Passionate Hate Novels & Stories

I don't hate; it's too stressful an emotion and would take more out of me than the recipient. But what I feel for Ricci and now his friends is something much darker. There is no emotion attached, so no chance of mercy or compassion for anyone involved; hate is an emotion, a bad one, but one, nonetheless. What I feel could be best described as inhuman, animalistic, primal. It's crossed all boundaries between the light and the dark.

Hatred is one of those emotions that arises when a person loaths you. You despise that person to the point that even the most insignificant actions on their part infuriate you. That person is my father. I abhor him. I am appalled by his brazenness and how he interacts with others. Simply say, I despise him. A part of me wants to love him so badly that I often think about the times in the past when we had a healthy relationship. Still, those happy days never seem to come to my mind anymore because of how cruel he is.

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 hate to break it to you like this, but I don't need to be doctored and it sucks that you're making me feel like I've traumatised you-" "What do you mean?" The man's question was almost tired, but the girl continued to yell. She was still fascinatingly beautiful when she yelled—she would indeed make a great lawyer, without the habit of her voice climbing when she felt strongly about an argument or against an opposing force. It was something the man loved about the girl, she was passionate. She was passionate in every way... She was passionately angry, she was passionately in love. She was passionately curious, she was passionately frustrated. The girl was never without, and never acted in

When finally, he spoke, the only word that left his lips was “why?” “Why?” she repeated, as if he had asked a totally ridiculous question. “Why do people frame people up and force them into marriage they don’t want and torture them? Let’s see” she said pretending to think. “How about because they hate them.” she answered, her sharp eyes suddenly becoming sharper with anger, it was amazing how she could transform from cool to hot in just an instant. “I hate you Mr Farhan, I hate every fibre of your stupid disgusting being, in fact, I hate you so much, that I don’t think anyone ever hated anybody as much as I hate you, I hate you more than I hate the devil,” she continued her anger rising with

She’s never been this easily pliable in all the years we’ve known each other, even if I have had a power over her since the day I arrived. My deep-rooted hatred for her and her family has always been the driving factor, but I never expected to enjoy this as much as I am. Perhaps it’s because hatred can be so fucking passionate and when I kiss her, it drives me wild like nothing ever has. When I kissed Natalya, it felt like she had set my entire soul on fire and it was burning me from the inside out.

he murmurs, his voice low and cutting, “but don’t lie to yourself. Hate’s just fear dressed up with a little fire.” My fists clench above my head, but I don’t dare move. His palm feels like fire against my skin, his presence suffocating, a storm I can’t outrun. “Do you know what hate does to me?” he continues, his tone taking on a dangerous edge. “It fucking fuels me. Makes me sharper, crueler and gets my cock hard as fuck. Hate is a slippery slope. One minute, you hate me. The next? You’re fucking obsessed.”

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 had learnt something else, something which had changed my mindset. From all my observations in the past month, I had figured out that Hate was way more stronger than Love. Love was nothing but fantasy, something read in storybooks and viewed in movies. It was something mistaken by others as real and true, while it was truly nothing but mere lust compounded with desire and sexual need. Something which our body hormones toy with us.

Kayla's pov Everybody clapped as Dante kissed me. I couldn't even smile. Not after what he whispered to me. Not after those cruel, bitter words sank deep into my chest like thorns. Tears slipped quietly down my cheeks, but I quickly wiped them off, not wanting any to see me Break. I looked up at him. There was no love in his eyes. Just hatred. Cold, dark hatred. He hated me with every part of him. And deep down, I knew he was going show it. He was going to be cruel. He meant every word he said.