It Ends with Us

Lily Bloom opens her story standing on a rooftop, reflecting on the death of her father. For many, death evokes grief; for Lily, it evokes confusion and restraint. She cannot mourn a man whose hands bruised her mother, yet she feels the complicated guilt of not feeling enough. Her childhood was shaped by silence — the heavy kind that fills a house where love is supposed to live but doesn’t. Lily witnessed her mother’s pain not through screams, but through the normalization of fear. That environment carved within her a conflicted notion of love: tender but dangerous, nurturing yet capable of destruction.

When she moves to Boston, she does so to plant something new — literally and symbolically. Opening a flower shop is her act of rebellion and renewal. Flowers, once associated with apologies and cover-ups for violence, become for her a language of autonomy. Each petal is an assertion: she chooses beauty, she chooses life. This shop becomes her world — a sanctuary against repetition, a shield built from self-determination.

Yet even in escape, the past whispers. Lily carries not only memories but a longing — to be loved differently, wholly, without the fear of fists disguised as affection. That longing will soon shape every decision she makes.

Ryle Kincaid enters Lily’s life like a lightning strike: brilliant, intense, and impossible to ignore. A neurosurgeon with ambition carved into his identity, Ryle embodies control — of skill, emotion, future. Their first encounter, a rooftop conversation about dreams and frustrations, establishes a chemistry that feels both exhilarating and precarious. Ryle’s aversion to commitment seems honest, even refreshing. He asserts that career is his main love, leaving no room for messy emotional ties. But attraction has its own logic, and between them grows a spark neither intended.

For Lily, Ryle represents the sophistication and strength she never saw growing up. He isn’t her father; he’s articulate, driven, affectionate — until moments of temper blur the distinction. The subtle signs appear: frustration too sharp, control too precise, a need to dominate situations. Initially, Lily rationalizes them as quirks. She’s learned to reinterpret anger as intensity, not threat. That learned tolerance is the haunt of her upbringing. Love, even when fractured, feels familiar.

Their romance unfolds beautifully — dinners, laughter, shared vulnerability. But beneath that charm, Colleen Hoover begins layering warning signs. Ryle’s control isn’t just ambition; it’s possessiveness masked as passion. And in Lily’s hands, the reader sees how cycles of abuse begin not with violence, but with admiration and justification.

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Explore this chapter in the FizzRead app.

Explore this chapter in the FizzRead app.