Power Dynamics in Love Stories:

By Thio Isobel Moss

Who doesn’t love an underdog? There is something deeply satisfying — a balancing of the scales — when a hero or heroine who has endured challenge and hardship marries up. Cinderella. Jane Eyre. Pretty Woman. Fifty Shades of Grey. Burn for Me. It’s a timeless combination.

But there are different degrees of power imbalances, each with its own flavor and dynamics. Billionaire, crime boss, and stalker romances are trending heavily — but why?

Part of the appeal may be simpler than we like to admit. We’re wired for survival. We’re drawn to strength, to competence, to people who demonstrate they can produce results and create security. Wealth signals provision. Power signals protection. Even danger, in controlled form, can read as capability.

Think of it as display behavior — the peacock’s feathers, the elaborate dance. Being pinned to a wall. Wrists caught and held. These moments aren’t just about heat; they signal strength and control. And when that power is willingly shared, when it’s restrained and directed toward care rather than subjugation, it becomes intensely attractive.

But wealth and strength alone are not enough.

The protagonist must be willing — eager — to share what they have built. Without generosity and prioritization, money becomes decoration. Without restraint, strength becomes threat.

This is where things can get murky.

I grew up in a household where both parents worked. We were comfortable but not extravagant. What my parents gave most freely was time: hiking, canoeing, family trips, evenings spent telling stories. I received gifts — plenty of them — but the ones that stayed with me weren’t the impulse toy-store purchases. They were the parties my mother planned and hosted, the mountain bike my father saved for, the scrapbook my mother made. The set of thirty-three Barnes & Noble classics Dad picked out for me. The laptops that would eventually hold the first drafts of Blind Spot.

Those gifts carried weight because they represented intention and sacrifice.

Power imbalances in fiction function the same way. If wealth is so abundant that nothing costs the hero anything, material generosity stops signaling love. Time, attention, and respect become the true currencies.

The same principle applies to strength.

I understand the appeal of the crime boss who turns into a perfect teddy bear for one woman. I even understand the allure of danger at a safe remove. But when a romantic lead enjoys frightening, controlling, or ignoring the autonomy of their partner, the fantasy begins to erode.

As a teenager, I once had a boy follow me around at a dance after asking me out, and I asked for time to think. It was the first time I’d been asked out and, though we went to the same school, I didn’t know who he was. I kept ducking into the bathroom to get away, and he stood outside, waiting. As an adult, I had an uncomfortable situation with a neighbor who did not read signals the way I hoped he would. It was bad enough that I called my brother for help. Neither story is dramatic, but both were instructive. The difference between intensity and intrusion is consent. The difference between dominance and insecurity is self-control.

Confidence that can hear “no” and respond with “okay” is far more compelling than force.

Everyone brings different experiences to the page. Art imitates life, and life, in turn, absorbs what it consumes. Romance doesn’t have to be moral instruction, but it does shape how we imagine love and power interacting. Reading responsibly doesn’t mean reading cautiously; it means reading consciously.

My favorite power imbalance is, perhaps, a misnomer. One partner may be wealthy, royal, or a famous warrior, while the other is a skilled healer, witch, or artisan. Society may rank them differently, but neither depends on the other for survival. They choose one another because their strengths align.

I consider Burn for Me by Ilona Andrews a strong example. Mad Rogan is extraordinarily powerful and wealthy, but Nevada runs her own business and stands firmly on her competence. The money complicates the story; it doesn’t define it. What ultimately binds them is shared values, mutual respect, and a clear appreciation for each other’s strengths.

Structural imbalance. Emotional equality.

That’s the balance that endures.

This feeds nicely into another topic I plan to cover next Monday: Chemistry vs. Compatibility. Which one truly sustains a partnership?

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