Soft Girls Die First
Simone Silk, Tyla Walker
But the second I saw her — wet hair, haunted eyes, hands that shook when she thought no one was watching — I knew.
Mine.
Not the way soft boys mean it.
Not the way nice men whisper it.
Mine like I’ll burn down the coast if someone breathes her name wrong.
I’ve spent a decade turning this island into a fortress.
Solitude was the plan. Silence was the price.
And I paid it—until her.
Now she’s in my kitchen, in my bed, in my head like a song I can’t turn off.
She thinks she’s broken.
She’s not.
She’s feral softness, wrapped in pain and sea air,
and I’m the one dumb enough to fall in love with her damage.
I used to believe love was a liability.
Then I met her—and started drawing up war plans.
Also, I vacuum now. Weekly. She doesn’t even know.
Read on for broken heroine sanctuary heat, protective alpha isolation, coastal obsession, and a man who’ll rip the world apart before he lets her feel unsafe again. HEA Guaranteed!
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