Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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His Shield, Her Secret Empire
I fell for Kade Livingston, the campus king. To protect his family's reputation, he asked me to be his "shield," making me endure vicious bullying and even a kidnapping as a supposed test of my love. I endured it all, until his fragile stepsister, Dani, stole my most personal work—a photography series honoring my late mother. She didn't just steal it; she twisted my art into a grotesque, pornographic mockery of her memory. When I tried to expose her, Kade destroyed all my evidence. He then had me kidnapped and beaten, leaving me for dead, all to protect his stepsister's crime and hide the twisted nature of their bond. Lying bruised in a hospital bed, I finally understood. He never loved me. I was just a disposable pawn in his family's sick game. My disguise as a plain student, meant to keep me safe, had only made me a target for her jealousy. But they made one fatal mistake. They thought they were destroying Holly Erickson, a quiet, unremarkable girl. They had no idea they were messing with K.B. Barry, the secretly world-famous author with the power to ruin them all. Today, at the photography competition where they plan to celebrate their crime, I will make my first-ever public appearance and show them what happens when you break a queen./1/103580/coverorgin.jpg?v=3b2d858b5fb7d53d9a59ec28cd0d5435&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Betrayal, My Beautiful Rebirth
I was the secret girlfriend of rising political star Kellen Jefferson, and the sacrifice he made thirty-eight times to appease his manipulative sister, Cherrelle. Her cruelty escalated from ruining my career to pushing me off a stage, breaking my wrist. Kellen covered it up. He chose her again when she pushed me down a flight of stairs, covering up the attempted murder. He chose her when he publicly kissed her after she framed me for stalking. But the moment that truly killed my love was when I was abducted. I called him, begging for help. He never answered. Later, I saw the video: he watched my call come in and, at his sister' s urging, let it go to voicemail. He abandoned me to die. After escaping with my life, I disappeared. Two years later, he saw my face on the cover of a magazine-a celebrated artist with a new life and a new love. And he finally understood what he had lost./1/103893/coverorgin.jpg?v=4e463747328435b3d78c0b0a26e11857&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Unwanted Wife, My New Dawn
For six years, I was the wife of a tech billionaire with crippling mysophobia. To my husband, Killian, I was a contaminant he was forced to tolerate for a business merger, a ghost in my own home. But for his mistress, the influencer Isabel, every rule was broken. He worshipped her, believing she was the angel who' d saved him from a near-fatal climbing accident two years ago. The truth was, I was the one who braved a blizzard to rescue him, suffering severe frostbite in the process. But he laughed in my face, calling me too fragile. He knelt on a filthy police station floor to touch her bare feet, yet he' d recoiled from my touch for years. He destroyed my grandmother' s priceless locket because she wanted it. He forced me to kneel and apologize for her lies, threatening my family's company if I refused. The final humiliation came when he publicly declared her the true mistress of the house and made me climb a dangerous, thorny hill on my injured ankle to pick roses for her. As I stumbled back, covered in mud and blood, I felt nothing. The love I had stubbornly held onto was finally, completely dead. I walked away that night with the signed divorce papers in my hand. My old life was over, and my fight for a new one had just begun./1/100608/coverorgin.jpg?v=b84546977e849a5bcfd12a628a5ef12a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Heart, His Spare Part
My bodyguard, Grant, took the full force of a speeding car meant for me. In that moment, I realized I loved him. He was my protector, and I thought his fierce devotion was mine alone. But in the hospital, I overheard the truth. He hadn't saved me; he'd saved my kidney. I wasn't the woman he loved. I was just the "best option" for his sick sister's transplant. Every tender gesture, every watchful glance, was a lie designed to keep his organ donor safe and compliant. The man I adored saw me as nothing more than a collection of spare parts. The love I thought we shared was a carefully constructed trap, and I had been the fool who walked right in. The girl who believed in fairy tales died in that sterile hospital hallway. I picked up my phone, my hand steady. "Dad," I said, my voice cold as ice. "I'm ready to consider the alliance with the Powell family."/0/63376/coverorgin.jpg?v=57e8ff43322035459161f5722806d4e6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
A Tale of Love and Deception
