The Taste Of Revenge Novels & Stories

“Peter wanted revenge on anyone who ever touched Aurora.” Dante’s entire body froze. “What?” Victor’s gaze slowly darkened. “And Peter will do the same thing to you.” Dante’s breathing immediately grew heavier. “I don’t care about that anymore,” Dante muttered quietly. Victor smirked faintly. “You can keep denying it.” The older man stared directly into Dante’s eyes now. And slowly— Dante’s anger began mixing with something far worse. Confusion. “What exactly do you know?” Dante demanded sharply.

She stomped her feet on the ground and turned and left the club beyond angry. The sound of whispers filled the club as Roy stood there absolutely stunned about what happened, that a woman could resist him and not just that- Slapped him. He touched his cheeks as he felt the stinging pain of her slap burning his fragile male ego, evoking the urge to make her pay for her action. “How dare she…” He cursed under his breath and walked out with a strong desire for vengeance for this slap which left him insulted before everyone. Initiating A Game Of Revenge.

"It will greatly enhance the satisfaction of the time of devastation. It will let her realize that the worst thing she could have done was to stay alive." I lean in and allow the warmth of his body to support me. But here in this room we are aligned. We are unstoppable in this room. We are constructing something in this room that will destroy everything Damon has created. I shut my eyes and allow myself to savor the triumph that lies ahead. It has a power like flavor. It tastes like retaliation. It has the flavor of something coming to an end. And the beginning of something worse.

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.

They looked peaceful from here, the streets below moving in rhythm, unaware of what was about to unfold. A soft sound came from the hallway, one of the servants passing by. I didn’t turn. My reflection in the glass stared back at me, and for a moment I barely recognized it. My face looked older, harder. The anger that had once burned brightly had settled into something quieter, more deliberate. People often mistook revenge for passion, but it wasn’t. Passion fades. Revenge endures. It becomes a discipline, a habit that keeps you alive long after reason has gone. *

~ Emily ~ Morning light came slicing through them big-ass windows, hitting us just right—three bad bitches sprawled on that sectional like we’d been through hell and came back ready to plan the next war. My head was still heavy from everything we let out last night, but my blood? It was alive. Buzzing. ’Cause revenge got a flavor… and baby, it’s bitter, it’s hot, and it’s finally within reach. I was posted up cross-legged on the couch, drowning in an oversized tee, notebook balanced on my thigh, pen tapping like it was ready to choose violence any second.

By the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish you had never touched my father. You’ll wish you had never been born. I took another sip of juice, legs crossed, feeling powerful for the first time in weeks. Revenge tasted so fucking sweet.

Half agony and the other half, extreme ecstasy. Over the sound of my own moans, I hear a strangled noise from the phone and angry mumbling before the call disconnects with a beep. As Rhysand begins to move with a deep powerful rhythm that I meet with equal force, one thought stays through it all: Revenge is best served drunk.

Valentine I’m slowly coming to accept and believe that this evil plan to seek revenge is going to work. I’m moping around my office when all of a sudden, a vision of ecstasy began rolling inside my head. An act of sweet revenge and might just probably be the sweetest, seamlessly executed to perfection played like a film in the cinema. Perhaps, just like I did, Dominic won’t see this coming his way. I sat and turned my swivel chair around to face a mural of me hanging idly on the wall before finally fishing the list from my pocket. Although it’s looking a little bit rough from staying alive for several years, I don’t know if this is a blessing or a curse. For now, this list appeared to be a s

PROLOGUE They say revenge is a dish best served cold. They’re wrong. Revenge is a nine-year plan executed in Louboutins and a smile that never reaches your eyes. It’s watching your ex-husband’s empire crumble while yours rises like a phoenix built from the ashes of every tear you cried alone. It’s standing in front of cameras with your son, the child they tried to steal from you, and watching the world finally see the truth. I got my revenge. I won.