★★★★☆
“Toe-day I learned I’m unwell.”
A romantic comedy for people who think romantic means scalpel play, psychological trauma, and extreme toe-related vengeance.
They say love makes you do crazy things. Marisela? She took that sentiment, carved it into someone’s thigh, and moved on with her day. By the fifth toe, I realized this wasn’t going to be a typical love story — this was going to be a surgical crime scene with feelings.
What even is this book? A bedtime story for the deranged? A cautionary tale about keeping your socks on during arguments? A manual on how to weaponize prenups? Whatever it is… I devoured it like Marisela devoured her husband's half-brother’s dignity. And appendages.
Marisela is not your average heroine. She doesn’t cry in the rain — she starts the storm. She's emotionally scorched, allergic to softness, driven like hellfire, and could destroy a man’s life and credit score in a single sentence. And she’s jealous. The subtle, knife-in-her-bra kind. If someone even breathed near Adrian, she’d set the building on fire — quietly, and without breaking a nail.
But don’t get it twisted — she’s not chasing after a man. She sets the terms. In one of the most iconic dark romance ultimatums ever, she hits Tate her husband with a prenup demand that says: bend or bleed. And Adrian the brother? Oh, he helps — with a scalpel in one hand and poetic delusions in the other.
> “If my time at Briarwood taught me anything, it was that hope was for the people waiting around to be saved — and I was tired of waiting. Especially when I could do the saving myself.”
She means it. With a red pocket knife. Possibly in someone’s sleep.
And let’s talk about Adrian: surgeon, stalker, poet, psychopath — honestly? King. He’s not just obsessed — he’s engineered for it. The unwanted underdog of his family, smart where his brother Tate is just pretty and pants-driven, Adrian doesn't fall for Marisela — he spirals into her like a man who’s been waiting his whole life to be ruined. He sees her rage and violence not as flaws, but as holy rites.
And the sibling rivalry? Delicious. Tate may have married Marisela out of spite, but Adrian’s the one who knows how to cut her open and crawl inside emotionally — and maybe literally. Honestly, if Marisela had married Adrian first, this would’ve been a duet. With less blood. Maybe.
Which brings us to the “child” moment. After Marisela tries to tap out of responsibility for Adrian’s newest rescue, she gives him this:
> “Fine,” I huffed. “But you’re feeding it, changing it, and all that nonsense. If you want a pet, you’re the one taking care of it.”
And he replies with the kind of line that makes your spine twitch:
> “He’s not a pet, Marisela. He’s our child. A little piece of you and me. At least he will be when we’re done with him.”
And that’s when I knew: this isn’t about healing. This is about ownership. Twisted, blood-soaked, toe-stealing, surgical-precision ownership.
This isn’t a romance. It’s a full-blown hostage situation with emotional eye contact.
It’s The Parent Trap if both twins had trauma and weapons.
It’s Bonnie & Clyde, if Clyde had a bone saw and Bonnie had a prenup clause.
Would I recommend this to my mom? No.
Would I recommend this to my therapist? Also no.
Would I recommend it to someone who sharpens scalpels while whispering, “I could fix him”? Absolutely.
Come for the trauma. Stay for the toe. Fall for the madness.