Hate Novels & Stories

She said her eyes equally blazing with untold hate, and anguish, every word was from the heart, deep and intended. ‎“Your majesty I want to make it clear that the only thing I feel for you is hate. I absolutely hate you, your majesty. You touch irritates me and if I were to be given a choice between laying with you and a dog. I will happily choose the dog...” Porsha voiced but before she could finish, Leviathan's fist cut in, landing a punch few centimeters next to Porsha's face. ‎Porsha's blood ran cold, her eyes doubled in size as she gazed upon the now broken wall with trembling limbs.

I asked. “Yes,” he replied. There was no pity in his voice, no sorry. Just the hard truth. I looked away at the dirty floor, the shadows. “ I hate them,” I said. “Lucien, Mealis, the elders, the pack, I hate all of them” I shouted, my voice vibrating throughout the room. “Good” I looked back at him. “Hate keeps you alive, when everything is gone, you need to use it” he said. The heat in my chest moved again, like it agreed to what he said, like It wanted out.

Contempt “I want you to leave Deimos standing– alone– before God and Man once again.” Disgust “I want you to break all the little pieces of himself that he's gathered over the years.” Hate “I want you to kill Deimos Escarrá, once and for all.”

I couldn’t believe that he would be so despicable. “Why?Why did you do this?” I asked in shock. He looked at me. “I wanted to hide the truth. Is that too much to ask? Nothing was making any sense anymore because…” “Just shut up!” I screamed in rage. “I can’t believe that you’re my blood. You’re a fucking bastard and hat is saying something. There is definitely nothing about you that is kind or real. You have no heart, and you’re the worst person I have been unfortunate to meet. Who the hell do you think you are making all these about you?”

Listening. Her words cut deeper than he expected. Later That Night... Grayson stood alone in his study, staring out at the rain cascading down the glass wall of windows. He hated this. He hated how wrong everything felt since their kiss. Since her. He hated that he could still taste her. Still feel the way she’d trembled in his arms. "She's just the nanny." That was what he told himself. Over. And over. But when he closed his eyes, all he saw was her defiant stare... her softness with Lily... her fire when she fought back.

“That’s not hate, babe. That's an obsession. I mean, seriously, he gets with your ex-wife and practically pampers Kaiden like he’s some fragile treasure? That’s not a vendetta. That’s… a twisted crush.” He shot me a dry look. “Don’t be ridiculous.” “I’m not,” I said, still grinning despite the pain. “You’re telling me he targets the people you love, the people you’ve touched, as if he’s trying to replace you—or worse, become you. That’s not hate. That’s infatuation dipped in rage.” He exhaled harshly, standing to pace for a moment before turning back toward me. “It’s hate, Sage. Pure and unfiltere

____________________ ~ Sometimes I just hate to love you I'm doin' time but I don't mind I'll be just fine Sometimes I just hate to love you I'm doin' time but I don't mind I'll be just fine Sometimes I just hate to love you Oh oh uh oh Oh oh uh oh Oh oh uh oh Oh I'm doin' time It's a real fight But its all right Sometimes I just hate to love you~ Her voice rang in my ear and brought me back from the La La land of my thoughts as she completed the song. I know she is looking at me. I can feel her glare on me.... Her voice held pain, anger, hatred all directed at me..

That’s good for me. I don’t mean that in any noble sense, I mean it in calculus. People who hate are predictable. Hate simplifies motive; it sharpens action and dulls strategy. Where professionals plan three moves ahead, furious amateurs charge blind. They mistake heat for planning; they mistake impulse for courage. Cassandra’s hatred makes her an asset if I can steer it.

I breathed, the words barely audible. "Hate is fine," he replied, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "Indifference would be a problem. Hate is passionate. Hate is memorable." He released my chin with a sharp, final movement, turning back to his desk to pick up a glass of amber liquid. He took a slow sip, his eyes tracking my every movement as if I were a wild animal he was deciding whether to tame or crush.

I drew closer and noticed that he was as white as snow. His Spartan shoulders stood out. It convey mighty strength and pride. His thin lips kept moving as he chewed slowly. He was truly the definition of beauty. No wonder women fought to have him. Their struggle was not for a ugly being. By the way, no one was ugly. Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. When our gaze met, I was disappointed with his eyes. They were as red as strawberries. He did not look happy. The coldness I felt from his touch yesterday made me wonder who he was.