I’ve read over 250 books this year. No, I don’t have a life. Thanks for noticing.
This blog is my personal archive of book-induced psychotic episodes. Mostly romance and fantasy at the moment, because apparently that’s the particular brand of self-inflicted brain damage I’ve been craving this year.
How it works around here:
I write down my thoughts during or after a book. These “thoughts” range anywhere from semi-intelligent analysis to incoherent gremlin shrieking.
My reviews are… let’s call them “entertainingly unstable.” Please do not mistake them for balanced, academic critique. My mental state 100% affects my star ratings. (If I was manic, that book was a masterpiece. If I was depressed, it was trash. Don’t take it personally.)
This is ranting like it’s group therapy, but with footnotes. Trigger warnings include me.
So if you like chaotic reviews, dark humor, and the sound of someone mentally unraveling while yelling about fictional characters, welcome.
This is DelusionalLibrary: where the DSM meets the TBR.
“You always wanted the nice guy. Too bad you got the fucking villain.”
— Killian Carson
In this unholy union of trauma bonding and red flag Olympics, God of Malice introduces Glyndon King. Soft-spoken, broken-glass-on-the-inside type. And Killian Carson, a chaos demon in human skin who sees therapy as a competitive sport he refuses to lose. She's haunted, he's unhinged, and together they have the kind of chemistry that should be illegal in at least twelve states and two EU countries.
The vibes? Deranged. The romance? Absolutely feral. The logic? Gone. And I loved it.
Review:
Did this book give me emotional whiplash? Yes. Did I finish it and question my moral compass? Also yes. But in Rina Kent’s world, sanity is optional and I'm just here vibing with my trauma.
This was a reread and somehow it got better. The chaos? Sharper. The obsession? Louder. Killian Carson? Still my Roman Empire. He’s violent, possessive, emotionally stunted, and honestly should come with a warning label and a court-ordered therapist. Which is probably why I’m in love with him. The man is a human red flag wearing daddy issues like a crown, and the way he half-softens for Glyndon while still being fully unwell? Go ahead and inject that straight into my inner child wounds.
Glyndon is fighting demons (some metaphorical, most literal) and still manages to fall for the guy who looks at her like he’s deciding whether she’s his next art project or his next victim. Their dynamic is full-on “monster chases prey but catches feelings,” and I ate it up like candy with a side of therapy bills. It’s the ultimate good girl × psychopath combo, and yes, I’m aware that says something deeply disturbing about me.
The college setting has rich people nonsense, mafia politics, legacy name-dropping like it's a blood sport. I don’t even care that the realism is held together with scotch delusion and the sheer audacity, I was hooked. It’s not meant to be realistic. It’s meant to be delicious. Like a dark romance sundae with obsession sprinkles, generational curses, and a hot fudge drizzle of mommy and daddy issues.
The push-pull between these two? Deranged in the best way. The banter? Award-winning. The pacing? Imagine a rollercoaster designed by someone mid-breakdown who’s also holding a grudge, and I was in the front row, screaming. Does the plot occasionally throw logic into oncoming traffic just to see what happens? Absolutely. Did I care? Not even a little.
Killian’s POV reads like twisted poetry written in blood and red flags. He doesn’t fall in love. No, he stages a full-scale psychological invasion on Glyndon’s boundaries and calls it devotion. It’s not healthy. It’s not wholesome. It’s a car crash I can’t stop rereading. Also? The tiny flashes of vulnerability buried under all the emotional war crimes? Yeah. I teared up. Against my will. How rude.
Now, does every character act in ways that make sense? Not even a little. Are all the seeds planted in this book fully resolved? Not at all. But that’s not the point. The point is vibes, trauma, and setting up enough chaos for the rest of the Legacy of Gods series to spin off into madness. And for that? This book delivers.
God of Malice kicks off the series with fangs out and knives sharpened. It’s dark, unhinged, and makes little sense if you haven't read Rina Kent before, but in a way that feels almost holy. This isn’t a love story. It’s a psychological threat delivered with eye contact. And honestly? I’d reread it tomorrow with snacks and zero shame.
★★★★ four stars, because I saw the red flags, licked them, and called it emotional depth.
“I’ll always be there. (Even if I get worse?) Even then.”
— Eli King
Ava Nash wakes up with two years of her memory gone and a shiny new husband she’s pretty sure she used to hate. That husband? Eli King. Emotionally unavailable, dangerously hot, and somehow now calling her his wife. As Ava tries to remember how she went from enemies to married with matching rings, she has to figure out if this is love, manipulation, or a long con wrapped in a romance novel. Secrets, power games, and identity crises incoming. Good luck to her.
Review:
This book had so much potential. Marriage of convenience? Enemies to lovers? Amnesia-fueled psychological warfare? Inject it directly into my bloodstream. Ava and Eli had sparks. Twisted, reluctant, "why do I want to kiss you and also throw hands" sparks. Their banter carried enough tension to power a small city, and their dynamic had that unhinged edge that kept me hooked even when the plot started drifting into a fog machine. Ava clawing her way out of emotional wreckage and into something like self-awareness? Gorgeous behavior. Eli unraveling like a designer-suited disaster with rage issues? Art.
But yeah... I wanted more. Like, rip-my-heart-out-and-stomp-on-it levels of more. Not “vaguely confused in a soap opera dream sequence” more.
More of the other characters. More legacy payoff. More from the series I’ve been mentally unwell about for six entire books. I love a standalone vibe as much as the next emotionally damaged reader, but this finale felt like it ghosted its own franchise. Where was the mess? The depravity? The repressed disaster gays and feral murder boys I’ve spiritually adopted?? I needed Ava to walk into that chaos in heels and make it her bitch.
Instead, the pacing was like watching a car inch forward for 200 miles and then suddenly launch off a cliff. There were flashes of brilliance, then whiplash so intense I thought the book had a personality disorder and forgot to warn me. The darkness didn’t hit like a freight train this time, it hit like depression wearing designer sunglasses. Less “how is this legally published?” and more “you both need therapy and possibly a joint exorcism.” which normally im cool with, but for the series finale?
There were heavy themes here (mental health, trauma, manipulation) and I highly recommend checking trigger warnings first because this one goes deep.
Still, the emotional moments in the last act? Gorgeous. The chemistry? Beautiful. The payoff for these two characters? Solid. If you go in expecting dark MMF chaos and come out emotionally gutted by two tragic soulmates and one glorified third wheel in denial? That’s not a failure. That’s just Rina Kent doing parkour with your expectations.
★★★ three stars, because it felt like a fever dream that tripped over the landing but still slapped me hard enough to leave an imprint.
“Why would he be happy with me when I can’t even stand myself?”
