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June First is a forbidden, emotional romance about Brant—the boy shaped by tragedy—and June, the girl he was never supposed to love.
Growing up together blurs every line between right and wrong until their bond becomes impossible to ignore.
Three tragedies define Brant’s life…but at the center of all of them is one thing: June, and the love that refuses to let go.
I couldn’t sleep last night, so of course I ended up devouring June First in one sitting—finished it in a few hours and finally crashed like my brain had been wrung dry. Jennifer Hartmann has this way of writing heartbreak that you feel in your teeth, and this one shares the same emotional DNA as Older. The forbidden tension? The built-in tragedy? The slow, aching unravel? Yep—same recipe.
Brant falls for June, his practically adoptive sister, because tragedy binds them from the moment she enters the world. When Brant is six, his father murders his mother and then himself. And because June’s parents were close friends of his family—and because Brant was already best friends with Theo, June’s brother—they take him in instantly. He grows up with them. With her. And that’s where the line starts to blur.
Their connection is tender, slow, and honestly uncomfortable in the exact way forbidden romance is meant to be. You feel the tension long before either of them names it. But personally? While I appreciated that slow burn, sometimes it felt too heavy. Too much tragedy layered on top of a romance that was already fragile. I like emotional books, but this one carries grief in every chapter.
And yes—the spice hits later (past the halfway point) and it’s good, but emotionally, it didn’t land with the same punch Older did for me. Older broke me in a way that felt cathartic. June First broke me and then kept piling more on, and somewhere along the way it stopped being my kind of pain.
I still read it fast—because Jennifer Hartmann books are addictive by default—but out of all the forbidden romances I’ve read, this one isn’t climbing into my favorites. Beautifully written? Yes. Emotional? Absolutely. But the grief-to-romance ratio was just too unbalanced for me.
age gap romance, book review, Book reviews, books, bookstagram review, childhood friends to lovers, dark romance, emotional romance, fiction, forbidden love, he fell first, heart-wrenching reads, Jennifer Hartmann, June First, must read romance, romance, romance bookstagram, romance recommendations, slow burn angst -
Popping my Jennifer Hartmann cherry because all I’ve heard lately is about this book.
I saved Older as a winter read, mostly because the author captures that season so beautifully that posting about it in autumn would feel like a crime.
Before he discovered her age, he uncovered her heart.
Seventeen-year-old Halley, bruised by a loveless home, meets Reed one fateful night under the stars—a man who sees her in a way no one ever has. What begins as a fleeting connection turns into something dangerous and forbidden when Halley realizes Reed isn’t just any man… he’s her best friend’s father.
Older is a forbidden, slow-burn, age-gap romance about heartbreak, healing, and love that dares to break every rule.
To be fair, I wasn’t looking for a slow-burn romance (because honestly, I can’t yearn any longer), but when Halley meets Reed at that party by the lake—some small talk, a spark, a pull—and then things take a turn behind closed doors, I was instantly hooked. Reed believes she’s 21, he’s 34, and everything seems set for a classic tension-filled affair… until a neighbor calls out that Halley is actually 17. The second Reed hears it, he walks away—and that’s when the story truly begins.
And shame on me, because they had me from the start.
It takes a lot of slow-burn moments to make one catch fire, and I was there waiting, hoping that massage scene would burn the building down. Instead, it just simmered—months passing before Mr. Reed even admits to himself how much he wants Halley.
They weren’t kidding about the slow burn. Things barely happen, and when they do or might, another two or three months pass before they see each other again. I get the age issue—it’s complicated—but even after she turns 18, he’s still 34, and the whole “best friend’s dad” situation just keeps twisting the knife. Especially since she lives with his ex-wife and daughter.
Still, I can’t help rooting for them. They’re a perfect match—wrong on paper, right in every feeling that matters.
It’s painfully slow, but beautiful. I loved the characters, loved the writing, and yes, this romance made me cry (and I’d like to point out—dark romances would never!). It was heavy, wrong, emotional, and raw, and it made me feel every bit of that forbidden tension.
Even knowing it’s wrong, I couldn’t look away. And that’s the magic of Jennifer Hartmann—she makes you question everything, especially your heart.
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Once upon a time, Lottie Jones was the nightmare under the bed. Now she’s just trying to win bingo without throwing her back out and keep her past buried deeper than her victims. Retirement was going so well — a fake name, a quiet town, and the most dangerous thing in her life being weak church coffee.
