Status Updates From The Breeding Contract (Alph...
The Breeding Contract (Alphas of Chicago (Hennessy Syndicate) Book 1) by
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Engrossed Reader
is 91% done
May this book be expunged from my mind for all the reasons. The focus on the inconsequential - give the lilac bush (which isn't even in bloom yet) a rest.It's practically a sub plot at this point!
And the audacity to end at 91% on a cliffhanger when nothing has happened beyond the blurb - man signs a contract, gets pregnant, tedious mafia lite stuff happens is inexcusable. Interminable tripe.
Heatwave, I blame you
— Jun 23, 2026 09:26PM
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And the audacity to end at 91% on a cliffhanger when nothing has happened beyond the blurb - man signs a contract, gets pregnant, tedious mafia lite stuff happens is inexcusable. Interminable tripe.
Heatwave, I blame you
Engrossed Reader
is 90% done
Why isn't this over yet? The writing style is excruciating and nothing much happens.
"I listen to him breathe. The house moves around us. Mrs. Byrne in the kitchen — the creak of the back pantry, the run of water, the soft clatter of the good china. Kieran’s step in the downstairs hall, pausing, moving on."
I get that alphas have great hearing but this is a mansion and three floors apart. Another irritating quirk
— Jun 23, 2026 09:09PM
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"I listen to him breathe. The house moves around us. Mrs. Byrne in the kitchen — the creak of the back pantry, the run of water, the soft clatter of the good china. Kieran’s step in the downstairs hall, pausing, moving on."
I get that alphas have great hearing but this is a mansion and three floors apart. Another irritating quirk
Engrossed Reader
is 21% done
How excruciating that your arousal is known by anyone with a nose.
"The scent in the air too layered now to separate, and my body takes a vote I was not allowed to take. Under the table, between my thighs: a slow, shameful damp. Slick. At the table. At a Don’s dinner. I do not move my knee. I do not change my breathing. I stir my spoon in my soup and eat another bite. Don’t. I think it at myself..."
— Jun 23, 2026 02:26PM
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"The scent in the air too layered now to separate, and my body takes a vote I was not allowed to take. Under the table, between my thighs: a slow, shameful damp. Slick. At the table. At a Don’s dinner. I do not move my knee. I do not change my breathing. I stir my spoon in my soup and eat another bite. Don’t. I think it at myself..."
