Novel & Cerita The Perfect Victim Book

She grabbed at her throat, choking and coughing before she collapsed on the ground. I waited around five minutes before she stood back up with a grin. “Claudia, I assume?” I checked. “Yes, who are you?” She asked. “I’m Zepher, I’m running an errand for your sister Priscilla. All I have left to do is resurrect Eric and she will release my lover.” I informed her. She clapped her hands happily, “I love a good black mail.” I rolled my eyes, damn ancient vampires. No matter how they presented themselves to others, they were rotten deep down. Their humanity long gone.

I nodded and let him have the books I borrowed in the library earlier for our discussion tomorrow. As we were making our way to the parking lot Katie blocked our way. She was with her squad and one of them was Fely, a volleyball player who used to stalked Orion. It seemed like she announced to their whole department her plan about confessing her feelings for Kolten. "Kolten, please accept my love." She tried to look cute and laid a box of cakes for him. He did not pay attention to it, but still hanging his arm on Orion's shoulder. He was never like to accept anything from any girls who were confessing to him, except those who wanted to be his 'secret admirer' who chose to leave some stuff in

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest frie

The woman was already trembling violently, tears streaming down her face as she kept apologizing in a broken voice. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, sir… I didn’t mean any of it… please forgive me…” Cassian said nothing. At that exact moment, Victor appeared at the entrance of the room as if they shared some silent telepathy. Cassian’s lips curved into a creepy, cold smile that sent chills down my spine. Victor stepped forward and handed him a small, sharp pocket knife. My eyes widened in shock.

I think Damian was like 9 and Layla was - urmm - 7 I guess. ''That young?'' I asked astonished. ''Yeah, they were very much in love. I could see that with the way they looked at each other, the way Damian smiled anytime the thought of Layla crossed his mind and the way she blushed at the little compliment passed by Damian but the unfortunate happened. She wasn't herself anymore. Layla started becoming distant, more reserved and Damian knew that something was off. One day, they got into a very heated argument so Damian drove off leaving her alone on the side of the road. He needed to clear his head. The next morning he went to her place but she wasn't around. He called her phone a 100 times.

“Even after I filled it.” I whimpered, my hands fisting his suit jacket. Emotions crashed over me, shame so deep I wanted to cry, desire so strong I wanted to beg, heartbreak that made me cling to him like a lifeline. “Victor… please, you are my mother’s husband, I’m a horrible person.” “You’re not,” he said, surprisingly gentle for a second, his thumb stroking my clit through the lace. “You’re fucking perfect. And you’re mine now.”

Outside, everything was ice and frost Dorian’s version of safe. He had wanted her out of the city while the heat cooled. A dozen news cycles had passed since the trial, since the last arrest. But silence, she learned, was never safe; it was an echo chamber. She walked back to the desk. Highlighted the whole paragraph. Cut it. Typed again. “This book is not a confession. It is a record. Of power, of violence, of velvet and blood. And of the people who lived inside it some survived. Some did not.”

“I’ve written your story from the moment I saw your photograph to this very second. You thought you were fighting for freedom, but you were following my script perfectly. Every choice you made, every person you trusted, every moment you thought you were clever, was planned.” Her eyes widened as she read the document on the screen. "The Gilded Cage: How I Created the Perfect Victim," I said. "My memoir. I'm going to publish it next year, and it will naturally be a bestseller. I'll donate all proceeds to women's shelters. Delicious irony, don't you think?" "You're insane," Frieda whispered. “I’m an artist, and you’re my greatest work.” I sipped my champagne again. “You’ll live in comfort in my

There is no shame in this. This particular victim was a girl that he saw shopping at a charmingly modest used bookstore that also doubled as a bakery, and she had exquisite calves. They reminded our killer of his days in junior high, where the girls had trim little calves that lengthened each time they had a growth spurt, and he would stretch his gangly legs out under their chairs so he could be as close to them as possible.