Enter Plum Dixon, a journalist with too many questions and not enough survival instinct. One knock on the door and suddenly Lottie’s golden-years peace turns into blood-spattered nostalgia. Because sure, murder was easier when her joints didn’t crack like bubble wrap… but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
Another visitor. Another loose end. And Lottie? Well, she might be too old for this — but there’s nothing like a fresh kill to make a woman feel young again.
Not a spoiler, but dear Lottie fucking killed Plum in not even half an hour after she walked into her house for an interview — Plum wanted to hear Lottie’s side of the story because she believed Lottie had been wrongfully jailed. Well, jokes on you, Plum…
Now Lottie’s trying to get rid of her laptop and phone and scrub Plum’s blood off the kitchen floor.
Interesting POV — an old-age serial killer.
High hopes.
So far it’s pretty interesting to follow Lottie. She knows exactly what to say to the detectives to make Plum’s boyfriend look guilty, even though she’s the one who chopped her up and burned the pieces. Then she took some of the ashes to her Thursday church friend — who used them for gardening.
But when you’ve been a killer your whole life, it’s fascinating to see how dangerous and resourceful someone truly evil can be.
Also — do police officers lie to suspects in interviews? Makes sense, but honestly, I’d never paid attention until now.
Okaaaay, I did not expect a corrupt detective who already suspects Lottie — but that spices things up. I also didn’t expect Lottie to actually plan to kill a detective… a detective desperate for money, clearly dangerous… it’s moving slowly, but it’s moving.
I think Lottie’s mistake is trying to kill everyone around her who suspects her.
But she’s been wanting to kill Burke for a long time.
Burke’s the detective who interviewed her for her first crimes, and he knows for sure she’s a killer. He and Plum’s mother are both trying to catch her, but when Plum’s mother also disappears, Lottie’s getting closer and closer to being caught — though it’s insane how she’s always one step ahead, lying her way through everything.
A cute little book — a bit too long, could’ve been shorter, but still okay.
Okay, I wasn’t expecting a twist at almost the end, but what Lottie finds in Burke’s hotel room is quite interesting.
Insane ending… I just fucking hate Lottie but I’m also impressed by her, a good thriller.
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The first electrifying mystery in Karin Slaughter’s new North Falls series, and damn, what a start.
Welcome to North Falls — that quiet little town where everyone swears they know everyone… until fireworks night, when two teenage girls vanish and panic spreads like wildfire.
Officer Emmy Clifton takes it personally — one of the girls was her best friend’s daughter, and Emmy wasn’t there when it mattered. Now she’s got one shot to fix that. Except, the more she digs, the more it’s clear she never really knew these girls at all. Nobody did.
And when their bodies turn up, things get darker fast. The town pins it on the local creep — the guy with Cheyenne’s necklace buried in his yard (because of course). But Cheyenne’s also got sixteen grand stashed away, drugs hidden in her room, and a side hustle that screams too much, too soon. Her friend Madison? Clean record, straight-A daughter of Emmy’s best friend Hannah. Except now both are dead, Emmy’s found the bodies, Hannah’s stopped speaking to her, and the town perv is behind bars.
Twelve years later, he’s out.
A new girl goes missing.
Emmy’s dad — a detective — gets shot right in front of her.
Her mom’s unraveling. The whole town’s falling apart.
And guess what? The skeletons in North Falls didn’t stay buried.
Then there’s Jude, the high-profile FBI agent on the brink of retirement, who sees Emmy’s tragedy splashed across the news and decides to dive back in. One last case — one that refuses to stay cold.
I started this book last night and read 50% in one sitting. It’s that good. Karin Slaughter has that unnerving way of making you feel disgusted, sad, and obsessed all at once. Her writing is cinematic, violent in truth, and her characters? Messy, real, broken — just how I like them
The chapters are long (painfully long sometimes), but not boring — which says a lot, because I get bored of everything lately.
I ended up reading it curled under a blanket, feeling like autumn decided to cosplay as winter. I was supposed to watch a horror movie — instead, I lived one in North Falls.
It’s dark, heavy, and impossible to look away from. Everyone’s hiding something. Everyone’s guilty of something.
Not a spoiler — just the truth.
Highly recommend this one.
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Gosh, I wish they would translate Musso’s books into English, but if you know Romanian or French, this one’s for you. Musso is such a brilliant thriller author—sometimes I feel like he’s secretly the real-life Dexter Morgan.
“There are three versions of the truth: mine, yours, and the truth itself.”
