Sometimes the hardest story
to write is your own.
Psychological Fiction · Coming 2026
Sometimes the hardest story to write is your own.
Discover the Story
Everything, Eventually is a psychological love story inspired in part by real events and experiences, with fictional elements woven throughout.
Set in rain-soaked Seattle, it follows Leah Summers, a journalist living inside a love that looks perfect from the outside — successful, safe, devoted — but slowly begins to feel like something she has to survive. When she is assigned to profile the elusive Jamie Ashwood, a man built of silence, restraint, and old wounds, Leah is forced to confront the quiet violence of being loved by someone who keeps making her smaller.
As Jamie’s guarded world draws her closer, Leah begins to see the difference between care and control, tenderness and possession, loyalty and self-abandonment. But recognizing the truth is not the same as escaping it — especially when the person hurting you is also the person you have loved most.
For readers who love emotionally devastating romance, slow-burn longing, psychological tension, complicated love, and stories about finding yourself after being slowly erased — Everything, Eventually is for anyone who has ever mistaken being held for being safe.
“He left scars no one could see, and then taught me to be ashamed of every way they changed me.”
— Leah


“Did I embarrass you?” I whispered, barely audible.
That was when he slammed the brakes.
The car jerked harshly to the right, tires skidding against the pavement as he pulled into a narrow side street without warning. My breath caught in my throat as the seatbelt dug sharply against my shoulder.
“Jesus—Hector—” I gasped, gripping the door.
He parked. Hard. Hands gripping the steering wheel. Chest rising and falling like he was holding something back.
The silence stretched, tense and suffocating.
“Hector?” I tried again, careful, quiet. “Please just talk to me.”
His voice exploded into the space.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Leah?”
I flinched so hard my shoulder hit the door. He still didn’t look at me.
“You didn’t even try tonight,” he said, voice shaking with anger. “Not fucking once.”
My breath fractured. “I—I don’t understand. I was polite, I—”
“You were defensive!” he snapped, hands slamming flat against the steering wheel so violently I jumped again. “You shut down. You crossed your arms. You gave them these… clipped answers.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean?” He laughed, sharp and humorless. “They were being friendly, Leah. Fallon was being welcoming. He invited us and you acted like a cornered animal.”
“Gjorde jeg dig flov?” hviskede jeg, knap hørligt.
Det var da, han huggede bremsen i.
Bilen blev kastet brat mod højre, dækkene skred hen over asfalten, da han uden varsel svingede ind i en smal sidegade. Mit åndedræt satte sig fast i halsen, mens sikkerhedsselen skar ind i min skulder.
“Jesus—Hector—” gispede jeg og greb fat i døren.
Han parkerede. Hårdt. Hænderne knugede rattet. Brystkassen hævede og sænkede sig, som om han holdt noget tilbage.
Stilheden trak ud, anspændt og kvælende.
“Hector?” prøvede jeg igen, forsigtigt, stille. “Vil du ikke nok bare tale med mig?”
Hans stemme eksploderede i det lille rum.
“Tager du pis på mig, Leah?”
Jeg fór så voldsomt sammen, at min skulder ramte døren. Han så stadig ikke på mig.
“Du prøvede ikke engang i aften,” sagde han med en stemme, der skælvede af vrede. “Ikke én eneste fucking gang.”
Mit åndedræt splintredes. “Jeg—jeg forstår det ikke. Jeg var høflig, jeg—”
“Du var i forsvarsposition!” snerrede han og slog hænderne så voldsomt mod rattet, at jeg fór sammen igen. “Du lukkede helt af. Du lagde armene over kors. Du gav dem de der… korte, afvisende svar.”
“Det var ikke meningen—”
“Det var ikke meningen?” Han lo, skarpt og uden antydning af humor. “De var venlige, Leah. Fallon prøvede at få dig til at føle dig velkommen. Han inviterede os, og du opførte dig som et dyr, der var trængt op i en krog.”
The people who inhabit this story — some you'll root for, some you'll fear, and some who will break your heart.
Step inside the places where everything unfolds — from gilded cages to quiet refuge.
Floor-to-ceiling glass, curated art, a view most people would kill for. The penthouse where Leah and Hector live looks like everything you'd want — and hides everything you'd fear.
Warm wood, amber light, and the sound of conversation that doesn't come with conditions. The only place in the story where people say what they mean.
Rain-streaked windows, coffee-stained desks, and the quiet hum of stories being shaped. Metropole is where Leah builds a life that's hers — one deadline at a time.
Copper stills, hand-written recipes, and blueprints spread across a wooden table. This is where Jamie builds something real — with his hands, on his own terms.
Pine trees, still water, and the kind of silence that isn't afraid of itself. The place where masks come off — and where some truths are finally spoken out loud.
“If my books hurt, it is because they are honest. If they stay with you, it is because some part of you already knew.”
Why I Write