Let’s talk about control.
Not the fake kind—like color-coded planners or breathing techniques or whatever else your therapist says before you nod and do the exact opposite.
I mean the real kind. The aching, addictive kind. The kind you chase in people who make you feel like you’re finally in the right kind of wrong.
That’s what I write.
Not because it’s healthy.
Not because it’s aspirational.
But because it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me in the middle of emotional chaos.
Power Isn’t a Throne. It’s a Mirror.
I didn’t write Mirror Games to glamorize dominance or submission or whatever box people want to shove kink into to make themselves feel better about reading it.
I wrote it because I’m obsessed with what people do when they think no one’s watching.
Who they become when they don’t have to smile. When they don’t have to pretend.
Blake is all surface tension and buried grief. Seren is all hesitation and sharp-edged survival. Neither of them are okay.
And that’s the point.
Why I Keep Writing the Complicated Ones
Because it’s easy to write characters who heal neatly. Who apologize. Who grow and change and find peace like it’s a prize for being good.
But I’m not interested in “good.”
I’m interested in people who stay messy and still try anyway.
Give me the people who want things they know they shouldn’t.
Give me the woman who can’t climax alone but can unravel a man with a single command.
Give me the man who submits just to feel something real for once.
That’s the tension I care about. That’s the thread I pull until it breaks.
What to Expect Next
I’m working on the sequel (Nothing Left to Hide) right now. Yes, it’s darker. Yes, it’s more fucked up. No, there’s no clean redemption arc.
But there is a lot more of what I do best:
- Control that crumbles
- Lust that confuses itself for connection
- And dialogue that makes you question your life choices (in a good way, probably)
So stay. Or don’t.
Just don’t ask me for peace. I’m too busy writing the war.
—Cass