Writing emotionally dark, obsessive stories isn’t about glamorizing pain—it’s about telling the truth. In this raw post, I dive into what it’s really like to write from a place of chaos, heartbreak, and emotional intensity. These aren’t just stories. They’re reflections of the parts of us we usually hide.

I don’t write perfect characters—because perfect characters don’t exist. My stories live in the in-between, in the mess, in the moments we don't talk about. The obsession. The breakdown. The self-sabotage. I write people who are hurting, healing, and still trying to figure out what love really means. Because that’s real. And if you’ve ever felt like too much or not enough, maybe you’ll see a piece of yourself in them too.

If my books had soundtracks, these would be the songs playing in the background. From Teddy Swims’ ‘Lose Control’ capturing Romero’s downward spiral, to the eerie calm of Billie Eilish’s ‘bury a friend’ echoing through Ave Maria, each track reflects the emotional core of my stories. These aren't just songs—they’re extensions of the characters, the tension, and the mood I wanted you to feel on every page.

I went to Ave Maria expecting peace. What I found felt more like a performance—too quiet, too clean, too perfect. The people smiled, but it didn’t reach their eyes. Conversations hushed when I walked by. I felt like I was being watched, like I had entered a place that demanded silence and punished difference. That’s when it hit me: this wasn’t just a town. It was a story begging to be told—one where beauty masks control, and where the true danger hides behind devotion.

Romero wasn’t just interested in influence—he was consumed by it. Power wasn’t a tool to him; it was the very goal. His name became synonymous with control, not because he ruled over others with cruelty, but because he mastered the art of bending perception. Whether in a boardroom, behind a screen, or inside someone’s head, Romero knew how to make his presence felt without raising his voice. What began as ambition evolved into obsession—each small win feeding a deeper hunger. But the question lingered: was he chasing power to lead, or something he needed to thrive?