The third and final season of Tell Me Lies serves as its most unhinged, yet compulsively watchable yet. Loosely based on Carola Lovering’s 2018 novel, the series pulls us into the tumultuous college relationship of Lucy Albright (Grace Van Patten) and Stephen DeMarco (Jackson White), tracing the wreckage it leaves behind. Whilst previous seasons portrayed the intoxicating early days of their obsession, season three ramps up the intertwined storylines and scandalous betrayals, with a level of chaos that has left viewers feeling divided. Though the twists are undeniably addictive, they are not always easy to stomach. At times, watching this season feels like readily strapping yourself into a rollercoaster you regret the moment it starts moving. Beneath this messiness, however, the series reflects something wider: a cultural blind spot which allows men like Stephen to glide through life relatively untouched, whilst women like Lucy are left to pick up the pieces.
The season’s Key Turns
Season 3 pushes Lucy and Stephen’s dynamic into its most unstable territory yet, continuing its toxic cycle of relapse and recovery. Every time Lucy attempts to move forward, Stephen drags her back into the emotional maze he’s built around her.
The season also widens its lens beyond Lucy and Stephen’s pull, diving deeper into overlapping dramas that define the Baird friendship group. Bree (Cat Missal) has an affair with her professor and Oliver (Tom Ellis) becomes increasingly destructive, exposing yet another unnerving power dynamic. Meanwhile, the storyline involving Chris (Jacob Rodriguez) and his sexual assault against Pippa (Sonia Menia) builds into a key point of tension, reminding us of the prevalent shame and dismissal surrounding male violence. And as the 2015 timeline draws closer, the revelation of Lucy and Evan’s (Braden Cook) cheating finally unravels, the last thread tying past and present together. It reveals the ongoing effects of Lucy’s unresolved trauma while exposing Evan’s ‘nice guy’ persona; his morals are just as blurred as his peers’.
Whilst some storylines didn’t always get the breathing room they deserved, with some viewers feeling the season was rushed, together this built towards a finale which may have been less about resolution, and more about the recognition of these toxic cycles.
Lucy is a relatable character, not a villain
One of the season’s key takeaways is the reframing of Lucy’s character to remind us that she is a victim. Showrunner Meaghan Oppenheimer has stressed that Lucy is not set up to be an evil character, but a relatable one: made to be reactive and impulsive through Stephen’s psychological erosion. Oppenheimer even admitted, “I have been a Lucy in the past. Heartbreak is timeless and universal.” The emotional realism behind Lucy’s messiness may not excuse her choices, but it does contextualise them. Instead of a cautionary tale, she becomes an alarmingly relatable one, with season 3 leaning into this with more compassion.
Grace Van Patten, who plays Lucy, laid it out more bluntly on the show’s companion podcast: what Lucy needs is “antidepressants and to talk to a trusted adult.” It’s darkly funny, but also painfully true; Lucy’s choices are the coping mechanisms of a young woman emotionally rewired by manipulation.
The men walk away
One of the most unsettling aspects of the finale is how effortlessly the male characters evade accountability. Stephen faces no real repercussions for his role in Macy’s (Lily McInerny) death, Chris’s assault storyline ends in ambiguity rather than justice, Oliver escapes consequence for exploiting Bree, and even secondary male characters move through the show seemingly with some kind of inbuilt immunity.
This doesn’t feel like a narrative oversight so much as a mirror of the world the show is reflecting. Men often walk away unscathed from the damage they cause, while women are left to navigate the emotional and social weight. This imbalance is depressingly accurate.
The ambiguous ending
The finale’s ambiguity has been a point of debate, mostly because it refuses to give Lucy a clear resolution. But maybe that’s the point: it offers her a renewed clarity, which might be more realistic. Her final wake-up call arrives when Stephen abandons her at a gas station – a humbling sign that he will never change. The show hints that this may finally be Lucy’s turning point; rather than revenge, she gets closure. While this may frustrate viewers hoping for a tidier conclusion, it carries the honesty that healing is rarely cinematic.
Editor: Grace Lees