I was stabbed by a thug when the big screen on the street happened to be playing an interview with the film emperor, Fu Lingze. The reporter asked who I was to him, and he said, "She is my housekeeper." With just that one word, "housekeeper," he erased the ten years of love we had shared. I collapsed in a pool of blood, watching the big screen as he embraced the daughter of a billionaire, smiling with a look of indulgence. Three years later, he burst into my wedding ceremony, kneeling and begging for my forgiveness. I said, "I'm sorry, big star, but I've lost my memory and don't remember what our relationship was." My fiancé immediately played an old video: "Baby, look, he said with his own mouth that you are his housekeeper."/0/84808/coverorgin.jpg?v=1b563089b4c7d6f300abf721a79200c1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Fight For Her Vision
The scent of wet concrete used to be the perfume of my dreams, the promise of my architectural masterpiece taking shape. Until I stood on the muddy ground of my construction site and saw it: a clumsy, awkward box, nothing like the light-filled space I' d designed. My ex-boyfriend, Mark Davis, had offered to handle the plan submissions as a "parting gift." It turns out, his gift was a betrayal. He' d swapped my intricate blueprints for cheap, generic plans bought online. My dream home was being built into a monstrosity, a monument to his fraud. When I confronted him, Mark' s voice dripped with condescension. He' d made "practical tweaks" to make it "more sellable," he claimed. Then he blocked me, leaving me with a sabotaged project, mounting fees, and a crumbling reputation. My attempts to find justice through official channels were met with bureaucratic indifference. They saw a "messy breakup," a "disgruntled ex-girlfriend," not a professional crime. They even suggested I compromise, perhaps "compensate" the man destroying my career. But I wouldn' t compromise. I would fight. My last, desperate hope lay with Arthur Vance, my formidable former mentor, who had given me a sculpture years ago as a mark of his personal favor. I knew it was my only leverage. I had to get to him, no matter the cost. My next move would be a gamble, a desperate attempt to reclaim my truth./0/84026/coverorgin.jpg?v=34cca0eb84b9f3e3fb0e23cedea56644&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Billionaire Who Wasn't Mine
The phone felt cold against my ear, a stark contrast to the Texas heat. My fiancée Jennifer' s voice, usually sweet, was sharp and demanding. "Ethan, I need $100,000 for the influencer party in Miami. Wes says it' s our big break. It' s an advance on our wedding fund!" My heart stopped. This was it. The exact moment. In my last life, this call was the beginning of the end. I remembered giving in then, selling my classic Mustang, draining my 401k, even taking out a high-interest loan – all to cover the hole she blew in our company' s marketing budget that could have sent her to prison. I remembered the twenty years of a miserable marriage, her constant contempt, and the daughter I loved more than anything, who looked at me with her mother' s resentful eyes, ultimately revealing she wasn't mine at all. Then the final memory flashed: the rising water, the rescue boat, and her face, a mask of false grief, telling the rescuer, "He' s already gone, the water took him." My own daughter, her voice clear over the storm, whispered, "It' s for the best, Mom. If it wasn' t for him, we would' ve been a real family with Dad Wes years ago." They left me there. They left me to drown. But I'm not that man anymore. This time, as her voice shrieked through the phone, demanding I say something, I took a deep breath. And I said it. "No."/0/86529/coverorgin.jpg?v=5451de8b064559dab86ead40f7135aeb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Her Betrayal, My Cancer, Our End
The opening bell rang, deafeningly loud. Confetti rained down on the NASDAQ trading floor as our company, Innovatech, went public. My arm was around my wife, Sarah, smiling for the cameras. Millions of dollars, years of coding in my garage, all of it had paid off. I was on top of the world. Just two hours later, an antiseptic smell filled Dr. Chen' s sterile office. The smile was gone. "It's pancreatic cancer, Ethan," he said softly. "Stage four. It's...aggressive." The words hung heavy. IPO day. The best day of my life. And now this. The irony was a physical blow. I drove home in a daze, the city lights blurring. I needed to tell Sarah. We' d face this together. She was waiting when I walked into our large, empty house. Not smiling. Dressed in a sharp business suit, a leather briefcase on the coffee table. "Sarah," I started, my voice cracking, "I just came from the doctor's office. It's bad news." She held up a hand. "I know." Her voice was cold, completely devoid of emotion. "You know?" "I called Dr. Chen's office. The receptionist said he had an urgent appointment with you. I figured it was serious." She slid a thick stack of papers across the table. "These are divorce papers, Ethan." I stared at the documents, then back at her face. "Divorce? Now? Sarah, I have cancer." A small, ugly smirk played on her lips. "Exactly. My lawyer has already transferred the liquid assets. The IPO provided a lot of liquidity. It's better this way." "Better this way? I'm sick, Sarah! I'm dying!" "Don't be so