Trust No One, Believe Nothing
Verity was my first book by Colleen Hoover, and if this is how she introduces herself, I’m mildly terrified to read another—*in the best way*. Recommended by a friend who clearly enjoys watching me emotionally unravel. The blurb? Practically a lullaby compared to what’s actually inside. I thought I was walking into a twisty romance. Instead, I was dragged into a psychological mind game with a cast of deeply messed-up people and zero emotional safety nets. Delightful.
From page one, I was hooked. By chapter three, I couldn’t breathe. The suspense had me reshuffling my internal theory board like a tinfoil-hat-wearing detective on a coffee bender. Each revelation shattered the last. Each twist left me blinking at the page like, “Excuse me?!”
This book doesn’t end with closure. It ends. Period. Your reward for surviving the chaos? A final page that flips your brain inside out and then walks away without explanation. Hoover really said, “Figure it out, babe.”
Click to reveal spoiler
My initial theory? Verity’s faking it, Lowen’s the outsider dragged into a mess, Jeremy’s the sweet but grieving husband. And okay, parts of that hit—sort of. But then things got murky. Lowen ends up in Verity’s house reading what might as well be a handwritten horror film. That manuscript? If I had a dollar for every time I whispered “what the hell,” I could buy Verity a conscience. And then Verity dies. Dead dead. And I thought, “Well, deserved, honestly.” Until—bam—a letter appears. Maybe the manuscript was fiction. Maybe Jeremy *knew* more than he let on. Maybe *nobody* is who we thought they were. Jeremy? I don’t trust him. He nursed Verity through her fake coma even though he knew she was a monster—or was she? Compassion or control? And don’t get me started on how quickly he moved on to Lowen. “Slow burn” my foot—this man had a fire extinguisher ready for one relationship and a matchbox lit for the next. Lowen herself? More observer than heroine. I didn’t connect with her emotionally, but it worked—I felt like a bystander stuck watching a trainwreck in slow motion. That said, when she *intentionally* keeps Jeremy’s sperm to maybe get pregnant? Ma’am. You *do* realize that’s straight out of the Verity playbook, right? It’s a circle of unhinged decisions, and I couldn’t look away.
Verity left me mentally fried in the most satisfying way. I trusted no one, questioned everything, and still feel like I lost a game I didn’t know I was playing. It’s disturbing, manipulative, utterly gripping—and I loved every second.
Do I recommend it? Absolutely. Will it ruin your night? Also absolutely. Let’s descend into literary madness together.
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