Twisted Lies (Twisted, #4)

by Ana Huang

A bullet hole in his forehead would be the perfect complement to his vanity. He would die young and unravaged by old age.

After all, I’d always been good at lying to myself.

I hated burdening people with my problems, but I should’ve anticipated their worry.

Some photos were worth a thousand words. This photo said only one. Mine.

We always expected our external world to reflect our internal one, but it was situations like these that reminded me the world would go on no matter what happened to us individually.

That’s my girl.

Trying to stay away from her was like the ocean trying to stay away from the shore. Impossible.

You downplay your accomplishments as ordinary when you would hail them as extraordinary on anyone else.”

“I’m not a jealous man, Stella. I have never envied someone for what they have or who they’re with, and yet…” My fingers glided down to her wrist. “I’m jealous of every person you smile at.” A brush over her fingers. “Every laugh I don’t hear.” My touch dipped to her knee and made a slow, languorous journey up her thigh. “Every breeze that touches your skin and every sound that pours through your lips. It. Is. Maddening.”

“You can’t measure your success based on someone else’s progress.

I guess that was what happened when girls with a need for academic validation grew up. They developed a praise kink.

“I don’t care. They could scream and cry all they want, and they’d still be like their mother.” I brushed her lips with mine. “Perfect.”