Novelas y relatos de Passionate Hate

If looks could kill then I wouldn’t be dead here right now. “I DO NOT put up with disrespect from anyone. Your title, given by contract, as my mate,” his lips peeled back in disgust, “doesn’t make you any different than the rest. I have no qualms with punishing you until you get that lesson through your thick fucking skull. It’s a lesson that you might want to learn before you’re cuffed to a pole, becoming intimately familiar with just how painful it is to be whipped with silver and wolfsbane. Maybe that’ll drive the lesson through your thick fucking skull. And don’t delude yourself with fantasies about your coward of a mother. She turned on her pack. She got people killed. And I will not al

Zay’s POV I never thought I’d feel this way. Not after all the years I spent pushing her away, tormenting her just to mask what I really felt. But standing there, watching that guy—Ryan—smiling like he owned the room when he looked at Vee, something inside me snapped. It was like my entire body shifted, my skin heating up, my fists clenching before I even realized what was happening. That wasn’t jealousy. It was something darker, sharper—a fierce, possessive fire that I couldn’t control.

The contents of what he has saved here causes such a fierce hatred to well up inside me that it takes over my whole being. I look at all the pictures and read all the information he has compiled. By the time I finish, I am disgusted. I forget the pain. All I feel now is hate and I'm not sure anything can change that. It doesn't take me long to make up my mind about what I'm going to do and how I'm going to get revenge.

And after I turned five, he never smiled at me again. "Emilia." He called my name with a frown. "How could you let your assistant insult Hannah? Is cruelty just part of your nature?" I turned and met Hannah's gaze. Her eyes, slightly red and glistening with unshed tears, sparkled with the innocence she had perfected so well, making her look delicate and fragile. It was a skill I could never master. "Are you even listening to me?" Ethan snapped, losing patience as I stayed silent. He hurled a folder from the desk at me, and its sharp edge sliced across my cheek.

Her heels were clicking on the floor and it annoyed Jonathan so much as he wasn’t used to that sound and more importantly, he was trying to focus on the newspaper. With a determined resolve, Hazel locked eyes with him. “I will only believe that my husband is dead when I see his lifeless body in the mortuary. Until then, all this talk of a levirate contract and marrying you is ultimate bullshit!” Her voice wavered slightly, but her conviction was unwavering and she was snarling at him.

And I got a strong whiff of alcohol from him. "I don't want to see your pathetic tears. You know, I despise you more than your sister. You and your whole family are the most horrible people I have ever come across. Just wait until it's time for revenge… Until then, I will be torturing you little nerdy. And no one will help you or let you escape from this, even death…!!"

I rapped, turning my door knob. "It's not what you think" she said. "Please I want to be alone…say sorry on my behalf to Mirabelle…it just a misunderstanding!" I concluded and slammed the door at her. If things wasn't going to work out here, then I would behave like though I don't exist. I was getting tired of the complaints about me. I wonder what gossip would turn up now about me. Why was I just seeing destruction anywhere I was? It pissed me off sometimes and when I try to tell people about that, it would turn to something else. I could even tell what would happen to people I was close to and yet, it was rare to believe me even if it comes into fruition, and it happened that only Jessica

she finally responded, her voice barely above a whisper "Because hate, like love, is a passionate emotion. And maybe, in our twisted, messed-up way, we're confusing one for the other" I felt a sharp pang in my chest at her words. Her attempt to rationalize our actions, to compartmentalize the raw, overwhelming emotions we were feeling, was like a punch to the gut. But I wasn't ready to let it go. Not yet. "Or maybe" I retorted, my voice resolute despite the frantic pounding of my heart "we're not muddling anything at all. Maybe it's not about hate. Maybe it's about two people who, in the face of everything, can't deny the force that pulls them together"

“Who needs you to hang around me?” “As I was saying you just continue being you, he’ll change one day, my son isn’t a bad guy, he’s just angry I arranged his marriage without informing him” Florence said, placing a hand on Angela’s shoulder. “Really?” Angela asked. “Of course, follow me, I’ll show you everything about his growing up” Florence took Angela by the arm and went up the stairs. She took her to a room that had a lot of young boy stuffs in it, the painting on the wall was blue, the bedsheets were also blue, the rug, everything was blue. Florence took out a magazine and sat on the bed with Angela and began telling her more about Trenton. Angela heard from Florence that Trenton was a

My heart beat furiously, as I struggled to remain calm. “Pest, there's a thin line between hate and passion.” He smirked. I made a face. “You’re right. There's a very thin line between wanting to gut your stomach out, and wanting to rip your tongue out.