Côte d’Azur, spring 2023. A yacht drifts off the coast of Cannes, carrying Oriana Di Pietro—Italian publisher, Milanese heiress, and soon, a victim. Brutally assaulted, she falls into a coma for ten days before her life slips away. Who killed Oriana? Four voices try to answer: Adrien, her mysterious jazz-pianist husband; Adèle, his young mistress; Justine, the police officer hunting the truth; and Oriana herself, recounting her final weeks from the edge of death. No one lies, but no one agrees either.
What blew me away was how the story starts—we’re thrown straight into Oriana’s violent attack, and then we learn of her death through news reports and articles. That’s insane to me, and it shows how good Musso’s writing is. He writes with this sharp, cunning, almost surgical precision that completely transfixes you.
A year later, a detective is still searching for Oriana’s killer, with her focus fixed on the husband. And yes, the husband had an affair—but not in the way you’d expect. Just when you’re sure you’ve got it figured out, Musso twists the plot again: the husband isn’t the killer. He keeps me on edge, always dangling the truth just out of reach. He has me in a chokehold, every single time.
Now here’s the part that drove me crazy: Oriana had brain cancer. Honestly, that subplot felt unnecessary on top of her being a murder victim. But Musso used it to show just how controlling Oriana was—even in death. She actually paid the babysitter to seduce her husband, because she wanted to handpick who would raise her kids after she was gone. She trained the babysitter to take her place. Oriana literally seduced her husband a second time in the same life, through another woman—and that’s so twisted, but also strangely poetic.
Normally, I don’t enjoy too much action in thrillers, but even in the chaos, Musso keeps me hooked. It’s this constant dance of deception, and he’s always one step ahead of me.
And that ending? Wild. I had a completely different theory about the killer, and I was dead wrong. The reveal caught me off guard. I actually liked how the cancer storyline was wrapped up—it almost ruined the book for me, but Musso nailed it in the end. After Justine’s final talk with Oriana’s doctor, I felt half-right, half-wrong, but totally satisfied. Then came the epilogue. The killer was caught, Justine was sleeping with Oriana’s husband, and for a second everything seemed fine… until those last lines hit. And suddenly I wasn’t so sure the killer was caught after all.
Surprised is an understatement. Breathless is more like it. A thriller that leaves me stunned like this? That’s Musso at his finest.
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Welcome back to Wyatt Valley — where the air is crisp, the traditions are ancient, and the skeletons in the closet are practically family heirlooms.
In You Belong Here, Megan Miranda delivers what she does best: small-town paranoia, buried secrets, and women who know far too much for their own good. This time, it’s Beckett Bowery who gets pulled back into the valley she fled two decades ago after a senior-year tragedy left two men dead and her roommate vanished without a trace. She swore she’d never look back — but now her daughter Delilah has just enrolled in the same college, and the past isn’t exactly staying where she left it.
It’s early August when I crack open the book, but autumn is already whispering at the edges. The sun is out, yet the air is turning crisp; dark, inky blues coil around the clouds, and the heat retreats. My coffee, my books, my body, and my mind are thriving — and I’m ready for the thrillers I’ve been craving after years steeped in dark romance (though I have a few lined up for October, my favorite season).
The setup is solid: Delilah disappears just weeks into her new school — the very school her mother didn’t want her to attend. Beckett had her reasons: when she was a student there, her best friend and roommate vanished under suspicion of murdering two men. The scandal was enough to push her out. Now, years later, Delilah calls her in the middle of the night… and says nothing. Just silence.
Sounds juicy, right? Well, here’s where things got tricky for me. Delilah’s disappearance should have been the spark, but somehow I couldn’t connect to her character. She vanishes — and? We learn she might have a stalker linked to her mother’s past, but the tension felt muted. Even halfway through, I was still waiting for the story to really grab me. The past timeline, which I expected to be rich and chilling, felt underdeveloped. Instead, most of the action is set in the present, with everyone searching for Delilah — but without a clear sense of urgency or purpose. She called once and now everyone assumes she’s gone? And the murders? The missing roommate? Barely touched.
I was hoping for two well-defined timelines, weaving past and present into a tighter knot of dread. Instead, it felt like the book was holding back.
That said, the second half finally delivered. The tension sharpened, the stakes rose, and the discovery of a body jolted the narrative into life. From that point on, the book became what I’d been waiting for — a twisty, atmospheric thriller with Miranda’s signature small-town unease.
In the end, You Belong Here redeemed itself after a slow start. It’s a story about the weight of old secrets and the way the past seeps into the present, refusing to stay buried. I just wish the first half had matched the punch of the second.
