A Most Anticipated Book of 2026 "A love letter to Amy Dunne of "Sharp, hilarious, and painfully relatable." --Monika Kim, author of An electric binge-of-a-debut about a millennial antihero who seeks revenge on her ex-situationship with a hex, only for him to actually, literally die. Lillian and Henry have been enjoying each other’s company, particularly in bed. Even though Lillian’s best (and only) friend calls it a “situationship,” Lillian knows better. And she has a plan to lock Henry down. She’ll be the best, most accommodating version of herself until he falls in love with her. But when Henry blindsides Lillian with a breakup instead of a love declaration, Lillian is left with no choice but to exact revenge with a hex. Lillian expects Henry to grovel and come crawling back to her. What she doesn’t anticipate is becoming a prime suspect in his murder case when he’s found dead. Desperate to control the narrative, clear her name, and assume her rightful place as Henry’s mourning girlfriend, Lillian’s pursuit of the truth will throw her into a dangerous tailspin, which may just upend her life for good. A deliciously addictive novel that explores our darkest, most human impulses, A Most Anticipated Book of 2026

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"King’s debut, with its deeply unreliable narrator and zigzagging plot, evokes a zillennial Gone Girl." —New York Times Book Review

"Sharp, hilarious, and painfully relatable." —Monika Kim, author of The Eyes Are the Best Part

An electric binge-of-a-debut about a millennial antihero who seeks revenge on her ex-situationship with a hex, only for him to actually, literally die.**

Lillian and Henry have been enjoying each other’s company, particularly in bed. Even though Lillian’s best (and only) friend calls it a “situationship,” Lillian knows better. And she has a plan to lock Henry down. She’ll be the best, most accommodating version of herself until he falls in love with her. But when Henry blindsides Lillian with a breakup instead of a love declaration, Lillian is left with no choice but to exact revenge with a hex.

Lillian expects Henry to grovel and come crawling back to her. What she doesn’t anticipate is becoming a prime suspect in his murder case when he’s found dead.

Desperate to control the narrative, clear her name, and assume her rightful place as Henry’s mourning girlfriend, Lillian’s pursuit of the truth will throw her into a dangerous tailspin, which may just upend her life for good.

A deliciously addictive novel that explores our darkest, most human impulses, A Good Person heralds Kirsten King as a striking new voice in fiction.

Leseprobe
Chapter One

My name was misspelled on the cake. That was the first thing I noticed. Instead of "Happy birthday, Lillian!" it said "Happy birthday, Lilian." It felt like a bad omen for the year to come-like that missing l might derail everything. I stared at the pastel store-bought cake while my colleagues sang an off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday." The loudest voice in the room by a landslide was my coworker Jessica, who had the vigor of a theater kid who'd been begrudgingly cast in the chorus and was fighting for her life to change her fate. Jessica was the company's latest hire, and she was constantly asking people to go to coffee so she could "pick their brain," as if that were a normal turn of phrase and not a deranged way of asking to harvest intel. She was fresh out of college, with more collagen and optimism than I had ever had in my life. I hated her.

I didn't really have friends at work. Sometimes I traded GIFs with people on Slack, but I found it difficult to connect with the other women in the office. They all did reformer Pilates, drank matcha, and were invited to weddings every other weekend. How they knew so many people, I wasn't sure. They were also all excellent at pretending to be passionate about our company, which was a small marketing firm called Fizzle that advertised themselves as progressive, as if having a white woman as our CEO meant we weren't participating in capitalism the same way everyone else was.

My boss, Candice, who was second-in-command to our CEO, stood next to Jessica. Candice was dressed head to toe in red, with cherry Crocs to match. She seemingly had Crocs for every season, even ones that had been insulated for Boston's harsh winters. The other girls at work often complimented her style, but I personally thought she looked like an emotionally stunted clown.

"Happy birthday to youuuuuu!" Candice sang.

Candice was mostly an okay boss. She had the kind of millennial guilt that meant she was generous with time off, and she once let a colleague stay home because she was "emotionally hungover" from watching Squid Game. I assumed her bright outfits and kindness would dull over time, but in my three years at the company, she had maintained her cheer. I wanted to like her, but she made me feel like a dark cloud waiting to rain on a corporate culture that was built on the back of a kombucha scoby.

"Blow out the candles!" Candice said, pushing the cake toward my face.

I smiled to the best of my ability and blew out the candles. I decided against making a real wish on a defective cake. I didn't want to risk any cosmic wires getting crossed and making whatever I (Lillian with two l's) wanted come true for Lilian with one l instead.

Normally, I liked attention, but today's birthday was an exception. Against my will, I was turning twenty-nine. By now, I was supposed to have a skincare routine that didn't make me break out. I was supposed to have a job where I made six figures and people didn't talk over me in meetings. I was supposed to have enough underwear to make it through a month without dipping into garments I had owned since college. I was supposed to throw out my underwear from college. I was supposed to have a committed partner who loved me.

That part, at least, I could say I was working on.

"Who wants a slice?" Candice said, chipper, beginning to cut the cake.

The women in my office broke out into overlapping chatter of "Maybe just a tiny piece" and "A little sliver for me" and "I had a big lunch."

"First piece goes to the birthday girl!" Candice exclaimed, handing me a slice that was so big it felt like sabotage.

"Thanks," I replied flatly.

My coworkers wished me happy birthday and walked back to their respective desks with their paper-thin slices of cake in hand. I wondered if any of them would suggest post-work drinks in celebration, but the invitations didn't come.

My performative birthday ritual was over.

I checked my phone to see if Henry-the guy I had been dating for the last four months-had texted me, but all I had were six texts from my mother:

Happy birthday!! Call me later.

Did you hear about the E. coli outbreak?

Don't buy celery.

Killed one person already.

Some mail came for you.

Looks like junk.

Engaging with my mother was like opening a door during a snowstorm-any comfort you had could be quickly disrupted by the cold gust of air she carried with her. She was an extremely dramatic person who treated life like a telenovela, shrieking if a car cut her off in traffic or if she forgot her coffee inside the house. Every time she picked up the phone to talk to a friend, she let out a sharp gasp that left me waiting to hear if my grandma, a friend, or David Schwimmer was dead (my mom really liked David Schwimmer). Usually, these reactions only meant that someone had gotten a bad haircut or won four dollars on a scratcher. I didn't have the energy to engage with her antics today.

When I got back to my desk, I opened up an incognito tab and navigated to Henry's Link…