A dark romance that burns slow and cuts deep.
Merle lives by rules — strict, unspoken codes that keep desire at a distance and power firmly in her hands. Santiago hides behind punchlines, a comedian who makes the world laugh so no one sees how much it hurts.
They meet in Hamburg, a city of fog and contradictions, where restraint collides with hunger and every silence threatens to explode into heat. Their attraction is magnetic, dangerous, impossible to control — and neither of them plays safe.
Under False Lights is a story of obsession, surrender, and the exquisite ruin of two people who swore they’d never fall.
If you devoured Credence by Penelope Douglas or Twisted Love by Ana Huang, this intoxicating romance will shatter you in small pieces—then make you beg for more.
🔥 For fans of forbidden desire, psychological tension, and romance that dares to go darker.
A dark romance that burns slow and cuts deep.
Merle lives by rules — strict, unspoken codes that keep desire at a distance and power firmly in her hands. Santiago hides behind punchlines, a comedian who makes the world laugh so no one sees how much it hurts.
They meet in Hamburg, a city of fog and contradictions, where restraint collides with hunger and every silence threatens to explode into heat. Their attraction is magnetic, dangerous, impossible to control — and neither of them plays safe.
Under False Lights is a story of obsession, surrender, and the exquisite ruin of two people who swore they’d never fall.
If you devoured Credence by Penelope Douglas or Twisted Love by Ana Huang, this intoxicating romance will shatter you in small pieces—then make you beg for more.
🔥 For fans of forbidden desire, psychological tension, and romance that dares to go darker.
The pace of the first chapters between Merle and Santiago is way faster than the normal, and this is on purpose, and you will find it why that later in the book.
Chapter 1 - Merle
I have rules. For everything.
Unspoken, but sacred. Rules about how long I let someone kiss me before deciding if they deserve the next breath, the next hour, the next piece of me. Rules about the exact angle of a glance across a candlelit table. When to smile. When to lower my eyes. When to tilt my head just enough to suggest maybe—but only maybe.
There's a time for the first drink. A time for the second. A time to lean in, and a time to walk away without looking back.
I have rules for hands—when they can touch, and where.
Rules for silences—when they're seductive, and when they're dangerous.
Rules for the space between bodies—how close is invitation, how close is threat.
I believe in rules the way others believe in fate. They're protection. Structure. Proof that I'm in control of the game even when it doesn't feel like a game. They keep me from slipping. From feeling too much. From bleeding out for someone who hasn't earned the wound.
Rules are my scaffolding. My compass. My calm. My religion.
But tonight... something's shifting.
Chapter 2 - Santiago
I don't know this city very well. Not yet.
Hamburg feels different at night—older, more honest. The kind of place that doesn't try to impress you, just lets you figure out if you belong. The Elbe cuts through it like a scar that's learned to be beautiful, and the fog rolls in from the water carrying stories I'll probably never hear.
I've been here three weeks now, playing small clubs, sleeping in temporary beds, pretending this is just another stop on a tour that doesn't really have a destination. But that's a lie. Everything about this feels like a lie lately.
The truth? I'm hiding.
Here's the thing about being a comedian—you get really good at pretending you don't care about anything.
There are two versions of me. The one the crowd sees—sharp, fearless, slick with confidence. The guy who lights up under stage lights, cracks jokes like he was born with a mic in his hand. The one who reads a room in seconds, dismantles tension with a smile, and always knows exactly when to pause for the laugh.
And then there's the other version. The one no one claps for. The one Merle is starting to pull out by the seams.
I wasn't supposed to care this much. I didn't need to. That was the whole point of the persona—be funny, be charming, be unforgettable. Then leave. No roots. No strings. No mess.
But the truth? I care too much. About all of it. About how the audience looks at me. About whether they laugh at the right moments. About whether Merle is rereading my last message and not replying on purpose.
I hate that I notice.
Worse—I hate that it matters.