dramatic," she scoffed, standing up. "Treatment would be a waste of money. Money that is now mine. You should just take whatever is left and enjoy your last few days. Don't waste it on doctors." She walked to the door. Her heels clicked loudly. She didn't look back once. The door closed, a soft, final click. I was alone. The divorce papers sat on the table, a testament to a decade. The confetti felt like a distant, faded memory. When Chloe, my childhood friend, inexplicably appeared at my doorstep, worry etched on her face, everything changed. She dropped her lucrative career for me. As I looked at her, then at the divorce papers, a dangerous plan began to solidify in my mind./0/82931/coverorgin.jpg?v=c091f349df7cb0a4baceab06788182f9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
When Love Turned Cold
My seven-year-old daughter, Lily, was fighting leukemia. Every penny I earned as a waitress and delivery driver went to her mounting medical bills, while her father, Mark, claimed his hardware store was "struggling" with "no money" for his own child. Lily dreamed of learning the violin, and I carefully saved for a small, used one; but when I went to buy it, the shop owner revealed Mark had already purchased all the beginner violins – for Brenda Hayes' son, Liam. The specific one Lily wanted? It was found snapped in half, "run over," in the alley. Later, Brenda' s social media paraded Liam' s new gaming consoles, pony rides, and lavish parties – all documented under '#BestUncle' and aligning perfectly with the times Mark claimed poverty. Meanwhile, Lily' s cough worsened, her counts dropped, and doctors urged expensive, out-of-state treatment we couldn't afford. The broken violin, Liam showered with gifts, Lily fighting for her life – it wasn't just neglect; it was a burning, cold betrayal. He was actively choosing them over his own sick daughter. Then, just before Lily' s birthday, I delivered a monstrous cake to a lavish party; it was for 'Happy Birthday Liam!' and there was Mark, laughing, wearing a party hat, while my dying daughter held onto his vague promise of 'something special.' I knew then what I had to do./1/109682/coverorgin.jpg?v=f9a5860fbeaadba019c69f34a5b84643&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Prison To My Billionaire's Embrace
On the anniversary of my mother's death, I found my husband in our bed with my best friend. The betrayal shattered me, just as a similar affair had driven my mother to suicide years before. Consumed by a blinding rage, I exposed their secrets to the world and destroyed her career. My vengeance was swift and brutal, but it was I who ended up behind bars for a year and a half. They watched as I was dragged away, their faces a mask of disgust. They built a life on the ruins of mine, while I was left with nothing but the four walls of a prison cell. But in that desolate place, my anger finally burned out, replaced by a quiet resolve to rebuild. Five years later, I walked out a new woman. I had found peace, a new family, and a love I never thought possible. I thought the past was buried, until I ran into him again. He looked at my simple dress with pity, offering me money and a ride home, completely unaware that the man waiting for me there could buy and sell him a thousand times over./1/103581/coverorgin.jpg?v=246d388c78f7f5c521920f65ddc1b1c8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Orchestrated Accidents: A Heiress's Revenge
They told me one of them would be my husband. Seven men, groomed by my father to be part of our music empire. I only ever wanted one: Devon Valenzuela, the band's brilliant, brooding lead singer. But the night I caught him kissing his "sister," Delilah, I learned the devastating truth. The seven of them weren't rivals for my hand; they were a pack, united in a secret pact to protect her. I was just a variable in their game. They orchestrated "accidents" to keep me dependent-a near-miss in the studio, a fall from my horse that left me with a broken leg. Devon played the part of the doting fiancé perfectly, nursing me back to health. Then I overheard him confessing to another band member. "It was the only way to get her attention," he said. "The bone breaking… that was an accident. Not part of the plan." At my 21st birthday party, he humiliated me by broadcasting a video of my most private confessions of love for him to all our guests. But he didn't know I had a video of my own-one that would expose his precious Delilah and tear their entire world apart./1/102486/coverorgin.jpg?v=53203ad2a983cb88db86280f105a7707&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Not Just A Nanny: My Comeback