— Brandon King
When cold control crashes into unmedicated chaos, Nikolai Sokolov and Brandon King spiral into the slowest, most self-destructive enemies-to-lovers mess imaginable. Mafia legacy? Check. Unresolved trauma? Obviously. Forbidden obsession that could level a small country? Oh, absolutely. It’s not love, it’s a mutually assured emotional explosion, and we’re reading every second.
Review:
This book ripped open my ribcage like it was checking for spare trauma to play with. I knew I was screwed the moment Nikolai opened his mouth and something so unhinged it looped back around to seductive, immediately fell out. He sounds like sin, speaks in red flags, and somehow still makes Brandon feel like he’s the safest place to fall. It’s giving opposites attract but in a *what if stability kissed volatility on the mouth* kind of way.
Brandon is repressed like it’s his full-time job. Quiet. Gentle. The kind of soft that gets overlooked until it explodes in emotional shrapnel. And Nikolai? That man is a chaos demon in designer shoes. A sexy liability. A war crime with a jawline. Together, they’re a crime scene and a love story rolled into one, and I would watch them ruin each other forever.
No. It doesn’t just work. It hit every single nerve like it had a personal vendetta.
The chemistry is insane. It's "I'll throw hands with your trauma if it looks at you wrong" levels of intense. This isn’t a romance arc, it’s two walking trigger warnings falling face-first into codependency. I love enemies-to-lovers, but this was more like “emotionally constipated art boy and unhinged mafia menace accidentally imprint on each other and never recover.” And I ate up every beautifully deranged second.
Let’s talk Brandon. Sweet, tortured Brandon. My dude spends half the book trying to convince himself he’s unlovable while actually being the most emotionally honest character in the whole damn series. His inner monologue reads like someone’s therapy homework that got left out in the rain. His arc hits because it’s not polished or pretty, it’s raw. Cracked and clawing toward something better. This is a man who spends most of his time trying to disappear quietly, and when he finally decides to want something, it feels like the earth shifts. Watching his growth put me in a corner crying over it.
Now Nikolai. Listen. If “chaotic bisexual with a god complex and a heartbreak kink” was a genre, he’d be the poster boy, the syllabus, and the final exam. He’s emotionally unstable in the most magnetic way, uncomfortably soft when it counts, and so violently protective it feels both concerning and strangely therapeutic. His love for Brandon doesn’t show up politely. It crashes in, flips a table, and refuses to leave. He won’t sit with his own pain. He dodges meds like they’re bullets. And he masks everything behind deflection, violence, and pitch-black humor. He is one bad day from a full psych workup, and I would still follow him into the void without hesitation. And I adore him for it.
Also? I screamed. Out loud. Multiple times. This book has so many emotionally unhinged one-liners I should’ve read it wearing a helmet and emotional support eyeliner. “Even if you hate yourself, I’ll love you for the both of us”?? That line from Nikolai body slammed me into the concrete. I had to put the book down, walk outside, and whisper “be so for real” at a tree. I have not recovered. I remain unwell.
Let’s be so clear: this book is not soft. It’s raw. It’s feral. The trauma, the mental health spirals, the mafia violence, the ever-present threat of emotional and literal destruction—it does not let up. This isn’t fun little “boys kissing” energy. This is “I looked into your broken soul and decided to die there” romance. No wonder this wrecked me harder than any of the books in the series. It showed up, stole my stability, and left. Like, WTF?
There are moments where the pacing stumbles. The middle gets a little stuck in the “we’re toxic but in love” hamster wheel. Some of the emotional moments become repetitive if you’re not paying attention. And yeah, if you haven’t read the other Legacy of Gods books or done your homework on the Rina-verse, a few plot threads might feel like inside jokes you weren’t invited to. But if you’ve been here from the jump? This is your reward. Cameos. Callbacks. Generational mafia drama. The strange little romance world opened the door for unhinged queer chaos and I was absolutely gnawing the pages.
The way this series leaned into MM romance? We love it. The representation matters, obviously. But what matters more is that it wasn’t performative or just a token queer moment. It was raw. It was heavy. It was messy in the way real love stories are, especially when they come wrapped in trauma, bloodlines, and emotional repression. Queer boys in love with knives, guilt, and barely-earned tenderness? Yeah. That hit different.
Caution for dark themes: mental health, self-harm, mafia violence, stalking, and very questionable emotional coping skills are all front and center. If you’re looking for fluff, you took a wrong turn somewhere near the gates of hell. Nothing here is safe. Nothing here is neat. This is rage holding hands with vulnerability while love throws itself down a flight of stairs and says “it’s fine, I meant to do that.”
But if you’re like me, and your nervous system thinks that love and pain are basically the same thing, this book might feel like crawling into a weighted blanket made of red flags and bad decisions.
★★★★½ four and a half stars, because Brandon reminded me I’m not okay, Nikolai confirmed it, and I wouldn’t trade a single moment of their chaos for my peace of mind back.
“There’s no such thing as the perfect defense.”
— Adrian Volkov
“I’ll touch your scars until you normalize them and can live with them, because they’re what make you who you are.”
— Jeremy Volkov
Cecily Knight is all pastel sweaters, polite smiles, and unprocessed trauma. Jeremy Volkov is what would happen if Freud met his final boss. Brilliant, violent, obsessive, a man with too much self-awareness and not nearly enough restraint. They meet at university going to rival schools. She becomes his religion. He becomes her undoing. What follows is desire dipped in darkness, a spiral of power games, obsession, and the psychological equivalent of drowning while someone calmly tells you it's love.
Review:
Read God of Wrath and suddenly all my standards are Jeremy-shaped and clinically inadvisable. I’ve gone through this book twice now and I still can’t tell if it healed something in me or just catered directly to my specific psychological issues.
Jeremy Volkov might be my favorite Rina Kent man. Which says a lot, considering all her male leads feel like they were genetically engineered in a trauma lab for people with abandonment issues. He’s powerful, obsessive, possessive, and still somehow vulnerable in a way that feels illegal. He’s the mafia heir with a therapist’s vocabulary and a hitman’s problem-solving skills. The way he talks about Cecily isn’t romantic in the traditional sense. It’s devotion laced with madness. It’s the kind of love that sounds like a warning. And unfortunately, that’s my favorite kind.
Cecily, though? She’s phenomenal. Cecily? An icon. She's written with this perfect mix of quiet strength and deep fear, and watching those cracks turn into sharp edges is ridiculously satisfying. Her trauma isn’t there for shock value. It’s woven into every choice she makes, every wall she tears down or builds up. She starts out fragile, not weak, and by the end, she’s staring into the dark and daring it to flinch first.
