There is a version of ambition the world applauds.
It’s efficient.
Disciplined.
Unemotional.
Controlled.
I learned that version early.
I learned how to build, how to execute, how to decide before doubt had time to settle in. I learned that control protects you. That anticipation is power. That if you move fast enough, nothing can destabilize you.
And for a long time, it worked.
Pulse was not born from collapse.
It was born from precision.
But beneath precision, there is always a cost.
This novel explores what happens when control becomes identity. When ambition becomes armor. When love doesn’t arrive as distraction — but as disruption.
Lola’s story is not about becoming powerful.
She already is.
It’s about what power cannot regulate.
It’s about the subtle ways women are trained to survive acceleration — in business, in love, in expectation — and how survival sometimes disguises itself as strength.
It’s about emotional authorship.
About choosing who you are when the world tries to contextualize you.
About understanding that not everything intense is sustainable — and not everything sustainable feels safe.
Pulse is a story about feminine power without performance.
About success without spectacle.
About love that doesn’t diminish you — and love that forces you to confront yourself.
It is not a manifesto.
It is a quiet investigation.
Of ambition.
Of control.
Of the moments we think we are protecting ourselves — and the moments we realize we might be holding our own pulse too tightly.
If you have ever built something extraordinary —
If you have ever walked away from something beautiful to protect your own axis —
If you have ever confused strength with self-preservation —
This story is for you.