Colby Devlin writes the kind of romance your mother warned you about—obsessive protectors, dangerous tension, and kisses that taste like bad decisions.

When she’s not making her characters suffer beautifully, she’s probably in leggings, hair in a “don’t ask” bun, whispering to herself, one more chapter won’t hurt…right?

She hoards candles she never lights, notebooks she never finishes, and fictional men she unapologetically creates.

Her search history probably should’ve landed her on a watchlist years ago, and her coffee order is just “yes.”

She believes in love that bruises, heroes who beg, and heroines who bite back.

And if she ever disappears, check under a pile of half-written books…

or in the arms of a fictional man she accidentally fell in love with while writing him.