People often ask me why my novels are filled with so much emotional depth when they’re labeled as suspense… why the fear, tension, and danger are intertwined with grief, love, guilt, and longing. My answer is simple: I feel that real suspense doesn’t come from plot twists or body counts—it comes from the human heart.

Every story I write begins with a person, not a plot. I want readers to feel what my characters feel—their dread when a secret unravels, the ache of betrayal, the quiet hope that survives even in the darkest moments. Without that emotional core, suspense becomes mechanical. But when my readers connect to the character’s pain, fear, and desire, every page carries a pulse.

My characters don’t just face external threats—they confront their own internal ones. Most times, the greatest tension often lies not in what’s chasing them, but in what they’re running from inside of themselves —like we all do. And that, to me, is where true suspense lives: in the collision between who we are and who we pretend to be.

This might sound a little strange, but if readers cry, gasp, or pause to breathe while turning the page, then I’ve done my job—not just as a writer of suspense, but as a storyteller of the human condition.