V.C. Andrews

It was a peculiar kind of night, as if fate had planned this night, long ago, and this night was our destiny, right or wrong. It was darkness lit up by the moon so full and bright, and the stars seemed to flash Morse Code beams to one another . . . fate accomplished . . . .

There is no hate such as that born out of love betrayed

"I swear," she said, shaking her head, "sometimes I think you're not only morally retarded, but mentally retarded as well."