Toxic Romance Novelas e Histórias

The sweet and thoughtful Brianna had become cold and selfish. “I love you so much..” Lorenzo sobbed. My insides trembled upon hearing those words again. I felt like my ears tinged and my blood boiled as anger flared up in my system. “Stop lying!” I screamed and tried to push him again, using all my strength. “How the f**k can you say that, if all you have ever done in those two years were f**k different girls?! Do you even know the meaning of love?!” I gritted as I tried to get rid him off me.

He offered and handed his pill to me, bringing a bright smile to my face. "Thanks bro." I thanked him, and he winked, rushing out. That was how he saved me, but I knew it was only a matter of time before my secret would be exposed. This was a dangerous path to tread—the type that would bring disaster and death at the end. It was that type of romance that has no happy ending. I knew this, and I should stay away. The best option was to kill her and save myself from falling harder, but my powers are weak in front of her.

I'm sitting between Kahlo's legs with my back to his front as I read the book he bought me. It's a cute small-town romance with vanilla sex scenes. Something I would have enjoyed when I started I started reading but now it's boring. Bland. Where is the bully that makes the female lead's life a living hell but she still ends up with him? Where is the stalker or psychopath who doesn't know the meaning of privacy and personal space? Give me unhinged. Even better if it's the female because I can relate with them. But since Kahlo bought this book for me, I don't mind reading it. Although, it would be a little better if she at least got together with both guys. We all need some toxicity in our liv

“Now, you know how I feel every time I set eyes on you. I wonder what Roman sees in you. I am obviously prettier, smarter and more matured that you are.” I shot her a glare. “You can shove your maturity up your ass. Maybe if you weren't so annoying, you would know that Roman is only attracted to me because we are mates and a mate bond is the stronger than a mere coverup marriage,” I retorted. “How dare you!” She growled attempting to hit me but I caught her hand. “Don't you ever try this again,” u said coldly, tightening my grip on her hand. “You were the one who came here to piss me off so don't act like I am a spoilt disrespectful brat when all you have done is provoke me.”

Nicknames: Hollows, T Age: 26 Birthday: October 23 Zodiac sign: Scorpio Nationality: American Race: Originally human Hair color: Dark brown Hair style: Medium length middle part Eye color: Emerald green Birthmarks: N/A Scars: Scattered across his body Height: 6’2 Weight: 152 Skin color: Tan Sexuality: Straight and polyamorous Relationship status: complex Beauty marks: rose sleeve tattoo Jewelry : protection bracelet made by a witch Personality: Mysterious, dangerous, flirty, charming, mean Style: edgy cowboy Outfit: Medium wash blue jeans, black band t-shirt, black belt, boots, leather jacket Love interest: Iris Friends: N/A Prologue This story is about love. Not the lovey dovey type you see

No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without the author’s written permission. This is a dark romance collection. In these stories, you will be fascinated by the dominance, fierce desire, obsession, and all-inclusive encircling control exerted by strong and powerful men. Love is gritty, problematic, and will test every last boundary. While walking into this journey…powerful and obsessive love will spark and thrill you, I beg you to take care of yourself while reading. Your physical and emotional safety is my number one priority, and if the passion at any point becomes too much, I encourage you to take a break. POINT OF VIEWS

"This shows us not to hand out compassion blindly. Look what happened. An entire family was destroyed." "Am I the only one who feels sorry for the husband? He was sick, but his wife wouldn't give him money for treatment. She even took a fugitive on a trip through the Western Continent, and in the end, he couldn't even keep the money for his cemetery plot." "That woman's death was quite satisfying too, that's what I say! Her toxic compassion killed her husband. She deserved it." On the day Wyatt was sentenced to death, a friend came to my grave with a bouquet of flowers and told me the news.

Then: “A shell company tied to a man named Victor Hale.” The name hit like a punch to the gut. Victor Hale. The man who once offered me protection when I was nobody. The man who smiled while warning me that success had a price. The man who disappeared right around the time Sophia vanished. And the man who was very much alive. I closed my eyes slowly. It wasn’t betrayal. It was a setup. I had built my empire on the belief that she abandoned me. On the fire of hatred and revenge. On the promise that I would never be weak enough to love her again.

Volume nine has four more entries referencing the Moreau working over the following two years, as Beatrice Ashworth followed the story the way scholars follow stories, with the patient accumulation of additional data. The second entry, from January 2000, describes the mechanics as Beatrice understood them from her correspondence with the New Orleans branch: The Lover's Ruin operates through the following mechanism: upon inheritance of the target's fortune, the heir inherits the curse simultaneously. The curse compels the heir to destroy their truest love through pride, cruelty, and self-sabotage. The stronger the genuine love, the stronger the compulsion to destroy it. Duration: indefinite.

I squashed that dangerous little softness in my chest as fast as closing a misclicked app. No. This isn’t right. A proper lover knows when to let go and when to walk away. Not get all sentimental after just a couple rounds and start imagining this “cozy domestic life” script. That’s not romance—that’s asking for trouble. Julian was undeniably charming—so charming it blurred your boundaries. And that was exactly why he was dangerous. Like a top-shelf liquor, smooth on the way down but with a kick that sneaks up on you—you take a sip and before you know it, you’re tipsy.