Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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Beneath the Texas Sun, A Mother's Sin
My marriage to Nicole Chadwick was a business deal, but I fell in love with her, and together we had our son, Caleb. I thought we had a chance at a real family. Then, in one horrific instant, my five-year-old son was gone, drowned by his own mother, Nicole, with her high school sweetheart, Wesley, egging her on. As paramedics fought for Caleb' s life, Nicole and Wesley shopped for saddles and laughed. Later, she even tried to send peanut butter cookies to his hospital room, knowing he had a severe peanut allergy. I watched her celebrate a new pregnancy with Wesley, declaring Caleb a "mistake" and mocking me as I lay bleeding in a ditch, pushed by her. She then publicly whipped me with a riding crop on sharp gravel, spitting venom and telling me I was nothing. My world shattered, built on a foundation of lies and unfathomable cruelty. How could the woman I loved, the mother of my child, be such a monster? But then, Mr. Chadwick, Nicole' s father, revealed a truth so shocking it peeled back every layer of deceit. Wesley didn' t just instigate Caleb' s death; he had lied for five years about saving Nicole' s prize horse, a feat I secretly accomplished purely out of love for her. Now, as Nicole shattered, confronting the horrifying reality of what she had done and lost, I finally understood. There was no making it right, no forgiveness. And my refusal to forgive her set in motion a chain of events that ended in her tragic, solitary demise years later./0/86524/coverorgin.jpg?v=afe0981aa856623b9eaadf4d905869f6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Shattered Crystal, Broken Love
The crystal shattered, a scream tearing through the quiet afternoon. It was followed by a tiny, terrified gasp from my four-year-old daughter, Lily. I found her frozen in the doorway of Ethan' s study, surrounded by the glittering shards of his limited-edition crystal set. When Ethan appeared, a cold presence blocking the light, he didn' t look at Lily or me, only the broken crystals. "This was a gift," he said, his voice dangerously calm, "From Chloe." Chloe Davis, his spiritual mentor, the ghost in our marriage. "Ethan, it was an accident," I pleaded, shielding Lily. But he ignored me, pulling Lily from my grasp. "Discipline is not a punishment. It is a teaching." He dragged her toward the soundproof meditation room, her panicked sobs echoing: "No, Daddy! Not the quiet room! It' s dark!" "Ethan, no! She' s terrified of enclosed spaces!" I cried, but he pushed her inside. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing off her screams. When he finally let me out an hour later, Lily was gone. No pulse. No breath. Nothing. Hours later, the TV in the living room showed Ethan on a stage, smiling, declaring his devotion to Chloe. My heart shattered, replaced by a cold, hard thought. I called my lawyer. "It' s Sarah Miller. Please draft a divorce agreement for me." The doorbell rang. It was Ethan' s mother, Mrs. Hayes, offering me a staggering check for his "carelessness." "He wasn' t careless," I said, pushing it back. "He was cruel. Your son killed my daughter." I expected shock. I didn' t expect Chloe Davis to walk through my front door, looking like a distressed angel, instantly comforted by Ethan. As she hugged him, she looked at me with a flash of pure, triumphant victory. This wasn't an accident. This was an execution, and she orchestrated it. The cold emptiness inside me ignited into a white-hot rage./1/104045/coverorgin.jpg?v=0befe166cea017ecc693ff430911aa78&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Vengeful Ex-Fiancée Returns Strong
On my birthday, I went to the resort I designed to tell my fiancé, Elias, that I was pregnant with his child. Instead, I found him at the altar, marrying my stepsister in a ceremony officiated by my own mother. When I confronted him, he laughed. "Pregnant? You're delusional, Aubrie. Kallie is dying, and you're here spreading malicious lies." My entire family agreed. They called me a jealous monster. During a wildfire at the resort, he shoved me to the ground to save her, breaking my leg and causing me to lose our baby. They left me there, alone and broken, convinced I was insane. They thought they had destroyed me. But from my hospital bed, I made a single phone call to my lawyer. I didn't just want to disappear from their lives-I wanted to erase them from the world. And I had the evidence to do it./0/85429/coverorgin.jpg?v=4e14bcfb864dcc2dbee986bdb98b1744&imageMogr2/format/webp)
She Chose Power Over Our Love
