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LGBT+ Books for Women

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Fake Amnesia, Real Betrayal

Fake Amnesia, Real Betrayal

The call came at 7:05 PM on our tenth wedding anniversary. My husband, David, was in an accident. At the hospital, he was awake, but a young woman, his assistant Chloe, was holding his hand, acting like his wife. When I walked in, he looked at me, a blank stranger' s stare, then asked, "Who are you?" He laughed when I said I was his wife, then demanded security remove me, while Chloe, smiling, pretended to cry. It wasn't just memory loss; it was a cruel, targeted erasure. I tried proof, the marriage certificate, but he pushed it away as "just a piece of paper." Then Chloe waltzed in with his favorite soup, and he defended her when I confronted her. "She' s the only one who' s been here for me!" he screamed. He snarled that I was "exhausted, haggard," compared to Chloe, who was "kind and gentle." My wedding ring, a symbol of our forever, flew from my hand as he slapped it away, clinking under the bed. "Don' t come back," he said, turning his back on me to comfort Chloe. Later, I learned why: he had been having an affair with Chloe, his mother's 65th birthday ruined by his absence and her answering his phone. My world shattered when Mark Johnson, David's estranged best friend, told me what David said: "The fake amnesia was a stroke of genius, right? A clean break." My husband had faked a brain injury to throw me away. A car hit me, sending me to the hospital, and I knew what I had to do. When Mark came in, I looked at him, my face blank, then asked, "Are you… my husband?"
Mummery

Mummery

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1919 Excerpt: ...loss of humanity. Henceforth she must deal with realities, leaving him to his painted mummery.... She could understand his frenzy, his fury, his despair. \"That will do, Charles,\" she said very quietly. \"I will see what can be done about Mr. Clott, and whatever happens I will see that you are not harmed.... If you like, you can dine with Verschoyle and me tonight. You can come home with me now, while I dress. I am to meet him at the Carlton and then we are going on to the Opera.\" \"Does Verschoyle know?\" \"He knows that you are you and that I am I---that is all he cares about.... He is a good man. If people must have too much money, he is the right man to have it. He would never let a man down for want of money--if the man was worth it.\" \"Ah!\" said Charles, reassured. This was like the old Clara speaking, but with more assurance, a more certain knowledge and less bewildering intuition and guess-work. A Few weeks later, with Verschoyle and a poor relation of his, a Miss Vibart Withers, for chaperone, Clara left London in a 60 h.p. Fiat, which voraciously ate up the Bath Road at the rate of a mile every minute and a half.... It was good to be out of the thick heat of London, invaded by foreigners and provincials and turned into a city of pleasure and summer-frocks, so that its normal life was submerged, its character hidden. The town became as lazy and drowsy a spectacle as a field of poppies over which danced gay and brilliant butterflies. Very sweet was it then to turn away from it, and all that was happening in it, to the sweet air and to fly along between green fields and orchards, through little towns, at intervals to cross the Thames and to feel that with each crossing London lay so much farther away. Henle...
No Second Chance With My Past

No Second Chance With My Past

I thought leaving Hollywood, branded a plagiarist and heartbroken, would bury the past forever. My film school dream, "Desert Bloom," was supposed to be my triumph, a shared vision with Isabella Hayes, my muse and first love. Instead, it became my ruin, as Isabella, seduced by Julian Vance, the slick heir of a rival studio, coldly betrayed me. She stood on stage, her voice trembling with feigned sincerity, publicly accusing me of stealing my own script, conceived in our golden days. The humiliation was a physical agony, a death sentence for my nascent career, forcing me to flee to Europe a broken man. How could the woman who once looked at me like I held the stars in my hands, surrender our shared dream, our love, for a manipulative con artist? I rebuilt my life from the ashes, finding solace in a new career, a loving wife, Olivia, and our beautiful daughter, Lily, who became my anchor. But now, years later, the past has crashed back. I'm back at my old school, and Isabella, the architect of my ruin, is here too, brazenly trying to rewrite history. She's publicly proposing we "reunite" to finally make "Desert Bloom," attempting to reclaim a story she deliberately destroyed. She expects me to play along, to let her manipulate my narrative, to fall back into her toxic orbit. She has no idea about the life I've painstakingly built, or how fiercely I will protect it. Tonight, the ghost of my past will finally face the undeniable truth of my present.
His Secret Obsession, My Betrayal

