I started inhaling romance novels at fifteen like they were oxygen. I only looked back once-when the plot served me amnesia, secret twins, and a royal inheritance delivered via cursed locket. 
Eventually I started crafting my own stories, and the fictional drama in my head started demanding equal billing with my daily thoughts ("Did I lock the door?" followed closely by "Would a dragon-themed bakery spice up this plot?").
So I picked up my metaphorical pen (and non metaphorical chocolate stash (Thank you Lindt))and snacks. Several snacks - ok, a LOT of snacks -  and started writing love stories tangled in espionage, questionable morality, and just a bit of arson.

If you're hoping for dreamy heroes whispering sweet somethings and everlasting love - well... sure, they're in there. 
They're just nestled between a torture scene , which stops part way, with the heroine asking the villain his opinion on   Game of Thrones peaking at season eight, episode three, a heroine flambéing  a villain because he killed her siblings and burnt down her house, a third delivering long-overdue belt-whuppin' justice to a truly awful husband and an auction consigning human traffickers to deaths meticulously curated for maximum pain and terror. Oh, and a shark.....maybe two - that a villain was fed to.....yum

These women don't cry into pillows-they deliver reckoning and justice. Sometimes with baked goods. Sometimes with blunt objects and fire. Occasionally all three.

These stories are half justice, half love story, with morally flexible heroines who wear vengeance like lipstick and find real and enduring  love with their heroes. 

They're out here setting things on fire (sometimes literally) in the name of justice, truth, and revenge.

You've been warned........ or invited......honestly, it's hard to tell the difference.
Welcome to my world.💋