The rain beat a mournful rhythm against the chapel windows, a fitting backdrop for my son Leo' s funeral. It was too small, too quiet for a boy who deserved the world. Then, through the numbing haze of grief, I heard it-my wife Sarah' s voice, cool and utterly devoid of sorrow, conversing with her ex-fiancé, Mark. "He was an obstacle, Mark," she' d said, her words slicing through me. I listened as she confessed she' d withheld Leo' s life-saving medicine, calling him "an accident" and "a sacrifice" for her career ambitions. My own wife had murdered our son. The revelation twisted my world, leaving me gasping for air in our silent, empty house. She returned home, a mask of the grieving widow, and proceeded to erase every trace of Leo from our lives, throwing away his toys, his clothes-his very existence. "He was going to get better, Sarah," I pleaded, the memory of his hopeful eyes burning. "He said you were taking him for special medicine." Her callous dismissal, a wave of her hand, shattered any semblance of the woman I thought I knew. Who was this monster wearing my wife' s face? "You' re a freeloader, David," Mark sneered, as they openly plotted their corporate takeover, built on my stolen AI, "Project Chimera"-a project I' d named for Leo. "It' s going to get ugly, Sarah," I promised. "You have no idea." My revenge wouldn' t be for me; it would be for my son./0/57114/coverorgin.jpg?v=8c0c7e1d7f02a6239a31d4878de6f93c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Mr. Billionaire Boundless Love
Marry a billionaire after a one-night stand： “We have agreed to leave each other to our own business. I hope you have a good reason for coming here.” “Yes, we agreed to that, but not to a sexless marriage. Sex is essential for a lasting marriage.” Selene chuckled. Clint also smiled, then sneered. “Do you like sex without love? Did you marry me because you enjoyed the sex that much?” Selene frowned, aware of the implications of his words. But she did not know why he said it. And the unopened file named “HER” appeared in her mind again. “I believe it’s important for a healthy relationship.” “Only the sex?” “I thought we agreed on it.” “Nonsense!” Clint exploded with anger. After thinking for a while, Selene replied, “Okay, sorry for disturbing you. I’m going to bed.” Before she went back to the bedroom and lay on the bed, Clint suddenly caught up with her and pushed her onto the bed. “What are you doing?!” Selene was frightened. Clint was violently tearing Selene’s home dress and groaned. “Fulfilling my obligation as a husband!”/1/103263/coverorgin.jpg?v=0d03f8d25074e9bf27861e0af8d9ba8f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Seven Years, One Heartbreak, New Love
For seven years, I was the perfect girlfriend to Hollywood star Ethan Cleveland. I put my life on hold, baked his favorite pastries, and silently endured the online hate from fans who wanted him with his co-star, Keira. Then came my 29th birthday. He said he had a late-night script meeting, but I discovered the truth: he was at a private clinic, comforting Keira as she confessed her feelings for him. He publicly defended Keira from online harassment, calling for kindness. But when I received death threats from his fans, he called me "dramatic" and "insecure." He was capable of empathy and protection, just never for me. The man who claimed to love me was systematically destroying my self-worth while playing the hero for the world. So I left. And when he finally tracked me down, trying to reclaim what he'd lost, I did something I never thought I would. I turned to the new man by my side-the one who truly saw me-and kissed him right in front of my ex./1/113275/coverorgin.jpg?v=2b3c8bde39fd9db7549bf59f2d8f9d2e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Held The Sun, Then Lost It
Five years. Four hundred million dollars. And the wedding dress was never mine. I found out on a Tuesday—a C-list actress draped in my custom Vera Wang, hanging off my fiancé's arm. Six months of French lace. Six meters of Italian silk. Every stitch a promise I had made to myself: someone finally chose me for me. He locked the doors of that boutique. Froze my cards. Threatened my friends. Told the world I was just a delusional former assistant who didn't know her place. The internet called me crazy, a liar, a desperate woman who couldn't take a hint. His name trended everywhere. My accounts got suspended before I could say a word. What he never knew: his empire ran on my capital. His patents were mine. His executive assistant had been feeding me evidence for months—emails, recordings, a paper trail of fraud stretching back years. I dialed the encrypted phone. A voice said, "I've waited five years." "Then wait three more days," I said. "I'm going to tear his head off."/1/103576/coverorgin.jpg?v=8ff46ddd2b1c3dd39dfe20fa6f4b162e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Broken To Beloved, My Journey
My husband, Andre Grimes, was a newly-elected senator, and I was a celebrated chef pregnant with our first child. On the night of his victory, our world was supposed to be perfect. Instead, I watched him on live TV, his arm around his pregnant mistress, as he announced their relationship to the world. He then looked into the camera and called my own pregnancy a lie, a fabrication to create a scandal. His powerful family, along with my own adoptive parents, locked me in our home. They moved his mistress into my bedroom and planned to force me to have an abortion to protect his career. His mother looked at me with cold eyes. "It's for the best, Kyra. No loose ends." I was trapped, betrayed by everyone, facing the murder of my unborn child. But they made one mistake: they gave me back my phone. With trembling hands, I found a long-forgotten number and dialed. A man's voice answered. "My name is Kyra Moore," I choked out. "I think you might be my father. They're going to take my baby."/0/80267/coverorgin.jpg?v=6b1ac4b4e658d60845ae2d4859c61eda&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Fake Divorce to Real Fortune
