus Christ! You're a flat out narcissist, you know that?" I was shocked the adjective even left his mouth. "How?" I drawled out, offended at his claim. He scoffed, walking closer towards me and stepping over the glass and flowers that separated us. "You leak my journal that I trusted you with—the journal that I poured my heart out into, and still you manage to play the victim?" "I didn't leak the journal!" "Really?" his question was purely rhetorical. "You didn't?"

She, too, is a human with emotions, just like everyone else, but now he is tarnishing her soul with his contemptible words and actions. Witnessing her distraught state, his inner torment subdued and he deliberately aimed his words to strike a chord, cruelly declaring, "And I don't even know if you're worth that much money," She tightly shut her eyes, biting her lips to stifle her loud sobs. She questioned her own self-respect and dignity after being subjected to his hurtful words, yet she refused to unveil her vulnerable side in front of him. Observing her attempts to suppress her crying, he callously uttered words that pierced her heart,

"My name isn't a number! My name is **Elara Jensen**! And I’m the worst 'Product' you ever made!" She took her journal and slammed it onto the computer keyboard. --- ### The System Crash The journal didn't break the computer. It **infected** it. The "Stories She Was Afraid to Tell" flowed into the Aethel-Group's network. All the sadness, the loneliness, the secret poems, and the unedited thoughts of a lonely girl flooded the "Clean" corporate server. **[CRITICAL ERROR: NON-MARKETABLE CONTENT DETECTED]** **[SYSTEM OVERLOAD: EMOTIONAL OVERFLOW]**

but at least do your job. Gabriel then leaves, disappearing from the office and leaving me alone in the room. I feel disgust, I hate, I feel resentment for the monster that Gabriel has become. How can it be so low? I look at the data sheet and roll my eyes, turning to the shredder and throwing the sheet into its middle. Disgusting... KAANADAN SALVATORE I look at the garden through my office window, seeing yet another truck of weapons arrive in preparation for a possible attack and, consequently, a war. The allies are ready to receive anything from their rivals, which is a good thing, but it still makes me a little reluctant. Or both.

Until… I stopped. My fingers froze on the page. No. That wasn’t right. I went back. Checked the previous page. Then forward again. My brows pulled together. I flipped back. Then forward. Again. No. No, no… That didn’t make sense. There was a gap. Not a small one. Days. Missing. Not skipped. Not forgotten. Gone. My grip tightened on the file. I read the date again. Then the next entry. The jump was too clean. Like nothing had happened in between. But something had. Something big.

Elias walked to a locked cabinet built into the wall. Using an old mechanical key instead of a digital passcode, he unlocked a narrow steel drawer. Inside rested several weathered journals. Paper. Actual paper. Older than most people living inside Zelios. He selected one carefully. The leather cover had almost completely faded. Across the front, barely visible beneath decades of wear, four handwritten words remained. Project Crimson hunger. Aldren's eyes narrowed. "I thought every copy was destroyed." "So did I." Elias gently opened the journal. Several pages had been torn out. Others were stained with dried blood. He turned slowly until one name appeared.

Chester, still in Susie's embrace, looked up at her with those big, sad eyes and murmured, "Susie, is Edward okay after the crash? You should check on him right away. Grandma really cares about him; you can't let him be hurt..." However, Susie just pulled Chester close, brushing off the concern with a wave of her hand. "Why worry about him? You're the one who needs someone right now, not Edward." Yet, as my cries of pain filled the room, Susie's expression softened ever so slightly. It was as if she could tell my screams were not just an act. She even started to question the so-called experts' opinions. However, that doubt vanished as quickly as it came. In a sly move, Chester stepped on my