Verdict: Atmospheric, intriguing, but uneven. If you have patience for a slow burn, the payoff is worth it — but I wanted more shadows and sharper teeth from the start.
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In The Ghostwriter, Julie Clark cracks open a decades-old murder, a fractured family legacy, and the kind of secrets that don’t just haunt you—they define you. When infamous horror author Vincent Taylor finally decides to reveal what really happened the night his siblings were killed in 1975, he turns to the one person he’s never truly faced: his estranged daughter Olivia. But Olivia isn’t just a ghostwriter—she’s the ghost of a life he tried to erase. Tense, emotional, and layered with lies, this is a story where fiction and truth bleed together—and the real horror is what’s been left unsaid.
What a fascinating premise. Your father has been accused of killing his own brothers your entire life. You leave your small hometown not just because everyone thinks he did it, but because—plot twist—he becomes a famous horror author, cashing in on trauma like it’s a business model. You cut him off. Reinvent yourself. Start ghostwriting novels for rich, high-maintenance women. And then… he calls you back home. Old, sick, and ready to tell his story—asking you to ghostwrite the truth behind that infamous family murder. The setup? Chefs kiss. Small town, crumbling house, buried family secrets, and writing as therapy—or maybe manipulation. I was hooked.
Do I like the vibe? Yes. Do I like him or his shady, overly-involved nurse? Absolutely not. But hey, that just adds to the tension.
The pacing starts off as a bit of a slow burn, especially since her father keeps dodging the actual crime conversation like a pro. Instead, we’re slowly immersed in their 1975 home life with Poppy and Danny—his siblings, the victims.
Then things get juicy. Olivia finds Poppy’s old journal in a box (classic move) and boom—revelation: Lydia (Olivia’s mother) was pregnant and had an abortion. We haven’t met Lydia yet in present day, but whenever her dad brings her up, he flips between calling her a liar, the love of his life, and the woman who ruined him. Totally healthy. Totally trustworthy. I’m halfway through and I’m dying to know if her father actually did it.
What I love about this book is that it’s not just about the murder. There are so many tangled threads—family drama, old wounds, long-held secrets—and every single one feels intentional. The suspense is high, the writing is sharp, and the emotional tension keeps pulling tighter.
Highly recommend if you’re into layered mysteries, morally gray family members, and the kind of slow unravel that makes you question everyone’s version of the truth.
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God of Malice isn’t here to coddle your fragile morality. It grabs you by the throat, kisses you without asking, and dares you to beg for more. This book is a twisted cocktail of pain, power, and possessiveness — and I drank every drop like it was the last elixir on Earth.
If you’re looking for sweet nothings and tender hand-holding, turn around, sweetheart. But if you want a villain you’ll hate to love and a heroine who walks into the fire with a smile on her lips, buckle up. We’re descending straight into chaos — and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
🖤 Virginity, murder, and a med student who cooks better than your mom 🖤
God, the way this book started… and here I was thinking it would be a light rebound after Voracious — but fuck me, was I wrong. I’m hooked.
Actually, hooked is an understatement. I’m already buying the physical copy like the unhinged book hoarder I am.
So here’s what we get: Glyndon literally stumbles into Killian — head first — a guy from the rival university, a med student, filthy rich, disgustingly polite, an amazing cook… and also a psychopath. A literal killer with a fixation on popping her virginity and claiming her like some dark-age war prize.
But while Glyndon is obviously fascinated and horny beyond belief for this devil in a pressed shirt, she’s got other demons to hunt. Like figuring out whether her friend Devlin’s so-called “suicide” was actually a murder. And guess who’s suspect #1? Killian’s little murder club.
And from that premise, my new favorite dark romance is born.
Every scene hits. The tension is delicious. The characters are deranged in the best way. The families are tangled messes. The school is basically elite Hogwarts with sociopaths. And Killian? That man is a walking red flag buffet and I ordered the whole damn menu.
Rina Kent serves you darkness laced with lust, trauma seasoned with obsession, and zero time to breathe between jaw-dropping chapters. This isn’t just a romance. It’s a high-stakes game of secrets, blood, and sexual tension so thick it needs its own content warning.
I already know I’m buying the rest of the series. No crumbs left behind. No regrets. Only darkness.
P.S. People don’t get dark romance. This isn’t your regular “flowers and slow dancing” love story—this is the unhinged version of a dream you didn’t even know you had. It’s the fantasy you keep buried under lock and key finally ripping the door off its hinges. Twisted? Yes. Toxic? Maybe. But real? In every feral, obsessive, deliciously wrong way. And I’m here for every bit of it. – a comment I’ve decided to make seeing the low rates of this amazing masterpiece on Goodreads
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The Edge of Darkness Trilogy #1
If He Can’t Have Her, No One Will
Kade Mitchell is consumed by the woman he can’t stand—and can’t let go.
