Triple Chocolate Cheesecake Murder Novels & Stories

He and his co-worker were planning to make white chocolate raspberry cheesecake. “Today we have VIP,” she said as she was pointing her finger to the small window, “That’s Mr. Thomas Silvermoon who sits in table No 5. I saw his son also come by, but then he left” she paused and giggled to herself “God he’s a fine-looking man…” As Lisa blabbered about the man of her dream, Noah suddenly realized one thing that he almost forgot, the one that may endanger his life. His restaurant was owned by the Silvermoon Family and his mate was named Drake… Drake Silvermoon…

Delilah couldn't get out and couldn't call James anymore. Annoyed and not knowing what to sulk at, Delilah, in annoyance, even made a cake. But that's not the goal. She wanted to work on James. Delilah baked two kinds, cheesecake and muffin. But for muffins, he purposely made the cake scorched. After that, Delilah covered the muffins with interesting cream cheese. "I'll give you a stomach ache, Mr. J. watch! You dare to date another woman behind my back!" Delilah rebuked in annoyance at the cake she had finished making.

This specific cheesecake was made by whipping heavy animal cream with sugar and vanilla extract, chilled until perfectly set without any baking—it was specially crafted for cake lovers with egg allergies. She was actually getting a bit hungry, so she didn't stand on ceremony. She took the plate and politely thanked him. Seeing that Mortimer wasn't getting up, looking dead set on staying glued to her side, Seraphina couldn't help but ask, "There are a lot of VIPs here tonight. As the Alpha, shouldn't you be out there greeting them?" "It's fine. Grandpa and my father are handling them," Mortimer replied, leaning lazily against the back of the sofa.

The cashier asked batting her eyelashes. “A strawberry cheesecake muffin, a double chocolate muffin and an iced caramel macchiato with extra vanilla and extra caramel drizzle.” I said in a monotone voice. “Anything else for you?” She asked squeezing her breast together trying to get my attention. “Nope.” I said popping the p.

DI Silver put money in the machine and got out two coffees. “White, no sugar.” I took the coffee with one hand. In the other I held a polythene laundry-bag, inside which was my shirt. “Do you want to tell me what happened then, John?” He sat down next to me. I sipped the coffee, it tasted awful. “Professor Stephen Baker lured Cairo Nickolls, Robert Trefoil and Bernard Catterall to his house, drugged them and then systematically cut them up.”

He walked over and grabbed a chair, dragged it across the floor, and sat in front of me. “Your point?” I said impatiently. “A handful of months ago, Moskov’s wife was murdered in cold blood in their home. An Italian bullet between her eyes and the American Mafia symbol carved on her chest.” Blake said as he took a drag of his cigarette. “The house was heavily guarded, only the best assassins in the world could make that kill.” He said as he smirked. “Ace and I are the best assassins in the world, and I never made that kill.” I scoffed.

Thank you, goddess, for six-inch heels. "Hey, I'm double your age! Now behave." I said, stealing a plate and quickly piling it with three cake pops, a stick that I slid on some brownies, marshmallows and strawberries, before dunking it into the melted chocolate. The boys complained, but I ignored them. You can’t come between me and chocolate. I was about to turn away, paused, and picked up a small cheesecake shot before hurrying away. Leaving a disapproving group of boys behind. Now, where to eat this before we had to leave?

My mother, Samantha, believed I was born a liar. Because she was deceived by my father's sweet words in her youth and abandoned after giving birth to me and my sister, Mia, she harbored a deep, bitter hatred for lies. She begged a witch for two magic rings. The rule was simple: if the wearer lied, the ring would glow red and burn them with magic. Mia's ring never hurt her, even when she broke a vase and blamed it on me. But if I simply said, "I'm thirsty," my ring would sear my flesh until I screamed. At first, I tried to defend myself, but Mom would just say, "The ring doesn't lie. Only through repeated punishment can your wicked soul be cleansed." After thousands of burns, even I started t

"Traditional lace suits an empire built on logistics. It projects stability." "Acceptable? Just acceptable?" Maeve pouted, tossing the fabric onto the velvet sofa between us and reaching for a tray of gold-leafed macarons. "You’ve been giving me half-hearted answers for the last twenty minutes, darling! What about the cake? The pastry chef at the Metropol offered a six-tier vanilla bean with passionfruit curd, or a rich dark chocolate truffle. Which one says 'I rule Moscow's elite'?" "The chocolate," I said, my eyes tracking a stray thread on my cuff. "Dark chocolate leaves a bitter aftertaste. It commands respect."

appreciate the great deployment you gave to the first of my victims; of a long series that I plan to execute, with the sole purpose of satisfying my gourmet appetites. To the absurd and naive question of the newspaper that says: WHO MIGHT BE THE MURDERER AND WHY DID HE KILL HIM? I think it's an excellent question in the midst of your stupidity. For obvious reasons, as in any respectable crime, there is a brilliant motive. "The flashing reason" for which I killed him I will not reveal it for now. As for the subjective part, the cause is different: I dismember and devour a human being with the sole purpose of putting my formidable cooking recipes into practice. I devoured the dried meat of a