Their relationship is chaos, but the kind you walk into on purpose. This isn’t the kind of romance that gives you butterflies... sometimes heart palpitations. It’s toxic, it’s obsessive, and it’s somehow still cathartic as hell. Jeremy and Cecily’s dynamic feels like watching two thunderstorms collide. It’s not healthy, but it’s honest. Especially if you’ve ever been in something where love and control start to blur together.
World-building in a romance book? Yeah, apparently, because the Rina‑verse is actually wild. The way she weaves characters and storylines across series feels borderline fantasy-tier. Jeremy is Adrian and Lia’s son from The Deception Trilogy. Cecily is Xander and Kim’s daughter from The Royal Elite Series. It’s all connected, and I lost my mind over it. Watching the next generation treat inherited trauma like a trust fund they never asked for? Unhinged behavior. I loved it. It felt like reading mafia fanfiction written in the family group chat.
The atmosphere hits like a fever dream. It’s dark academia meets mafia initiation, obsession wearing loyalty like a mask, and violence that somehow counts as a love language. Rina Kent said “what if we kissed during a psychological breakdown after manipulation?” and then made it a literary career out of it. And I will eat it up every time. I know I'm unstable, do you?
Of course this book isn’t perfect. Some people say all her books follow the same pattern. And they're not necessarily wrong. But if it’s a toxic love ballad with knives and trauma and it slaps every time, I’m not skipping it. I’m vibin' on repeat.
Yes, the final act was a little rushed. Yes, right now Landon exists solely so Jeremy can go full emotional pipe bomb and self-destruct on paper. Yes, Jeremy absolutely should’ve chased after Cecily instead of standing around brooding like a Victorian ghost. But honestly? I forgave all of it because the emotional build-up hit like a punch to the chest in the best way.
People also say her characters act too immature for how dark the content gets. And yeah, sometimes the emotional logic packs a bag and leaves the building. But that’s the thing, Rina Kent isn’t writing realism, she’s writing psychological theater with guns. It’s not about logic. We’re making choices that make sense to a brain marinated in cortisol. And for trauma-coded brains like mine, that hits way harder than anything labeled “sensible” ever could.
If you like your romance dark, obsessive, slightly unhinged, and marinated in unresolved generational trauma, God of Wrath absolutely delivers. If you're the type to read dark romance and then leave a review saying "this was problematic," maybe skip Rina Kent all together. There's stalking, manipulation. There’s violence and wildly unhealthy power dynamics. It’s not here to be a moral compass. It’s here to help the unstable scream into the void and call it healing.
Personally, this book felt like being emotionally disemboweled with an iridescent knife and then lovingly tucked into bed by the same hands that gutted me. It’s dark. It’s feral. It’s everything my therapist warned me about and I still ate it up like an unstable freak.
★★★★ because Jeremy Volkov redefined yearning, Cecily Knight said healing can come with a knife, and Rina Kent continues to write like she’s trying to out‑trauma her own characters.
I did a thing (again).
Because apparently my “totally normal reviews” weren’t enough for my overachieving brain, and I started drawing book covers too.
Was it smart? Nope.
Will I stick with it? Probably not.
But they’re cute, and I’m riding this manic wave with pride 🫶
Pick your fave (or don’t, I’ll still obsess anyway).
“Everyone needs someone worth going to jail for.”
— Leo Lohan
Scarlett Miller is bartending a trivia night post-breakup, fully spiraling about her life choices, and then Leo Lohan crashes into her like a romantic concussion. He's hot. He’s kind of weird. And they hit it off way too well. One problem... she has no idea he’s a pro hockey player. He has no idea she’s the coach’s daughter. They find out after. Cue chaos. Now it’s secrets, tension, and a “we probably shouldn’t but definitely will” vibe. Game on.
Review:
Okay. I’m a known hockey romance enthusiast. I show up for the locker room chaos, emotionally stunted teammates, and forbidden coach’s daughter tension. And Wildcat served it like a warm little snack wrapped in banter and soft boy delusion.
Leo is a certified golden retriever book boyfriend. He’s sweet. He’s persistent. He’s locked in on Scarlett with laser focus from the jump. He’s obsessed with in a “dream girl” way that toes the line between adorable and potential early-stage limerence, but this is fiction, so it fine. Scarlett is messy, impulsive, a little self-sabotage-coded, and honestly? We love that for her. She makes questionable decisions, owns them, and keeps the vibes alive. I can respect it.
The tropes are all here. One-night stand with consequences. Mistaken identity. Secret relationship. The forbidden “player and coach’s daughter” combo. It didn’t reinvent the wheel, but it didn’t flatten the tires either. It’s a solid start to a sports romance series, and it did its job introducing the team in a way that made me want to keep reading about these reckless little hockey men.
But. And you knew there’d be a “but” after the emotional bloodbath that was Nightfall. I finished this one feeling a little “huh... okay.” Not mad. Just not fully fed. The tropes are familiar. A reliable recipe, but nothing new was added to the dish. The spice was moderate. Not minimal, but not melt-the-ice hot either. This was a cozy kind of spicy. Less chaos, more comfort. It’s the kind of romance you read when you want serotonin, not a spiritual crisis.
But still. I wanted more. Some character choices felt rushed. Scarlett’s fall for Leo happened fast, and not in a “we’re soulmates” way, more like a “I guess we’re in love now?” kinda way. The coach’s daughter angle had so much potential for tension and angst, but it never really hit the depth I hoped for. I wanted messier fallout, more emotional stakes, more something. Instead, it all wrapped up a little too cleanly. Like we skipped the part where things were supposed to break first.
The sports setting works. The team dynamic is fun. The side characters have personality. It all feels like the first chapter of something bigger. Which is cool, but also means it didn’t quite deliver a full emotional arc. I’m hoping the future books go harder now that the setup is done.
Would I recommend it? Yeah, if you’re looking for sweet sports romance with a likable hero, a realistically messy heroine, and a “we’re not supposed to be doing this” vibe that stays mostly wholesome. It's great! Would I recommend it if you want depth, chaos, or high-stakes emotional warfare? Absolutely not. This is hockey fluff. You will not cry. You will not break. You might giggle, say “aww” a couple times, and kick your feet a little.
★★★ three stars, because Leo made me smile, Scarlett was a lovable disaster, and sometimes predictable is exactly what you need to survive the week.
★★★★★[★] ..yes i see the red flags. no i will not be leaving.
“After a while you get tired of pretending that you’re in control of everything that happens to you and you start being what happens to everyone else.” — Damon Torrance
Emory Scott wakes up in what can only be described as a mansion-prison. They call it Blackchurch. A secluded fortress where the rich stash their problematic sons and expect silence, obedience, and zero therapy. Will Grayson III, once the golden boy, is there. Now broken, furious, and done playing nice. When Emory lands in his personal purgatory, the past crashes into the present with brutal consequences. Secrets unravel. Power shifts. Survival gets messy. This finale isn’t just a book, it’s blood, closure, chaos, and every Devil’s Night ghost clawing its way to the surface.