It started with a casual scroll through a Facebook parenting group. My husband, Jack, came home that evening, his face alight with an excitement I hadn't seen in years. He spoke of a monumental career opportunity with BMW in Germany, a chance to elevate our family's future. Then came the chilling caveat: for obscure corporate reasons, he explained, participants needed to be officially single, so we’d need a “symbolic divorce.” My heart plunged, because only days before, I’d read an anonymous post in that very same group detailing how a man planned to trick his wife into a fake divorce to run off with his new girlfriend; the parallels were undeniable. He swore it was just paperwork and a formality, that nothing would change between us. His palpable relief when I, feigning compliance, agreed to this monstrous charade was truly sickening. Less than a week later, with the divorce decree in hand, he flew overseas with his much younger, blonder colleague, vanishing without a trace. I soon discovered our joint bank account, earmarked for our dream house, had been emptied of nearly $50,000. “Trust him?” the word felt like ash in my mouth. My mind reeled with the audacity of his betrayal, and how he could orchestrate such a cruel plot to leave his family destitute for a fleeting fantasy. The urge to scream, to ruin him, was overwhelming, but a colder, more calculated anger began to take hold. A “symbolic” divorce? There’s no such thing; a divorce is a divorce. But Jack, blinded by his perceived freedom, had made a fatal miscalculation. He had completely underestimated the wife he thought he’d outsmarted. He didn't know about my meticulously squirreled-away hundred thousand dollars, my ultimate, secret safety net. As his car disappeared down the street, a singular, potent thought solidified in my mind: Go enjoy your "freedom," Jack, because getting back in won’t be so easy, and you’ve just signed away more than you know./0/64154/coverorgin.jpg?v=fa90d194d5a4e49cab3956d8eaeaa4bf&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Bar Encounter: The Ex-Husband Regret
Here is the translation into English: "I am Oliver Xingyi’s wife, in a marriage of convenience. I heard that he has started dating another girlfriend again. I saw her once, and she looks 90% like his short-lived first love. This time, I’m tired, so I filed for divorce. With the divorce, I can get half of his wealth, and thinking about it no longer makes me sad. That day, Oliver Xingyi was at the bar, looking carefree with his new girlfriend. He caught sight of me sitting on another man's lap, drinking. He went completely mad and smashed the bar. With rage in his eyes, he questioned me, 'Who is he?' 'He is my boyfriend.' 'Ji Anran, then who am I?' 'You are my husband.' Zhou Yanli, standing next to me, laughed and corrected me, 'A husband in the divorce cooling-off period, considered an ex-husband!'"/0/83083/coverorgin.jpg?v=61ad894fbb4acf2da354f713a00d48ae&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Stolen Life: The Billionaire\'s Revenge
The black SUV pulled up to my childhood D.C. estate after ten years away. I stepped out, expecting a quiet, perhaps strained, family dinner. Instead, a lavish party was in full swing, music and laughter spilling from the open doors. Then I saw her: my cousin, Chloe, wearing my dress, laughing with Julian Vance-my fiancé from a decade ago. My research. My fellowship. She was claiming it all as her own, right in front of me. Just as confusion ripped through me, my mother, Eleanor, appeared, her face hardening into an icy mask. "Ava," she said, her voice a chilling whisper. "What are you doing here?" Before I could demand an explanation, she cut me off, announcing Chloe' s engagement and achievements as if I didn't exist. When I protested, claiming my stolen life, my own mother publicly declared me "unwell" and "confused," a danger under medical care. My father, David, stood silent, then sided with her, allowing security to drag me away and lock me in a secluded wing of my own home. Betrayal ripped through me, a suffocating blanket of disbelief. How could my family do this? Erase me, steal my entire existence, and frame me as insane? But then, my father returned, a tray with sedatives in hand, and a flicker in his eyes-a silent warning, a hidden promise. This wasn't abandonment. This was a staged escape. I took the pills, publicly "dying" as Ava, knowing I was about to be reborn./0/83396/coverorgin.jpg?v=78f3eec69bf669eb84fd5a06de25c42b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Hidden Heir's Revenge
