Cupcake Diaries Graphic Novels Novels & Stories

My heart raced as I took hold of it, loving how big it was in my palms—yet I could handle it well. Carson's eyes went darker than their usual shade. Pure desire swirled in them. His hand found my breast again, fondling them. I reached for the glass of drink and met his gaze. "Can I?" I asked. "You don't have to ask, Sophia. Just take the damn cock and let me cum in your mouth," he ordered. A smile formed at the corner of my lips. I lowered the glass and poured a little of the drink on his cock, then started rolling my hand all over it. "Using my drink on my cock, huh?" he said when he finally saw what I did.

“They found out I have the code. I don’t know how, but… I’ve seen them watching me. I’ve been followed. Two nights ago, someone tried to break into my place. I have to disappear, Lexi.” My voice trembled. “So what do you want me to do?” He handed her a single page—a torn scrap filled with symbols, numbers, and scribbled lines. It looked like chaos. “I need you to write this down. Copy it—exactly. Keep it somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would look. I’m burning this journal tonight. You’ll be the only person left with this.” I stared at the paper. My hands shook as I took it. “Pastor Dav…”

Brie argued. Vivian held up a spoon. “I literally had to scrape icing off the wall. That should count as two extra trays.” “Ten it is,” I said with a tired laugh. It felt good—this messy, stupid chaos. The kind that didn’t hurt. The kind that made you forget everything else for a while. Luna had finally given up and curled beneath the table like a defeated war general. A cupcake sat balanced between her paws, untouched. “I don’t want to eat any of them,” Brie said, looking over the spread. “They’re too pretty. I feel like I’d be destroying art.”

MILA'S POV "Are you actually trying to murder me?" Spencer, my desk neighbor and work rival stares at the box on his desk as if it contains live rattlesnakes. Which it really doesn't. I look down at my handiwork. Eight beautiful lilac cupcakes sit in two neat rows. The frosting is swirled just right, each one topped with a tiny edible flower I found at the fancy baking supply store in Cambridge.

And the monster’s victory is so complete, it leaves you wondering if you’re reading the journal of the victim… or the secret, proud biography of the victor. Then, after a long pause, Adam lifted the diary again. His thumb brushed along the edge of the next page. “…Okay,” he whispered. And he opened the diary. ——— Episode 20 – Pool Party The envelope was thick, cream-colored, and smelled faintly of chlorine and expensive perfume. Mason’s name was scrawled across the front in a looping, feminine hand. He slit it open with a thumb, his calloused fingers a stark contrast to the delicate stationery. Inside, on a cardstock the color of a summer sky, were the words:

David's snoring in the bed beside me, oblivious to what had happened. His arm slung over the pillow where my head should be. But I'm here, in the dim glow of my phone screen, scribbling this out in my diary, because if I don't, it'll eat me alive. Today wasn't just a slip; it was a dive, headfirst into something I've been circling for months. Or years, if I'm honest. ***** At Zephyra Art Gallery, I didn't just let it happen. I started it. Me. Poppy. The good wife, the one who packs David's lunch with snacks, fruit and love notes. What the hell is wrong with me?

I asked the worker in the bakery. “Yes, ma’am. Look at this menu. These are the flavours that you can choose from. And this album consists of some of our previous custom-made cakes. You can have a look for your reference,” the worker said. I quickly went through the entire menu and album before picking up a tissue paper. Damon was a little amused while standing behind me, trying to guess what this little lamb was scribbling. Finally I kept my pen aside and took out my mobile phone. I clicked a picture of the tissue paper I had been scribbling on.

“Water’s on the nightstand. Drink it.” I did. It helped a little. He stood. I watched him pull on sweatpants. The muscles in his back moved and I hated how much I wanted him to turn around. “Cade.” “Yeah.” “Thank you for coming to get me.” He paused at the door. “Don’t do it again.” “The party or the wishing?” “Both.” He left. I stayed in his bed another minute with his shirt around me and the wet dress on the floor and the clear, stupid knowledge that nothing had happened and I still wanted it to have happened so badly it felt like a bruise. The coffee machine started in the kitchen. I got up, pulled the shirt down as far as it would go, and followed the sound anyway.

My bedroom had not changed since the last time he visited. Cream walls. White shelves. Baking books stacked beside university textbooks. A corkboard covered with recipe ideas, graduation deadlines, and photographs of family and friends. There was no danger. Unless he considered my laundry chair dangerous. “What do you want?” I asked. “Nothing.” “You never come into my room for nothing.” His eyes moved toward my laptop screen. “Editing?” “Yes.” “The cupcakes looked good.” “They tasted good too.” “You didn’t save me one.” “You ate two.” He considered that.

“Perhaps when you finally wake up and you are feeling better, we can have a picnic on the grass. Nina can make her famous cupcakes.” I swallow hard. My mouth feels completely dry. “They are unbelievably good, Betty. The cupcakes just melt right in your mouth. The taste is incredible.” I reach out. My fingers hover over her cold, limp hand. I do not touch her. I cannot risk breaking the spell of her quiet breathing. “I know you loved the pancakes that she made for you with the maple syrup. But these cupcakes are a class above. Truly.” A floorboard creaks outside the room. I do not look up.