Review:
This book broke my spine and then politely asked if I was enjoying myself. Spoiler: I was. I’ve never been so emotionally attached to a group of degenerates like I am with the Devil’s Night characters. These are my comfort psychos. I will defend them like they’re real. I’ll psychoanalyze them instead of myself. I would die for them. Especially Will Grayson III.
From the second book I was feral for this man. Then Nightfall came along and said, what if we show you exactly why he’s the most emotionally unstable and somehow still the most lovable Horseman? And I said thank you, with tears in my eyes... while shaking.
This book is kinda long. And no, I don’t particularly care. It's 700+ pages of emotional carnage and I was glued to every word like it was gospel. If you’ve been following the series, this is the pay-off. You get the arcs. The trauma. The redemption. The full circle moments. You get to see who Will really is. Not just the party boy, or the spiraling addict, but the man underneath. And yeah, that man is a mess. But he’s my mess. Our mess.
The setting? A remote mansion-prison called Blackchurch where "troubled" rich boys go to rot. I had doubts. Especially with an entirely new group of side characters. But it ended up being the exact claustrophobic, tension-drenched hell this story needed. The vibe is thick. Isolated. Unstable. Like being locked in a haunted house with your worst memories, someone you once loved, and a group of psychos that haven't seen a woman in months. I’ve been in psych wards. I’d still take Blackchurch. At least they let you scream, and you could get out some rage without repercussions.
Now, let's talk about Will! The addiction. The trauma. The grief. The fear. The way he hates himself for it, but desperately wants to gain control. So damn raw. I also have an addictive personality so maybe I understood a little too well a little too much. And the way he sees Emory? Like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered. The only soft thing in all his ruin. Its feral. It’s obsessive. It’s beautiful. I saw parts of myself in Will's spiraling. In his self-sabotage. In his avoidance style. I felt seen and it was horrifying. I know I'm not well, but at least I'm never boring. I am the disaster you couldn’t stop reading. Take that how you will.
Emory ended up being one of my favorite Devils Night girls. She's right up there with Banks. Her trauma is handled so well. She’s not immediately strong or “fixed” by love. She’s complicated. She’s scared. But she fights. And when she finally starts demanding space, demanding freedom, demanding more? Yes. YES. Give that girl a crown and a knife. Let her take down the systems that hurt her.
And the chemistry between her and Will? Top tier. Soulmate psychosis. These two are unwell and in love and that is my favorite genre. In the present timeline, they are not good for each other, but they become what the other needs. And that transition is everything to me. That’s why I read dark romance. I want the mess. I want the slow transformation. I want the pain before the healing. i want to overanalyze their trauma so i don’t have to think about mine. i don’t process emotions. i hyperfixate on characters who are worse off than me.
You know the way I said I was worried about the other horseman not being in the book? Well, they were! And we got some great couple moments, and got to see the group dynamics I was so desperate for. Yeah, sometimes it distracted from Will and Emory’s arc. But also? If we didn’t get our Devil’s Night family reunion, I would have rioted. Let me have my emotionally traumatized friend group and their stabby love languages.
That being said, the romance in present-day does take a backseat to the finale chaos. There are flashbacks, and they do deliver. But kinda wanted to sit with Emory and Will in the slow moments, where they can be soft. I wanted more of them just existing without legacy of all the blood or violence still hanging in the air. But I get it. This is a finale. Not everyone gets to lay in the grass and heal. Some of us have to burn everything down first. I vibe with that. Fight for your ending.
There is a lot happening here. Conspiracies. Revenge. Psychological warfare. And somewhere in the middle of all that mess, a love story that has been crawling through fire for years to finally drags itself to the surface. If you haven’t read the rest of the series, you may have trouble surviving this book. It is defiantly not a standalone. It’s fan service, trauma edition. The kind of ending you have to earn.
And the themes! Power. Control. Forgiveness. Freedom. Obsession. And my least favorite, letting go. Not just of other people, but of who you were when everything hurt. Of what you had to become to survive. Some quotes in this book hit like they were ghostwritten by a licensed therapist. Damon especially speaks like he’s halfway through starting a cult and honestly? I’d consider joining. It's a bit concerning that I relate so much to the most twisted characters.
If you're here for soft boys and clean resolutions, run. But if you want pain and depth and a main character so catastrophically human it makes your chest ache, this is it.
This isn’t just a book. It’s like a love letter to all the kids who survived something and never got to talk about it. For those who were always too loud and who joked through pain. For the ones who made it out, even if they had to crawl.
★★★★★[★] six stars, because Will Grayson is etched into my psyche and this series claimed me, body and soul.
"you can kiss me with this color the next time were together. It'll show up on my skin better."
-Crew Lancaster
“When we’re lucky enough to find someone that makes our world brighter, shouldn’t we grab hold of that person and never let them go?”
-Wren Beaumont
Wren Beaumont is the human embodiment of a dress code. Perfect grades, perfect manners, purity ring basically soldered to her finger. Crew Lancaster is the emotionally constipated bad boy heir with just enough generational wealth to make it hot. They’re not supposed to like each other. So naturally, they get stuck as project partners and immediately develop enough sexual tension to power a small nation. What follows is prep school chaos, enemies-to-lovers brain rot, and a slow burn so intense it made me question my morals and several federal laws.
Review:
This was my second time reading it and I still can’t tell if I loved it or if it just rewired my brain with glitter glue and unresolved trauma. The “rich kids at an elite boarding school with too much money and zero emotional regulation” vibe delivers. It’s family legacy nonsense, reputation anxiety, and horny teenagers in cashmere sweaters. Which, unfortunately, works for me. It’s messy, dramatic, escapist chaos... basically a tabloid fever dream wrapped in privilege, purity rings, and primal attraction. Not high literature. Not emotionally healthy. Just status games, legacy guilt, and sexual repression getting absolutely wrecked by one emotionally constipated boy with parental issues.
Perfect grades, perfect manners, purity ring permanently welded to her finger. Her family basically built her into a Stepford daughter. She starts the book more tense than a nun at a strip club and ends it with autonomy, power, and orgasms, in that exact order. That’s what we call character development. Watching her finally stop living for other people’s expectations? Delicious. Let the girl rebel. Let her break things on purpose.
Crew on the other hand, is made of sharp edges, trust issues, and the kind of softness that only shows up at 3AM in a panic. He’s moody, obsessed, and occasionally speaks like he swallowed a Tumblr post from 2013. His internal monologue is full of possessive nonsense and “you’re mine” energy, which is both hot and deeply concerning. His fixation on Wren’s virginity and purity ring had a lot of people making direct eye contact with god. Like yes, the forbidden tension works. But also. Sir. Therapy. Immediately."
