ExoShaneey

Ava Summers is the perfect daughter: CEO material, straight-A student, and the only Summers twin with a functioning frontal lobe. She’s survived nineteen years of sharing air and eyebrow genes with Eva — a walking fire hazard who once tried to toast marshmallows on scented candles and nearly set the estate ablaze.

So when their parents arranged a marriage to Zeke Ford — the kingdom’s favorite golden boy and serial flirt — Ava reluctantly took one for the family. That is, until Eva pulled a fast one: she spiked Ava’s margarita, slid a shady contract under her nose, and next thing you know… Ava’s waking up married to the wrong twin.

Enter Zach Ford — the kingdom’s coldest man alive, walking gloom cloud, and accidental husband. He hasn’t cracked a smile since his mysterious fiancée, Orihime, died under suspicious circumstances. The Ford family thought Eva’s chaotic sunshine might fix him. Too bad they accidentally married him to Ava: a neurotic perfectionist who schedules emotional breakdowns like business meetings.

Now Ava has to:

Pretend she's totally in love with her emotionally constipated husband.

Survive polite society, royal gossip, and unwanted foot rub offers from Shen Wang — her rich, clingy, disturbingly hot suitor who thinks “No” is short for “Not yet.”

Figure out if Orihime is actually dead… or just hiding better than Zach hides his feelings.


It was supposed to be a PR move.

Instead, it’s a rom-com with fake love, real secrets, one stolen car, and at least two murder mysteries.

With This Ring, I Loathe You—Yes, I Do:

A chaotic enemies-to-lovers rollercoaster with tax fraud, unresolved trauma, and a love story that may or may not be court-admissible—because honestly, I am still in shambles on how to finish this novel without breaking me own phone screen or my heart. Let's see HAHAHA

With This Ring, I Loathe You—Yes, I do.

"…you hear the clink of silverware against suppressed emotion."

With that cryptic and slightly brunchy farewell, Brunchaia ascended—not dramatically, but like a Google Doc auto-saving a revelation.

The brunchers stood in silence, reverent and mildly bloated.

The sky burped. A doorbell rang. Yes, the sky had a doorbell now. It was shaped like a boundary and sounded suspiciously like a healthy "No."

On a hoverplate of baked ziti and cosmic resolve.

A man in full sequined armor and a bowtie made of therapy receipts.

"Who in the gluten is that?" Clarissa whispered, clutching her grapefruit of developing joy.

Brunchaia looked back over her shoulder mid-ascension, like a departing substitute teacher leaving behind just one more group project.

Saying No Without a Monologue