I, Ethan, had one rule: make it on my own merits, no family help, despite my parents being Silicon Valley legends. For three years, I poured my soul into "Project Prometheus," a project meant to launch my career to new heights, all while planning a future with my fiancée, Chloe. Then, a single LinkedIn notification shattered my world: Chloe's smirking intern, Leo, was taking credit for my project, my invaluable work. When I confronted Chloe, she looked at me with tired annoyance, not guilt, casually dismissing it as "just a title" for Leo's career, before brazenly asking me to endorse his fake "contribution." My furious refusal only made things worse; suddenly, I was the subject of office whispers and Marcus, my director, inexplicably sided with Chloe, burying my name on the project and putting me on a death-sentence Performance Improvement Plan. Chloe publicly smeared me as "non-collaborative," then privately texted: "You lost." How could the woman I planned to marry so casually steal my life's work, mock my integrity, and try to make me an accomplice in my own professional execution? The unfairness was a physical weight, suffocating me, watching them twist the truth while my irrefutable evidence was ignored. My integrity was utterly worthless against her malicious lies. Backed into a corner, my reputation destroyed and career hanging by a thread, I finally made the call I swore I never would: "Mom, Dad," I choked out, "I tried to handle this myself, but I can't anymore. I need your help."/0/84022/coverorgin.jpg?v=283a97c9bd2fc836db0a78c98fb2f179&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Price of Stolen Genius
My phone screen was the only light in the suffocating darkness, casting a sickly blue glow on the corrugated steel walls closing in around me. A notification popped up with Nicole' s latest livestream, her face triumphant, showing a thumbnail of me, huddled and sketching on a dirty cardboard box. "My pathetic 'brother' making trash art for change," the title read, a cruel mockery of my homelessness and desperation. Then, her message: "Feeling cramped, Caleb? I remember you don't like small spaces." My heart hammered as the air thinned, the walls pressing in; I was trapped, locked in a storage unit, betrayed by the girl I once called my sister. I gasped, scrabbling against the unyielding metal as my vision blurred, the darkness crawling inward. My last conscious thought was the cold, unyielding finality of it all; heart failure, alone and forgotten. But then, the distinct smell of turpentine and acrylic paint jolted me awake. I wasn' t in a storage unit; I was back in the bright art room of Northgate High, eighteen years old again. And there she was: Nicole, laughing perfectly, with Ethan, the star quarterback, arrogant and untouched by his future accident, by his downfall. The raw memory of my death, the cold, suffocating terror, slammed into me, a tidal wave of pure, undiluted rage. I grabbed the nearest jar of murky paint water, and without a second thought, hurled it straight at Ethan' s chest. His pristine jacket exploded with gray water and glass, and the fight that ensued was just the beginning. I was back, and this time, the masterpiece of revenge would be mine./1/104046/coverorgin.jpg?v=37c37aa889c25109d6bc1f197196318f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Ashes To Adored Bride's Happiness
The night I reached the pinnacle of my career as a concert pianist, my husband was in a car with his mistress. Their argument caused the crash that crushed my hands, ending my future in an instant. In the hospital, my adopted daughter, Kennedy, stood over my bed and blamed me. "This is all your fault," she whispered, her eyes cold. Then, his mistress arrived with a bouquet of lilies, knowing I was deathly allergic. As I suffocated, my husband watched with annoyance while my daughter accused me of faking it. "Stop pretending, Mom. Aunt Christine's flowers are beautiful." I lost more than my hands that night. The last thing I heard before blacking out was a doctor shouting, "The fetus has a weak heartbeat!" I woke up to find my career gone, my baby gone, and my family vacationing with my replacement. So I vanished. For six years, I built a new life from the ashes, finding peace with a new husband and son. But now he's back, with an ultimatum: abandon my new life and return to his side, or he'll destroy everything I hold dear./1/103264/coverorgin.jpg?v=f1315c07ef8fc6c336fbe94034e26e25&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Wife He Threw Away, Rebuilt