To be clear: this book has spice. Like way more spice than you’d expect for a prep school setting. They're both 18, so it's technically fine, but I had to unconsciously relocate them to a completely different timeline just to avoid a moral crisis. There’s a lollipop scene that spiritually altered me. The smut is detailed, intense, and very adult. Which makes the prep school backdrop feel deeply confusing. I liked it. I also had to sit in total silence afterwards to keep my conscience from shriveling like raisin. Think more Rina Kent, less Stephanie Perkins.
As for pacing, the first, like, third of the book kinda drags. Yeah, it’s building tension, but it takes its sweet time and I kept zoning out. There’s not much of a plot outside the romance, and I was left wondering about the side-plots. The whole book leans hard on the relationship, which is great if you’re here for vibes, sexual tension, and beautiful people making terrible decisions. But if you came for more than aesthetic angst and emotionally irresponsible behavior, you might leave feeling empty.
Crew’s behavior does lean hard into bully romance territory, and not everyone’s gonna be cool with that. He’s possessive. He pushes boundaries. He talks about virginity like he’s the high priest of some purity cult. The story hinges a lot on Wren’s virginity, which I’m used to seeing in romance books, but I get why it won’t work for everyone. It flirts with toxicity and doesn’t always land clean. That said, I read dark romance. I live in the land of morally questionable love interests and characters who communicate exclusively through obsession and veiled threats. So I wasn’t shocked. Think more Rina Kent and less Lynn Painter.
This book is wildly polarizing. Some people ate up the tension, the angst, the sheer unhinged chaos of it all. Others hate how quickly it shifts from disdain to obsession, or how horny it gets considering the characters are still technically in school. It all comes down to what flavor of brain rot you’re craving. If you're looking for emotional growth, deep introspection, or a solid external plot arc — this probably isn’t your book. But if you're in the mood to read about rich teenagers being feral and emotionally stupid in a morally questionable romance with A+ spice, then yeah, its got you covered.
★★★½ three and a half stars, because Crew short-circuiting over Wren's lip gloss made me painfully aware of my relationship status, but I genuinely can’t tell if the lollipop scene turned me on or triggered the urgent need to sanitize my insides.
“Loving me would be like a gilded cage. Pretty but still a cage.”
— Jax Kingston
Jax Kingston is the British bad boy of Formula 1. Which means he’s fast, emotionally unstable, and basically allergic to healthy choices. His team is one scandal away from duct-taping him to a rocket and launching him into the stratosphere, so they bring in Elena Gonzalez. A PR specialist with a spine of steel, a functioning frontal lobe, and no time for his drama. She’s here to save his reputation. He’s here to publicly self-destruct. What follows is slow-burn chaos, sharp banter, and a romance that ruins you just right.
Review:
Okay. So I knew this one was going to hurt. I just didn’t realize it would hurt in a claw-my-way-through-the-emotional-wreckage, "why am I like this" kind of way. Wrecked is a mess — but in the most intentional, calculated, soul-crushing sense. It grabs your face, stares directly into your soul, and politely asks how many therapy sessions your insurance covers before emotionally waterboarding you for 300 pages straight.
The angst? Cranked to eleven. Jax isn’t just a hot mess. He’s a full-blown existential crisis in a race suit. His struggle with addiction, self-destruction, and the looming threat of Huntington’s disease was raw. It actually feels like you're watching someone spiral in real time. I kept checking the page count just to see how much longer I’d be held hostage by my own empathy.
And Elena? An icon. A force. I loved that she wasn’t just there to fix him. She’s flawed, layered, emotionally intelligent, and blessedly unwilling to tolerate his nonsense. The way she met Jax’s chaos with compassion and boundaries made me want to fist bump her through the page. She wasn’t a prop. She was present. She was real. She was tired.
Their dynamic? Oh, it’s messy. The sexual tension is unhinged. The banter is hot. The emotional intimacy feels slightly illegal. I live for a “we’re both disasters but somehow less terrible together” storyline. But the hot and cold? The emotional whiplash? The constant push and pull with no actual forward movement? I wanted to walk directly into the ocean. At one point I had to close the book and scream into a blanket because they couldn’t go five minutes without miscommunicating or spiraling into a dramatic feelings pit.
I get it. They’re traumatized. So am I. But there comes a point in every romance where I stop rooting for love and start rooting for emotional isolation. Somewhere around the halfway mark I stopped being sympathetic and started developing antisocial tendencies. I love angst, but even I draw the line at circular trauma loops with zero payoff.
That said, the emotional resolution did land. The ending is messy but honest. It’s not some sparkly, romcom epilogue where love magically cures everyone. It’s two people choosing to stay, even though nothing is easy and the world is still terrifying. And honestly? That felt more romantic than any fairytale ending ever could.
Also, Jax’s family? Inject that into my bloodstream. The sibling dynamic added so much heart, and it helped me care about him even when he was being a full-blown self-destructive menace. I did not expect to be emotionally attacked by the brother, but here we are.
Tone-wise, this book is heavier than the first two. There’s trauma. There’s grief. There’s addiction, illness, and an avalanche of emotional damage hiding under sunglasses and dry sarcasm. I liked it. I like being stabbed a little by my romance novels. But I fully get why it didn’t land for everyone. This one requires mood, mindset, and maybe a preemptive blanket fort.
Pacing-wise? That mid-book slump returned like a cursed side quest. I don’t know if it’s just me or a Lauren Asher ritual at this point, but every book in this series hits a point where my brain starts buffering like I’ve lost WiFi. The emotional tension stays high, but the plot spins in circles. I needed movement. I got mutual avoidance and repressed trauma. My soul left my body.
★★★ three stars because Jax obliterated me, Elena carried, and the tension ruined my nervous system. But the emotional whiplash had me dizzy, the middle dragged, and now I need a full romance detox.
“Screw platonic, I want catastrophic.”
— Liam Zander
"You're not a problem to fix, Sophie. You're someone to love."
— Liam Zander
Sophie Mitchell is rich, repressed, and trying to break free via a spicy little bucket list that is one minor PR scandal away from becoming a headline. Liam Zander is an emotionally stunted Formula 1 driver with control issues, a tragic backstory, and exactly zero coping mechanisms that aren’t avoidance or abs. He finds the list. He offers to help. With rules. You can already tell how well that’s going to go. What follows is flirtation, racing circuit chaos, slow-burn disaster tension, and the kind of mutual pining that makes you want to scream into a pillow and then eat the pillow out of rage.
Review:
Okay so here’s the thing. I liked this book. I did. But I also wanted to shake it like a snow globe just to see if the plot would rearrange itself into something slightly more coherent.