I spent six years raising his twins, believing I was his wife. Then the bank manager slid a document across the desk. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Dunlap. You aren't listed as the mother. Eliana Dudley is." I drove to Gavin's office, desperate for answers. Instead, I found him with his high school sweetheart, Eliana, sitting on his lap. I froze as I heard him laugh. "Alex was just a comfortable alternative," he told her. "A glorified nanny to keep the seat warm until you came back." My world shattered. But it got worse. At the twins' birthday party, the children I had loved like my own screamed that they hated me. His seven-year-old son shoved me down the stone steps. I hit the ground hard. Pain exploded in my stomach. I looked up, begging Gavin for help. He didn't move. He just wrapped his arm around Eliana and turned away. "Come on, kids," he said coldly. "Let's go cut the cake. Alex is just making a scene." I lay on the cold patio, bleeding out the baby he didn't even know I was carrying, listening to them sing "Happy Birthday" inside. He thought I would fade away. He thought a check would fix it. But when I woke up in the hospital, the woman who loved him was dead. I signed the divorce papers, walked out, and built an empire he could never touch. Now, three years later, he's begging at my feet. "I made a mistake," he sobs. I look at my new husband and smile. "I know. And now you have to live with it."/1/113906/coverorgin.jpg?v=c4bd07f7461b8f2b9df7402027a10c08&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Empire, My Love, And No Regrets
My father raised seven brilliant orphans to be my potential husbands. For years, I only had eyes for one of them, the cold and distant Damien Paul, believing his distance was a wall I just had to break through. That belief shattered last night when I found him in the garden, kissing his foster sister, Eve—the fragile girl my family took in at his request, the one I had treated like my own sister. But the true horror came when I overheard the other six Fellows talking in the library. They weren't competing for me. They were working together, orchestrating "accidents" and mocking my "stupid, blind" devotion to keep me away from Damien. Their loyalty wasn't to me, the heiress who held their futures in her hands. It was to Eve. I wasn't a woman to be won. I was a foolish burden to be managed. The seven men I grew up with, the men who owed my family everything, were a cult, and she was their queen. This morning, I walked into my father's study to make a decision that would burn their world to the ground. He smiled, asking if I'd finally won Damien over. "No, Dad," I said, my voice firm. "I'm marrying Hunter Beach."/0/84183/coverorgin.jpg?v=fa812279384650824c09fef6371c9a43&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Divorce That Broke Them All
The sound of shattering glass was the first thing I heard, a familiar prelude to years of belittlement and control in my own home. My husband, Ethan, his voice cold and cutting, threatened to take our children and leave me with nothing, casting me onto the street. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law snickered from the couch, reinforcing the lie that I was worthless, just as they always did. His words, his family's disdain, echoed the desperate, lonely motel room where I would die, twenty years from this very moment, abandoned and full of regret. But this time, as I stood there, watching my life unravel, I felt an icy calm replace the rage, because I knew this was my second chance./1/101704/coverorgin.jpg?v=25213226c0f052bdf6a658d8f386fa73&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Erased No More: My Symphony
I sold my vintage Fender bass to pay for Jarvis' s med school tuition, believing his promise that we would conquer the world together. Ten years later, I found a hidden folder on his laptop titled "Exit Strategy," detailing exactly how to leave me homeless while he moved our daughter's tutor into my house. He wasn't just cheating; he was systematically erasing me. On the nanny cam, I watched him laugh as Chrissy, the "angelic" tutor, wore my silk robe and mocked my music as childish noise. He told her I was nothing but a stepping stone, a connection to my father's influence that he had finally outgrown. I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I quietly gathered the evidence, secured my assets, and served him divorce papers that shattered his carefully curated reputation. But when Chrissy, driven mad by his lies, dragged our daughter to a snowy cliff' s edge, Jarvis finally fell to his knees. He wept, begging for a second chance, swearing I was the only woman he ever loved. I looked at the man who had plotted my ruin, then down at my daughter who saw right through him. "It's too late, Jarvis," I said, my voice colder than the wind. I walked away into the snow, holding my daughter tight, leaving him alone in the cold with nothing but his regrets./0/84496/coverorgin.jpg?v=211e77bc25fe6c21ede39a8292d3afc0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Unwanted No More: The Heiress's Ultimate Escape
My biological parents, the Duncans, finally threw me out, discarding me like trash onto the wet Chicago pavement. Minutes later, trapped in a kidnapper's van, I heard my own brother Andrew on speaker, coldly telling them to do whatever they wanted with me – they didn't care. Stella, the perfect daughter they raised in my place, even chimed in with fake sympathy, reinforcing their blatant disregard for my life. I survived the kidnapping, even a stabbing where I saved a stranger, only for Andrew to accuse me of faking it all for attention and sympathy while still demanding I return to their gilded cage. Why did my own family hate me so much, even choosing to let me die repeatedly, while showering affection on a girl who clearly manipulated them? I jumped into Lake Michigan, not to end my life, but to escape their suffocating lies and build a new one, free from the ghost of Jocelyn Chavez./0/82619/coverorgin.jpg?v=bacdd52029ba7180a0b243ce10f29014&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Price of Her Obsession
