Most Hated Mga Nobela at Kwento

—registered his mind that was seething in hate. After all, he was the boss. He was the one with the power and control. But Sara did not listen to him, of course, she was ignoring him like he was just something annoying. Austin turned red, and his jaw tightened from anger. He was seriously not a fan of being disregarded, and especially disregarded by someone he thought would crawl through the floor to please him. He felt a massive surge to put his dominance out there, to let Sara know who the real boss was and let her know that it was not her.

I hate crying. “I don’t like it,” I whisper. “I don’t like anyone near you. I don’t like anyone calling you theirs. Because every time they do… it feels like something is being stolen from me.” The words rush out now. Messy. Raw. “I know it’s stupid. I know we’re supposed to be ‘family.’ I know none of this makes sense. But I can’t stop it. I can’t stop wanting you. And I hate myself for it.” There.

Hate is a strong word. And I reserve the use of it for very select individuals. For example, I HATE Brant Jones. I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns. Well, a new name has been added to my hate list. Ryōta Shiraishi has taken the second slot on my list. And he is uncomfortably close to tying Brant as the worst person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. I’d have laid that old man out if I hadn’t wanted to get in trouble at the hospital. He’d get a room of his own.

Please god! At this time, there is only one person I hate for my whole lifetime. It’s not my uncle who had tried to molish me some years ago, it’s not my aunt who has always given me the tortures and pain all over my heart and body, it’s not Jane as well. I have thought these people were the only people who gave pain to me but no! It’s not only them. It doesn’t mean that I don’t hate them but the first place of hatred is just replaced and the place is just taken by this fucking hell guy, Xavier.

Something crackling. And fuck—I hate it. I hate Isla Moreau.

I hated Tony with every ounce of energy in me. The abhorrence I felt towards Tony was so huge. It was like a giant cloud hanging over my head, threatening to consume me. I had never hated anyone this way. Just the mention of his name irritated me. I tore a book to shred just because it had a character whose name was Tony. I never knew I could hate anyone this way.

“THEY HATE ME AND KILLED MY OLD MUM BECAUSE SHE LIKES ME WHY DOES DADDY HATE EVERYONE? I HATE THIS PLACE, I HATE DALE.”

He felt his hatred well. If there was anything he hated worse than a human, it was mobs of them, rushing to and fro in every direction as if their lives mattered even a bit, as if their mere 100 years on this earth held any consequence at all. Kyle had outlived and outlasted them all, generation after generation, for thousands of years. Even the more significant humans, like Caesar and Stalin and—his favorite, Hitler—had been practically forgotten within a few hundred years of their lifetime. They were something at the time, but nothing shortly afterwards. Their frenetic movements, their feelings of self-importance, rattled him to the core. He felt like killing every single one of them. And

Not the quick, white-hot flare of normal anger. No — this is darker. Thicker. Heavier. Hate. I’ve never hated anyone before. I’ve disliked people, sure. Even loathed a few in passing. But this … this is different. Amanda Dee is no mere irritation. I despise her. Hate her.