Sophie and Liam are two chaos demons in denial, which is a dynamic I usually love. The banter? Cute. The tension? Hot. The “we’re just friends doing mildly erotic bucket list challenges in increasingly compromising situations” premise? Honestly iconic. I live for a trope that forces characters to be emotionally stupid in close proximity. Watching them spiral through repressed feelings while doing things like skinny dipping or speaking German was entertaining, stressful, and deeply unhinged in the best way.
But it also made me want to lie down in the middle of the highway screaming 'JUST KISS ALREADY' repeatedly. Like. I get it. Emotional repression is mysterious. But at some point I need someone to crack open their rib cage and say “here is my heart, I am unwell.” Instead we get chapter after chapter of Sophie being like “I’m not like other girls” while Liam stares off into the distance like someone just told him love isn't a pyramid scheme. Just say you’re in love and let me move on with my life. Please.
I will say Liam’s emotional arc was the best part. Watching him slowly fall apart and then put himself back together using Sophie as emotional duct tape was satisfying. We love a man who emotionally flatlines and then reboots his personality because a woman handed him a granola bar and basic empathy. He’s the kind of love interest who thinks vulnerability is a character flaw but still manages to be slightly soft without turning into a sentient red flag. Good job, Liam. Go to therapy next.
Sophie, on the other hand, was a bit of a rollercoaster. She wants to be rebellious but keeps forgetting that rebellion isn’t just putting “have sex in a stairwell” on a checklist. Sometimes it’s saying no. Or thinking for yourself. Or not letting your dad emotionally steamroll your entire personality. Her growth is there, it just got lost somewhere between the awkward jokes and identity crisis cosplay.
And speaking of awkward jokes. Some of the dialogue physically hurt me. Like I had to put the book down, pace around sim style, and eat a cookie out of pure psychological necessity. I mostly enjoyed the banter, but there’s only so many lines that sound like rejected Instagram captions I can take before my skin starts crawling.
Also. The miscommunication. Dear god. I can handle a little “oops I didn’t say the thing” moment. But this book stretched it into a whole subplot. These two were out here refusing to use their words like they thought conversation was a federal crime. It got old. Fast.
The F1 setting was still a win for me. Love the vibes. Love the drama. But compared to Throttled, this book felt like we were parked in the pit lane for most of it. Less race cars, more emotional bumper cars. Which normally I don't have a problem with but I missed the adrenaline from the first book. I missed the track. I missed Liam in a fireproof suit. I feel slightly robbed... can you be 'slightly' robbed?
BUT... interconnected standalones are the literary equivalent of someone holding my hand and telling me it’s all going to be okay, even if I’m unlovable and mildly psychotic. I love being able to stay in the same world without having to watch a fully happy couple try to find new drama just because the series isn’t done yet. No one needs a sequel about communication exercises and joint taxes. Let me hop universes like a hot gremlin with commitment issues. Let me just swap view points and emotionally rebrand. That’s self-care.
★★★ Three stars, because his trauma arc said 'you will feel things' and unfortunately, I did.
“This isn’t a negotiation… and despite what you may think, I am your judge, jury, and executioner.”
— Evelina Westerly
Evelina Westerly runs a criminal empire in heels, balances vengeance with science, and still has time to ruin a DEA agent’s life (and emotions) with just one look. Enter Nicholas Woodsworth, aka undercover agent with a badge and a death wish. He’s betrothed to her sister. They meet. They clash. They combust. What follows is a romance with high stakes, electric chemistry, and just enough Wizard of Oz inspiration to make you question who to root for.
Review:
This book said “What if tension was an Olympic sport and these two were fighting for gold?” The chemistry is unhinged. Like, I-didn’t-know-whether-to-read-or-take-a-cold-shower levels of electric. The push-pull dynamic? Delicious. The morally gray decisions? Chef’s kiss. The sheer amount of sexual tension in a single shared glance? Illegal in most countries.
I always need a little more than just romance to stay focused (hi, ADHD, thanks for playing), and this book delivered. The suspense, the danger, the espionage, the “who do I trust” knife-to-throat energy. It’s giving a little romantic thriller and I devoured it like a rabid raccoon with a Red Bull.
She’s a botanist. She’s a drug lord. She’s the Wicked Witch of My Heart. Okay but hear me out: Evelina Westerly is everything. She's not just the bad girl. She’s a badass. She’s chaos in stilettos who uses Latin plant names and fully justified murder as entertainment, and I respect that. Like, this woman literally weaponizes phytochemistry. If I had a type, it would be ‘botanically inclined war criminal with excellent taste in shoes’.
With that said… the pacing? A little wonky. The middle occasionally feels like someone hit pause on the chaos and I just zoned out completely. My brain said “speed it up” and the book said “let’s not.” Not a dealbreaker, but I did get that jittery read-faster-than-physically-possible feeling more than once. And the ending? Felt...rushed. Not bad, just lacking the emotional uppercut I was primed for. Threads were tied too quickly and cleanly for a book that otherwise let the tension simmer like grandma with the crockpot.
I see a lot of other readers say that the plot is too over the top or “unrealistic.” I mean, you picked up a fairy tale-inspired romance where the Wicked Witch sells designer drugs and makes men cry. I would hope you weren’t expecting plausibility. This is the Neverafter series, embrace the chaos. If you’re looking for a realistic story, this is not the series to go to.
There are also quite a few readers that were disappointed with the ambiguity of the Wizard Of Oz aspect. I get it. If you came in expecting the same intense fairytale parallels that Hooked and Scarred delivered, this one probably felt a little softer on that front. The references are more thematic than literal. A lot less “flying monkeys,” and more “Wicked Witch in a bulletproof vest” vibe. But for me the subtlety worked. It didn’t need to scream Oz to still feel like a twisted homage. It’s not a direct transplant. It’s a reinterpretation. A fractured fairytale with a green-tinged edge and just enough magic left in the shadows.
Wretched might actually be one of my favorites in this series. The villain-centric lens, the morally gray romance, the quiet rage wrapped in femininity. Is definitely my vibe. And it hit hard. Will I raise the rating on a reread? Probably. My brain is already trying to gaslight me into opening it again.
★★★½ three and a half stars for now, because Evelina Westerly is the witch I’d burn the world for, but I was holding out for a longer climax and a line that could haunt me for weeks.
“You could burn down the kingdom until it’s nothing but charred rubble, and I would crawl over the embers with glee, so long as I could worship at your feet.”
– Tristan Faasa
Tristan Faasa. The scarred, bitter, banished royal, doesn't buy his brother michael's whole "oh dad's dead guess im king now" act. So instead of keeping his head down, he goes full rebel-leader mode in secret, as you do. Because that's obviously the best option. In comes Sarah Beatreaux. She's to marry the king but secretly on a revenge mission. Girl’s got plans, and none of them involve falling for the emotionally complex, morally gray prince who may or may not be planning a murder. Deception, betrayal, crown-stealing, and a slow descent into “oops I caught feelings”.