Ethan Cole, heir to a formidable dynasty, was hopelessly infatuated with Seraphina Vance. When a devastating explosion nearly claimed her life, he defied all odds, secretly risking his own to fund a clandestine rescue, even letting another man claim his heroic sacrifice. But that man, his security chief Marcus Thorne, shamelessly twisted the truth, painting Ethan as her envious tormentor. Seraphina, vulnerable and blinded by grief, believed Marcus' s lies, cultivating a fierce love for him and an unyielding hatred for Ethan. After Marcus' s supposed death (for which she blamed Ethan), Seraphina became "The Matriarch" of a shadowy Order, imprisoning and ruthlessly torturing him for two decades. She inflicted a lifetime of calculated physical and psychological torment, watching his very spirit crumble under her cruel "300 years of suffering," until her new favorite, Lucian, took sadistic pleasure in shattering his hands. He unearthed records within the Order-a sacred "Book of Truths"-revealing Marcus' s complete treachery and his own self-sacrificing innocence. Yet, she dismissed it as another pathetic lie, her hatred for him unshakeable. How could one man endure such profound, undeserved torment, built entirely on a monstrous, self-serving deception? Left for dead, his memory wiped, he started anew as Elian, building a peaceful life. But when Princess Seraphina, now seeking atonement, found him and proposed marriage, it tore open old wounds. Now, with a celestial second chance, he must re-enter his past and meticulously unravel the threads of his own tragic fate./1/103582/coverorgin.jpg?v=fb5b6af4f48238271e0ff9827afb0637&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Jilted Bride To Ruthless CEO
I was Jocelyn Cruz, heiress to a billion-dollar empire, and I was supposed to marry my childhood sweetheart, Jake. My father had groomed him to be my king, and our life was a storybook romance. But just before my 25th birthday gala, I saw him kissing Djuna-the fragile orphan my father took in, the woman I treated like a sister. Their betrayal ran deeper than I could imagine. They drugged me to cause a riding accident, then gaslit me to make me think I was losing my mind. At a public auction, Jake froze my accounts and bought a family heirloom I cherished, only to gift it to her in front of everyone, leaving me broken and humiliated. He wanted to shatter me, to turn me into a mindless puppet he could control. So when he played a secret video of me crying for him at my own birthday party, I didn't break. Instead, I smiled. Because I had my own recordings, and I was about to show everyone the vipers he and his "true love" really were./1/107493/coverorgin.jpg?v=b01ed475f856862cf1a949a1cf07dfce&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Billionaire's Silent Bride: Unspoken Vows
Waking up in silk sheets should have felt like a dream, but the smell of expensive whiskey and masculine musk triggered a warning siren in my skull. I was in Dorian McClain’s bed—the man who could crush my entire existence with a single signature. I fled his hotel suite like a ghost, but in my hungover panic, I snatched the wrong phone. By the time I reached my crumbling apartment in Queens, that one mistake had already set my life on fire. My uncle Silas had trashed my home, demanding money for my grandfather’s nursing home bill. When he saw Dorian’s encrypted phone, he didn't see a mistake; he saw a ransom. He sold me out to debt collectors who held a switchblade to my throat, forcing me to call the billionaire I had just abandoned. Dorian didn't save me out of mercy; he came to reclaim a security breach. He treated my rescue like a cold business transaction. He had me fired from my job and forced me into a marriage contract just to secure his family trust. He even made me beg for my grandfather’s life, demanding a humiliating act of submission for a medical bill that was mere pocket change to him. To him, I was just a mute, broken girl—the perfect silent accessory for his public image. "Welcome to hell, Mrs. McClain," he murmured, his voice a low rumble as he slid a massive diamond onto my finger. He thinks my silence is a trauma-induced weakness. He thinks he bought a submissive pawn who will stay in her gilded cage. But as I sat in his penthouse and bypassed his "unbreakable" firewalls in seconds, I realized he had made a fatal mistake. Dorian McClain didn't just buy a wife; he invited the CIA’s most dangerous ghost into his private mainframe. Echo is back online, and I’m going to burn his empire to the ground./0/84184/coverorgin.jpg?v=aca03c14eaccc8b18567640b607bddb9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