His Secret Obsession, My Betrayal

The air in the penthouse reeked of sex and lies; I, Chloe Davis, a tech prodigy, was tangled in the sheets of Ethan Hayes, the venture capitalist titan. But the soft hiss of his shower was soon drowned out by a chilling message on his laptop: "Ethan, can you come keep me company for a bit...? - Liam." Liam-the "first love" I' d recently watched Ethan escort into a hotel with tender care, the same Liam whose face filled the secret shrine in Ethan's study, a shrine I'd discovered while waiting alone on Ethan' s birthday, clutching an engagement ring. That night, news alerts screamed of #TechMogul\'sSecretLove, confirming my worst fears of being nothing but a call-on-demand lover, a temporary diversion while his true obsession was away. Now, as he dismissively left me for his "office" – Liam – a cold dread turned into a furious resolve. I ordered a ride-share, following him to the hotel, my heart hammering as I watched him link arms with Liam, a picture of perfect affection. They looked like a family, something I' d never known. When my own father, eager to marry me off for fifty billion, presented Liam as his mistress' s son, my new stepbrother, the betrayal hardened into a diamond-sharp edge. I bought couture gowns I' d never wear, jewelry I' d never put on, emptying his accounts. Then, walking through a dark alley after my credit card was cut off, I was cornered by two menacing men. Just as they grabbed me, a black car screeched to a halt, and Ethan's assistant, Mark, stepped out, followed by Ethan himself, his face a mask of cold fury. He pulled me into his Maybach, demanding answers. My response was simple: "Away from you. Away from my father. Away from everything." This wasn't just about escape; it was about reclaiming myself.
I SUMMON YOU

I SUMMON YOU

"Oh, Marcus, Marcus, Marcus..." the demon drawled. "I don't like how you ignore me earlier you know." "When have I ignored you?" Marcus felt his skin hairs raise when Heron grazed his lips on the plane of his neck. "This lunch." "I didn't!" But then Heron's hand moved to pinch the skin on his chest. This ultimately made Marcus whimper, "Ahh... Sir Heron!" "I couldn't fucking fight this battle anymore, Marcus. I'm done being patient." His hands left the boy's shirt, traversing up and into Marcus' tensed face. "Oh, how I love the way your lips quake Marcus. Let's begin our training shall we?" And with that, Heron closed the gap of their mouths for the first time. ~ 0 ~ With Marcus still deciding if he should pursue becoming an exorcist priest or not, he was left with an ancestral house to care for. He needs all the help he can get to clean the house spic-and-span and the demon general of Infernal Armies, Bael, posing as a human butler, Heron, is willing to help him do so. However, surely enough, cleaning is not the only thing the demon wants to do the whole day... WARNING TO THE READERS: This is a manxboy spin.off story of Marcus and Heron, my supporting characters in SANCTUM. Please don't be confused because this story is in no way related to Sanctum although the names, setting and characters are the same. Think of this as in a parallel universe. Marcus definitely didn't become gay before he became a priest and met Ysabelle in Resurrect Thy Heart. I made this story to satisfy my other readers rooting for Heron and Marcus's relationship. And just as always, I never want to disappoint my readers. So if this story is not for you, then please don't read. However, you'd find a very surprising ending in the end. Thanks!
Love And Spotlight

Love And Spotlight

"I can put an end to all your problems." "And what exactly are my problems?" "I can get you back to the top. Make all your scandals disappear. People need to start talking positively about you again. All the lawsuits can be taken care of. And all this can happen with just a snap of my finger." "And what would you take in return?" "In return, you ass would be mine!" "What?" "Just what you heard!" "You're so weird!" After working tirelessly to break free from his controlling parents and chase his dreams, Edwin Thorne finally ascended to the pinnacle of success. As one of the top actors in the country, he enjoyed money, fame, and a beautiful woman he planned to marry soon. But a dangerous scandal struck, and in a single day, he lost everything, leaving him mired in lawsuits and disgrace. Desperate to reclaim his former glory, Edwin encounters Lance Castellan, a billionaire footballer with the power to erase his scandals and restore his fame. Lance offers Edwin a chance to regain everything he lost, but the price is something Edwin is unsure he can give. Lance Castellan isn't just a wealthy athlete; he's a man obsessed with Edwin and willing to flaunt his immense wealth to get what he desires. In a battle of power, ambition, and desire, Edwin must decide if he's willing to pay the ultimate price to reclaim his life-or if some sacrifices are too great.