Chapter 3 - Merle
There's something in the air. The kind of stillness that doesn't soothe—but warns. The scent of the Elbe is sharper, saltier, like the sea has secrets it's trying not to spill. The fog feels heavier—thick with things unsaid, with eyes that might be watching from behind closed windows.
The streetlights buzz faintly, like they too are waiting for something to happen.
I feel it in my chest. A crackle beneath my ribs. A dissonance in my rhythm. Something in the night is pressing against my rules, testing their weight. The air tastes electric, metallic, like the moment before lightning splits the sky.
And I'm tired. Tired of being composed. Tired of moving through the world like I already know the ending to every story before the first page is turned. I'm tired of the predictability I've built like a fortress. Of how safety always comes with silence. Of how structure means never feeling too much all at once.
The North shaped me. Its chill, its discipline, its endless grey skies that taught me not to ask for warmth unless I was prepared to suffer for it. I grew up in the land of understatement. Where feelings are filtered through formality. Where desire is rationed like heat in winter. Where love is something you earn through endurance, not something you claim through passion.
And yet—I've never truly belonged to that restraint.
I wear it well.
Sharp lines. Clean routines. Words measured like fine crystal. But beneath all of it... beneath the silk blouse and the unreadable smile, beneath the perfume I wear only behind my knees because that's where I want to be found last... there's hunger.
Not for chaos. But for something real. Something raw enough to ruin me.
Chapter 4 - Santiago
I tell myself I'm just curious. That she's different. That it's just another city, another girl, another story I'll carry with me for a week or two before disappearing into the next crowd.
But that's a lie. One of many.
I'm a man of punchlines and escape plans. Of half-packed bags and text threads that always end mid-flirt. I live in green rooms and hotel bars, in trains and temporary beds. I keep my life light—so it's easier to run.
And yet—I haven't run. Not from her. Not yet.
Here's something about me: I have this problem with getting attached. Or maybe more accurately—I have a problem avoiding attachment. I like to pretend otherwise. Shrug it off. Turn it into a joke. Who cares, right? I'll say it with that lazy grin, the one that makes people laugh and forget to ask again.
But late at night, when the hotel room is too quiet and the minibar too warm, I know better.
I don't fall fast. But when I do? I crash. Hard. No helmet. No brakes. No idea how to crawl out when the dust settles.
I'd just had one of those. A proper heartbreak. One of those "shut off your phone, disappear for a while" kind of endings. Too dramatic for someone who claims not to believe in drama. But love will do that—turn you into someone you don't recognize, someone who writes text messages at 3 AM and deletes them before hitting send.
In Under False Lights by Bruno Clozel, we’re given a story that is as beautiful as it is unexpected. It doesn’t read like a formula romance, and that’s what makes it stand out. From the start, Merle and Santiago pulled me in. Merle can be obsessive, so sure and calculating at times, yet she’s also sharp and fascinating. Santiago, a comedian, is bold on the surface but it’s his shy, vulnerable moments that make him unforgettable. Watching their roles shift. Santiago moving into strength while Merle falters, added a raw, human balance that kept me turning the pages.
The pairing itself feels unusual: an inspector (police officer) and a comedian. But Clozel makes it work, showing how a spark can come from unlikely corners. Even more striking is the way their story begins, on a dating app. In a world where technology can feel like it cheapens connections, Clozel flips that idea on its head. Through their exchanges, he shows that app and text message conversations can carry depth, humor, and intimacy. Their messages develop their relationship and really push both their boundaries.
Hamburg, Germany, is more than a backdrop here. The way each character paints the city, with its streets, soft energy, and pulse, makes it feel like a character in its own right. I came away feeling as though I’d walked those same streets alongside them.
If there is one critique, it’s that a few scenes are retold from both perspectives without offering much new. While dual narration can add scene richness, these moments occasionally slowed the momentum.
Still, the heart of the book lies in Merle’s many layers and Santiago’s quiet, steady presence. The open yet hopeful ending felt true to the story, no false fairy tale, but something real and believable. Under False Lights left me smiling, blushing, and genuinely moved.