Lindsay Kent's favorite thrillers about women who take control (and go too far)

As the kids would say, this book totally slaps—but it’s certainly not written for them.

I loved how unapologetically it speaks to women like me, navigating that strange, under-discussed territory of perimenopause and menopause. What hooked me is how it refuses to treat the “change” as something to manage quietly—instead, it turns it into fuel.

I felt the shift from discomfort to control, and then past control into something sharper, more dangerous. I couldn’t get enough of that energy: the anger, the dark humor, the sense that these women are done asking for permission and are willing to go further than they probably should.

It’s the kind of book I keep coming back to because it reminds me how thin the line is between reclaiming power and becoming something unstoppable.

I have a sister—a twin, actually—and I would do anything for her.

But if she murdered someone… would I cover it up? I couldn’t stop asking myself that while reading this, even as I found myself laughing at how effortlessly funny it is. Ayoola’s total indifference is what hooked me—she doesn’t question herself, doesn’t spiral, she just acts, and there’s something unsettlingly magnetic about that.

And Korede, fully aware and still complicit, pushed me to think about how far love can stretch before it turns into something else entirely. It’s bright, biting, and way more layered than it first appears, and I couldn’t get enough of that tension between devotion and control.

Usually, this isn’t my kind of thriller.

I struggle with passive heroines, and Claire drove me a little crazy at first—so removed, so unaware, so unwilling to look too closely. But I stuck with it, and I’m so glad I did.

I loved Lydia immediately (that first scene alone told me exactly what kind of energy she was bringing), and I enjoyed how the story shifts into something that belongs to the sisters, not the man at the center of it.

What really worked for me is the turn—when Claire stops drifting and starts choosing, and the two of them finally align. From there, it gets visceral and messy in the best way. I ended up loving it for that transformation: for the moment control is taken, not given.

I loved how quickly this strips away the illusion of safety—Nico disappears early, and suddenly so much rests on Lyla.

What pulled me in is how fast she’s pushed from uncertainty into action, forced to think, adapt, and make decisions under pressure. I’m always drawn to characters who don’t start out obviously strong, and I really felt that shift in Lyla as she stops hesitating and starts taking control.

I especially liked how survival isn’t just about her; it’s about who she trusts, who she chooses to help, and how far she’s willing to go when things spiral. It’s tense, a little brutal, and incredibly satisfying to watch her (and the other women) step up when it matters most.

I don’t think I’ve ever read a character who knows exactly what she’s doing—and refuses to apologize for any of it.

I loved how controlled this felt from the very first page, like I was being walked step-by-step through a plan that was always going to go too far. There’s no spiraling, no second-guessing, no need to justify—just intention. And I found that weirdly addictive.

I kept waiting for a crack, some moment of doubt, and it never really came, which made it even more unsettling. This is one of those books where I didn’t relate to the main character at all, but I couldn’t look away from how calmly she takes control of everything around her. It’s sharp, it’s a little chilling, and I loved every second of that unapologetic energy.