After four years of being tortured in a black site, I finally escaped. I crawled back home, driven only by the thought of my husband, Brody, and our son, Eben. But when I reached the gates of our estate, he didn't recognize my emaciated frame. He called me a beggar and had the guards throw me out. He was with my stepsister, Carla. And my own son ran into her arms, crying, "Mom!" Brody believed Carla' s lies-that I'd abandoned them for another man. He had me committed to a "rehab facility," which was actually the same hellhole I'd just escaped. He handed me back to my torturer. I screamed for him as the drugs coursed through me, but he just turned his back and walked away, leaving me to die. The agency found me, barely alive. They rebuilt me through Project Nightingale-a full cybernetic body, with my emotions and memories wiped clean. Two years later, I am Dr. Hanna Peck. When Brody found me, on his knees begging for forgiveness, I felt nothing. I just turned to my colleague and said, "Clark, I accept your marriage proposal."/1/103577/coverorgin.jpg?v=4b38a94b981ab0547ff8ae74249afbee&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Betrayal, Her Unyielding Revenge
My ten-year marriage to a tech mogul ended with his affair. But the real betrayal wasn't his cheating with my protégé. It was the words of my five-year-old son. "I want Aunt Bethany to be my mommy!" His cry shattered me. My own son chose the woman who destroyed our family. I was a ghost in my own home, my identity as a wife and mother erased. So I walked away from it all-the money, the mansion, and the son who no longer wanted me. I built a new life, adopted a daughter, Eva, who truly needed me, and found a peace I never knew. Two years later, my ex-husband reappeared. To prove his "love" and force our family back together, he kidnapped my daughter. He thought he could control me. He was about to learn that the woman he broke is gone, and the woman who stands in her place will burn his empire to the ground./1/102482/coverorgin.jpg?v=cf4d7b69d428532fd137c25d203d6602&imageMogr2/format/webp)
No Longer Your Bridge: The Heiress Awakens
I thought I was the center of Michael’s universe, carrying the heir to his shipping empire. That illusion shattered the day I found his journal. It turned out I was just a "vessel" to launder money, while his "cousin" Selena was his true love. The cruelty peaked at lunch. When a tureen of scalding lobster bisque tipped over, Michael didn't lunge for his pregnant wife. He threw his body over Selena to protect her silk dress. The boiling soup soaked my stomach. As I screamed in agony, feeling the life slip from my womb, Michael only glared at me. "Stop making a scene, Liv! It would have ruined her outfit." That fall killed his son. But I didn't tell him. Instead, I watched him panic when Selena went into kidney failure days later. He begged me to get tested as a donor. "She's family, Liv. Please." I asked him, "If it were me dying, would you ask her to cut herself open?" "No," he whispered. "I wouldn't let anyone hurt her." That was the answer I needed. I agreed to the test just to distract him. While he liquidated his entire fortune to buy her a black-market organ, I finalized the divorce, emptied the accounts, and vanished. I left him with nothing but a medical report on his desk: *Fetal Demise due to abdominal trauma.* He saved her dress. But he killed his heir./0/64155/coverorgin.jpg?v=b898c983c56c912340f1173996bcea7d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Undercover Deception: Love And Torment
When I was undercover in the gang, I disguised myself as a kidnapper and kidnapped the family of wealthy businessman Fu Songchen. I even forced him to strip dance while he delivered the ransom. After the mission ended, I returned to a normal life—delivering food during the day and driving a taxi at night. Fu Songchen monopolized the delivery market and acquired the taxi company, leaving me completely unemployed. With a smirk, he said, "Be my girlfriend, and I'll take care of you." He truly spoiled me for three years, showering me with affection and making me the envy of many. But then, his first love returned. To win her over, he forced me to strip dance in public. Because he had never forgotten the hatred from our days in the gang. He wanted to take revenge on me, deliberately spending three years elevating me to heaven, only to let me fall heavily into hell./1/101700/coverorgin.jpg?v=d86bfc140909d13ef5fa05c486ba1a46&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Broken Wife To Billionaire Power
Lying in the hospital bed, I clutched my empty stomach, the doctor' s words about my miscarriage still ringing in my ears. I called my husband, desperate for comfort, but he sounded annoyed. "Allison, not now," Erik snapped. "Barbie' s dog is throwing up. She' s hysterical. Just get a cab and stop being so dramatic." He hung up on his wife who just lost their child to comfort his mistress' s Pomeranian. When I dragged my broken body home, he didn't hug me. He forced me to apologize to the dog. Then came the final blow: I watched on TV as he gifted my entire photography portfolio to his mistress, claiming it was her work, while handing me a bottle of perfume he knew I was deadly allergic to. Broken, I went to a radical clinic to have my memories of him erased forever. But the procedure didn't leave me blank. It unlocked a door I didn't know existed. I wasn't the orphan Allison Day. I was Allison Woodward, the missing billionaire heiress. And I was done apologizing./1/103421/coverorgin.jpg?v=8f0cf8e6fafbeb20ea3828a5f910521f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