Review:
This book had me wrapped around its little villainous finger. It’s like a Disney villain suddenly developed an R rating. After Hooked, I had to start Scarred, because apparently childhood fairytales weren’t emotionally damaging enough without adding political intrigue, casual murder, and a forbidden romance that can make my inner demon dance.
Let’s get the obvious out of the way: this is The Lion King reimagined for people who grew up, got horny, and didn’t go to therapy. Yes, Tristan is Scar. Yes, there’s a forbidden romance. Yes, I loved it. I ate this twisted fairytale/fantasy-smut combo like it was my last meal on death row… for the most part.
Tristan Faasa is loyal, bitter, morally gray, and radiates “I’d kill for you but also I’ve killed for less” energy. And the fact that this book let him be the protagonist instead of keeping him as the snarling, eyeliner-wearing villain on the sidelines? Peak decision. I haven’t been normal since. I am absolutely apart of the target audience and I want more stories where the villain gets the mic and uses it to confess his sins while making out with the enemy.
Sara’s character is admittedly less developed, and honestly? I didn’t completely notice until someone pointed it out. Maybe it’s because I’ve been conditioned by the patriarchy to expect men to get all the emotional arcs while women just vibe in the narrative waiting to be kissed, sacrificed for angst points, or villainized for acting normal. It could also be because Tristan’s inner monologue was spicy, unhinged, and occasionally poetic in the way that makes you concerned for both his safety and mine.
ALSO. The dual POV was essential. I firmly believe if we’d only gotten Sara’s POV, Tristan would’ve come off as an unhinged, power-hungry jackass with a knife kink and a death wish (not wrong, but not the whole picture). Instead, we get both angles: her reluctance and his obsession. Her rational panic and his spiraling devotion. It makes the dynamic more enticing. Toxic, sure, but interesting. Like if Romeo and Juliet had knives, guns, and an OnlyFans.
Pacing-wise? Listen. The beginning hits like adrenaline and bad decision making. Then we hit the middle, where things get weirdly slow like the book took a nap. Then the ending bolts out the door like it remembered it left the oven on. It felt slow in a way that made me check how many pages were left three times and yell “wrap it up!” like I was heckling a student film. Then all of a sudden I’m wondering how it all happened so fast.
As for the writing style... it’s dramatic. Like, DRAMATIC. This prose is serving tortured poet energy. I didn’t mind it (I was clearly in the right mood), but if I’d read this in a different mental state I might’ve said the author was trying too hard. You have to meet the book where it is: barefoot in a castle, mid-monologue, plotting a murder.
There’s also a weird genre blend happening—like the book is wearing medieval cosplay but snuck in with a fake ID. Is it historical? Modern? Time period? Unclear. But if you treat it like romantasy with dark fairytale flair, it mostly works. Mostly. Just don’t ask too many questions.
Now for the smut. Some people said it was too much, too tropey, or unrealistic (virgin heroine into instant kink discovery). I personally didn’t really care. I’m not reading dark romance for realism. I’m reading it for morally ambiguous men who whisper filthy things between monologues about loyalty and revenge. And of course for all the psychological issues.
Also I signed up for knife flirting and royal trauma, not unexpected emotional attachment to a side character. I almost threw the thing across my living room because of a guy named Simon?! Anyway, final thoughts: the DSM and the Brothers Grimm walked into a bar and birthed this book.
★★★½ three and a half stars, because I would absolutely commit political treason and crawl through burning embers for Tristan Faasa.
“Maybe love isn’t supposed to be easy. Maybe it’s supposed to be this complicated, messy thing that we fight for.”— Oakley Ford
Vaughn Bennett agrees to fake date nineteen-year-old pop star Oakley Ford to make him look less like a PR nightmare. She’s got twin brothers who treat chaos like a hobby, an older sister who doubles as her second brain cell, and a boyfriend named W who is the dictionary definition of “man written by red flags.” Oakley is Hollywood’s most reckless golden boy, and together they sign a contract that’s supposed to be fake but ends up ruining my emotional stability.
Review:
This was the book that dragged me back into reading as a teenager, which means I am permanently bonded to it like a hostage with Stockholm syndrome. Rereading it now felt like finding an old diary and realizing half of it was super embarrassing but the other half was still alarmingly relatable. Nostalgia is manipulative like that, and unfortunately it still works.
Fake dating is my addiction, and this was my gateway drug. Oakley, pop star disaster with the energy of a lit match in a fireworks factory, collides with Vaughn, the allegedly normal girl who is , apparently, already one bad day away from listing her brothers on eBay. The setup should feel ridiculous, but it doesn’t. The balance and vibe kinda work. He falls first, which is the natural order of things, and watching him pine while pretending not to gave me actual serotonin. Like what my dog should do instead of raising my blood pressure. Their chemistry isn’t only banter. It’s in the tiny moments where fame and real life grind against each other until sparks start flying.
Vaughn is the only thing keeping this book from floating away in a glittery haze. She’s working, parenting, surviving, and trying not to collapse while her twin brothers do their best impression of caffeinated raccoons, gotta love em’. Her older sister adds stability, but there’s only so much she can do so Vaughn is the carrying a lot of weight. And then there’s W. W is the kind of boyfriend who calls himself a “real man” while refusing to do the bare minimum, which is just a little too realistic for me. He thinks sex is part of a loyalty program and Vaughn should be grateful just to redeem her points. Watching her start with him is brutal, but watching her realize she deserves better is the whole payoff.
And Oakley. His arc is one of my favorite redemption stories, mostly because I have a screwed up sense of love, but he turned it around pretty damn fast. He starts spoiled, cocky, and immature, basically the human equivalent of a YouTube apology video waiting to happen. But did that make me hate him? Apparently not, which concerns me immensely. But then the edges crack. You see the vulnerable nineteen-year-old who wants to be seen as human instead of a brand, and I fell for that too. He goes from walking PR hazard to someone who actually earns Vaughn’s respect, and I hated how much I loved it. It’s the kind of growth that makes you want to throw the book across the room just to cope.
The family dynamics seal the deal. The twins are comedy relief with no off switch, Paisley, the older sister, is so great, and the messy, real-life obligations Vaughn faces keep the romance believable. The contrast between her world of bills and babysitting and Oakley’s celebrity circus is what makes their relationship feel earned instead of just Wattpad wish fulfillment.
I’ll admit it drags in the middle, like someone added filler episodes to stretch the season. By the end I didn’t mind that though, I kinda wanted more. Oakley’s early behavior is immature, but honestly, that’s just nineteen-year-old boys in their natural habitat. And yes, the beats are predictable, but cliché is comfort food, and I inhaled it anyway.