Stacey Rhodes is a siren wrapped in innocence, the very girl who broke Kade’s heart and dragged him into the depths of the criminal underworld. He’s spent years lurking in the shadows, eliminating anyone who dared get close to her.
Now, with a rare chance at freedom, he’s back—and he wants her. Obsession and hatred blur as Kade crosses every line to claim what he believes is his.
But can love rise from the ashes of betrayal? Or is forgiveness a line even he won’t cross?
⚠️ This is a dark romance. Please check the content warning page before reading.
🌪️ Five stars of feral, unhinged, delicious darkness 🌪️
I don’t even know how to explain what this book did to me. Leigh Rivers didn’t write a love story—she handed me a loaded gun and whispered “good luck.” I started reading and blacked out somewhere around Kade’s third act of violent devotion.
Let’s talk about KADE.
This man is damaged, dangerous, and drowning in obsession—and I wanted every single piece of it. He’s not the guy who falls in love—he collides with it like it’s war. The way he worships Stacey with that dark, broken intensity? I was pacing the room. This is not your soft, healing king. This is your ruin in human form. And I would still text him back.
And Stacey? The girl’s been through absolute hell and still walks like she owns it. Quietly powerful, deeply scarred, and somehow still soft in all the right places. Watching her try to survive while Kade is out here burning the world down just to touch her? I was locked in.
The trauma, the chemistry, the madness—it’s all so messy, so raw, so magnetic.
Every chapter felt like a punch to the chest and I loved it. The pacing? Perfect chaos. The dark? Pitch black. The spice? Utterly feral.
Kade doesn’t fall for Stacey. He claims her. And honestly? I’m not even mad about it.
Kade is like two completely different people in the span of two years—it’s insane. His attitude? Absolutely lethal. The kind that knocks you off your feet and straight into his bed.
But what he doesn’t know is that the video that destroyed their relationship wasn’t what it seemed—Stacey was raped by her stepbrother, who still continues to abuse her.
And I cannot wait for the moment Kade finds out the truth.
This book is all about attitude—and Kade? He was written perfectly. It’s interesting how, as a woman, I find myself wanting a man who takes control—when in reality, that’s not what I truly want at all. And yet, somehow, that fantasy still lingers. I guess that’s why men like Kade from dark romance novels are so irresistible—they embody that dangerous kind of control we secretly fantasize about.
This book is for the girlies who like their love stories twisted, possessive, and laced with danger. I’m fully, shamelessly obsessed—and completely unwell waiting for Book 2 to arrive because I wanna hold it whilst reading.
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🌧️ 2/5 stars
Some books are like rainy Sundays—gray, heavy, and hard to fully sink into. Parents Weekend by Alex Finlay had all the ingredients for a gripping thriller: five students vanish from an elite college, powerful parents scramble for answers, and FBI agent Sarah Keller is called in to untangle the mess. But for me, it all just… drizzled.
The premise? Solid. A group of kids goes missing during Parents Weekend, and the clock is ticking. There’s media frenzy, political pressure, and plenty of secrets bubbling beneath each family’s carefully polished surface. It should have been an edge-of-your-seat page-turner. But instead of being swept into the storm, I felt like I was watching it from a fogged-up window.
Finlay tries to juggle multiple POVs—parents, students, Keller—but the emotional pull felt distant, like I was always one step removed. The characters never really got under my skin. I didn’t hate them, but I wasn’t exactly rooting for them either. It’s like trying to care deeply about a stranger’s family drama while you’re waiting for the kettle to boil.
There were some interesting twists, and I’ll admit, the mystery around a previous student’s death added a good layer of intrigue. But even the reveals didn’t hit as hard as they could have. Maybe it was the pacing, maybe it was the flatness of some characters, or maybe it was just the weather in my brain while reading—but the tension never quite crackled.
I can’t seem to catch my breath—this book just isn’t holding my attention. I’m frustrated, especially since I’ve been eagerly waiting for it and the author is one of my favorites. But for some reason, it’s just not pulling me in. Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if the problem is me.
If you’re a Finlay fan or in the mood for a mellow, rainy-day mystery that doesn’t demand too much emotional investment, this might still be worth your time. Just don’t expect lightning strikes.
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Reading in the Mountains 