Revenge Is Best Served Cold Novels & Stories

My ability to fry someone's brains, and of course she deserves it. I let go of the wheel and relaxed, concentrating on her, wishing with every fiber in my body that her head explodes. I wanted her to feel the pain she's caused my family, I wanted her to feel she pain she inflicted on my Mom. She didn't deserve any kindness and I wasn't going to hold back, it was time to get my revenge. Not long, her hands on the wheel tightened and she screamed out in pain, bleeding from her nose and ears. I didn't stop though, I didn't think it was enough yet.

They said revenge is a dish best served cold and I fully agree with that statement. Sometimes one needs to wait for the right time to get their revenge. Just as I did with Olivia, making her think that she has won and that everything in her life is going according to plan. Then I would appear and hit her where it hurts the most. She didn’t really know what I was capable of and what I was willing to do to get what I wanted.

I froze, holding my breath as he leaned back into his chair. “Do you want revenge?” he asked, his voice now sounding more serious. “Very much so,” I replied firmly. “The best revenge isn’t by berating them in public or crying at their feet. The best revenge is by standing so much higher that they can no longer touch the hem of your dress.” Rex set down his cutlery, then interlaced his fingers on the table. The sound of the waves behind us seemed to vanish, replaced by the tension that suddenly filled the air between us.

The beauty of revenge lies in the ability of the greatly offended to let known his intention to his targeted offender whilst making secret how he intends to go about serving the revenge. It's like a captured prey knowing he’d be devoured but the when and the how tears up his insides with fear. Makes him go crazy waiting for his doom to come. It gets even intense when he has, once upon a time, made prey of his now predator. Life is crazy. People hurt you and forget so quickly until it becomes your turn to retaliate, then they feign ignorance to their past crimes. “The same pound of flesh you took from me.” I deadpanned.

It was like a death sentence given when they hated me for no reason, from which I realized that crystal hearts are always unnecessary in this corrupt society. I think I need to be as cruel as Alva. Every time someone directs an attack on me, I will return it tenfold. But I ended up getting fired for what I did. Thanks to being tech-savvy, I was able to continue to be a freelancer, no longer struggling in the office environment. I am a selfish and cruel man, but looking at my life right now, it is a life of abundance, fullness, and without the worries of life. I think I deserve it, it's just that I'm still lonely.

"I'm sorry, Grace. The forest really isn't safe. I have to find him. I promise I'll come back and finish this with you." I gave him a faint smile, though I could barely breathe through the pain in my chest. He would not come back once he left. That was always how it ended. As he bent down to comfort Laila, I quietly poured the bond-breaking potion into the wine glass. I walked over and held it out to him, my voice soft but firm. "Finish this, and I'll forgive you." Philip smiled and finished it in one gulp. He put the glass down and left with Laila without a second glance.

“And I know a few people who owe me favors. We can do subtlety. We can do shadows. We can craft an absence that feels like a presence.” I thought of the hotel courtyard, the opera’s arias rising as fireworks stitched the sky into color, and felt the old, cold hunger for victory lift and unfurl like a banner. The need for revenge was domesticated into something civil, something planned and elegant, and that made it all the more dangerous. “No tracks,” I reminded her. “No names. No public scandals. We will do what we must in the language of our world—half-smiles, quiet cancellations, the tiny exclusions that cut deeper than shouts.”

My heart pounds, rage simmering beneath the surface. I stand, my vision narrowing as a single thought consumes me. “Revenge,” I snarl, my voice low and venomous. “It is then.”

Serena sneered coldly, staring at the face she once loved so deeply. It had been love at first sight back then. But now, when she looked at him, her heart was calm—untouched, unshaken. The greatest sorrow is when the heart dies. The true opposite of love isn’t hate—it’s indifference. And that’s exactly what she felt for him now. No anger. No pain. Just silence. The Art of Revenge was never about rage—it was about letting go. She didn’t need to destroy them. Her joy was the masterpiece. And they would suffer, helplessly, watching her shine.

His jaw tightened, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. He stared at the photo, his eyes searing, ready to explode any second. The easy-going demeanour he'd displayed earlier vanished, replaced by a hardened resolve. How could Matthew have done this? He had dreamt about this day every day for the past five years. The day he'd take revenge on the man who took his entire family away from him. He couldn't wait... he was going to— "I'm not handing him over." Adonis burst his bubble, his voice hard.