Other readers point out the age gap discourse. He’s nineteen, she’s seventeen, and technically yes, that makes people twitch. I get it, but it’s a two-year difference. When I read it at 16, it felt fine. At 19, still fine. By 23, I see why people side-eye it, but the issue is more about life stages than math. And they were actually in a similar stage of their lives despite the 2 year age gap. For me, it was never enough to ruin anything.
So yeah, When It’s Real is still one of my comfort reads. It’s fake dating, family chaos, pop star meltdowns, and character development that actually lands. It’s cliché, it’s messy, it’s addictive, and apparently my teenage self had more taste than I gave her credit for. (But not much)
★★★★½ four and a half stars, because apparently my love language is fake contracts, redemption arcs, and men with guitars who trick me into forgiving them. Can you tell how unhealthy my love life is?
“When I’m with you, I want to play more than I want to win.”
— Nolan Sawyer
Mallory Greenleaf swore off chess after a family tragedy, but one reluctant tournament later she accidentally beats the reigning world champion, Nolan Sawyer. Suddenly she’s dragged back into the spotlight she never wanted, stuck juggling competitive chess, family survival, and a man who looks at her like she’s a puzzle he plans to ruin.
Review:
Ali Hazelwood again. Yeah, I know. Can you tell I was going through something? At this point just assume one of my coping mechanisms is binge-reading her books until my frontal lobe gives out. The quick wit in this one lit up my serotonin receptors like a car battery on jumper cables. The quips are smart and fast, the kind of humor that makes you laugh first and wonder if you should be worried about yourself later. Honestly, it felt like reading myself if I didn’t have anxiety induced selective mutism in social settings. But what’s new about that?
It’s labeled YA, but let’s be real, this is new adult playing dress-up for Halloween candy. It reads younger without being childish, which means adults like me can devour it guilt-free while pretending we’re “analyzing narrative structure” instead of spiraling over a teenage chess prodigy romance. And yeah, I kinda wanted wanted more on-page romance, but then it couldn’t be labeled YA. Even so, it was still a fun ass read and I inhaled it.
Mallory is chaos in a jumpsuit. She’s broke, running herself ragged at the auto shop, raising her sisters, and somehow dragged back into competitive chess like it’s a blood sport. It’s relentless and heavy and feels like gasoline mixed with generational trauma. And what hit me hardest? The misogyny in the chess world. It isn’t just hinted at or softened, it’s blatant and exhausting, the way male players dismiss her, underestimate her, or act like she doesn’t belong at the table. It felt real in a way that was both validating and maddening, because every woman who’s ever had to exist in a male-dominated space will recognize it instantly. Watching Mallory push back against that pressure made the whole story hit harder.
And Nolan. Oh, Nolan. The bad boy of chess who broods professionally but also manages to dismantle Mallory with nothing but his stupid eyes. I loved him. The rivals-to-lovers tension here is feral. It’s slow burn, low spice, basically the literary equivalent of holding your hand over a flame just long enough to scream but not enough to scar. Did I suffer? Absolutely. Did I eat it up anyway? Unfortunately, yes.
The style is aggressively contemporary, but the texts, memes, and social media pacing actually worked. The dialogue reads like a group chat that somehow figured out punctuation. It’s modern without being cringe, which is more than I can say for half the internet, including myself.
Now, what I’ve seen other readers mention: the chess is surprisingly legit and not just window dressing. Some thought maybe it leans closer to women’s fiction with its heavier family plot, and honestly, I kind of see it. Mallory’s decisions drove people insane, and if impulsive self-sabotage gives you hives, maybe take a Benadryl before reading. And yeah, a few beats are predictable, but so is my coffee order, and that doesn’t stop me from needing it every morning.
For me, this book nailed the formula: reluctant prodigy versus chess royalty, family pressure, blatant misogyny, and quips sharp enough to make me choke. Compulsively readable, cathartic in the worst way, exactly what my brain ordered.
★★★★★ five stars, because apparently the cure for my depression is sarcastic quips and emotionally constipated chess champions.
“Keep talking. I love hearing your voice.”
— Noah Slade
Maya Alatorre joins her brother’s Formula 1 team as a vlogger to document the season. Unfortunately, his teammate is Noah Slade, reigning world champion, control freak, and man most likely to ruin your peace of mind. The plan was simple: film, behave, avoid feelings. The execution? A public relations nightmare with kissing.
Review:
I read this during a mild mental breakdown, which might explain a lot. The F1 world has this electric energy: the noise, the travel, the adrenaline, the absolute ego of men willing to risk their lives for a glorified metal cup. I’m not really an F1 girl, but I grew up around motocross, so I get it. The hunger to win, the tunnel vision, the masculine delusion. Hot. Unhealthy, but hot.
The forbidden-romance setup scratches a very specific part of my brain. Brother’s teammate, guaranteed career suicide, cameras everywhere. Every interaction feels like it’s one tweet away from becoming a scandal. There’s the media circus, the brand deals, the sponsorships breathing down their necks. Maybe it’s a little over the top, but the word “fan” literally means “fanatic,” so honestly it checks out. You can practically feel the gossip blogs foaming at the mouth.
Maya is driven, stubborn, and entirely held together by caffeine and spite. She’s juggling her career and her family while falling for the one man guaranteed to cause a PR meltdown. I like to think I’d handle fame-related scandal better, but given my current inability to answer texts without spiraling, I’d probably make it worse and somehow trend on Twitter for it.
Noah Slade is ninety percent control issues and ten percent denial. He treats emotions like a design flaw and holds himself together with discipline and repressed trauma. Watching him unravel is deeply satisfying, like seeing a therapist’s dream client finally give up pretending. His arc from emotionally constipated robot to semi-functional human is the kind of growth I’d clap for if I wasn’t busy feeling like fiction myself.
The pacing gets weird. It starts fast, slows in the middle, then suddenly remembers it’s supposed to be dramatic again. And the third-act breakup? Hate it. They’re lazy, annoying, and always feel like the author ran out of ideas and chose violence instead. At least this one didn’t drag long enough for me to commit crimes.
Other readers call it predictable or Wattpad-adjacent. Sure. But if this is a Wattpad fever dream, then sedate me gently because I was having fun. Familiar isn’t a flaw when it’s executed this like this, it’s comfort with horsepower.
Throttled is fast, messy, and addictive. The F1 energy crackles, the forbidden setup hits like caffeine on an empty stomach, and the chemistry makes you forget how to blink. It’s chaotic, unhealthy, and honestly, so am I.
★★★★½ because I have a competitive streak and, I guess, a weakness for emotionally unavailable men who drive too fast and call it therapy.
