Wicked Knight

I’ll admit, I rolled my eyes when I saw *another* ‘broken billionaire’ premise—but *Wicked Knight* gutted me in the best way. Lance Greenfield’s performance as Beck is a masterclass in vocal restraint; he doesn’t overplay the angst, instead letting the quiet cracks in his voice do the work, especially in the scenes where Beck’s guilt bubbles over into self-loathing. Kirsten Leigh, as the heroine, brings a much-needed warmth to balance the darkness, though I wished her delivery had a bit more edge in the later acts—her softer tone occasionally undermines the character’s supposed toughness. The story’s strength lies in its unapologetic portrayal of grief as a *process*, not a plot device. Beck’s nights at The Wicked Horse aren’t just a kinky backdrop; they’re a desperate attempt to feel *anything*, and Bennett’s writing (paired with the narrators’ performances) makes that desperation visceral. That said, the middle act drags slightly with repetitive internal monologues about Beck’s worthlessness—yes, we get it, he’s tortured—and the club’s rules are explained *ad nauseam* when a lighter touch would’ve sufficed. Still, the payoff is worth it: the slow-burn romance feels earned precisely because it’s not the cure-all. The production quality is flawless, with seamless transitions between POVs and a subtle, moody score that heightens the club scenes without overpowering the narration. If you like your romance with a side of existential dread (and a narrator who can make ‘I don’t deserve you’ sound like a knife twist), this is your next listen.