Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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The Price Of His Double Life
After seven years, my fiancé Elias and I were a month away from our wedding. I' d just been laid off from my architecture firm, but he promised to take care of me, calling me his queen. He was my rock, my future. Then, a single Instagram post shattered my world: a picture of a man's hand with a bandage exactly like the one Elias had, holding the hand of an influencer bragging about her rich, married "sugar daddy." The more I scrolled, the worse it got. He hadn't just cheated; he had orchestrated my firing, calling it "budget cuts," so his mistress could take my place. He even used the engagement party invitations I helped design for their future. He called me his "plain Jane architect," a boring fiancée he was escaping from. For six months, he had been living a double life, all while planning our wedding and systematically destroying mine. So at our lavish engagement party, when he abandoned me mid-celebration for his mistress's fake emergency, I didn't cry. I took the microphone, canceled the wedding, and played every single screenshot of his betrayal on the ballroom's giant screen for our hundreds of guests to see./1/102050/coverorgin.jpg?v=5e53b45ebef0e8c78c73b82d6dca50bd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Echo She Chose To Erase
I was Aegis's top operative, betrayed by my fiancé, Hazen, and the very woman I had rescued and mentored, Bianca. They conspired against me, framing me as unstable and jealous. Hazen, the man I was supposed to marry, chose to believe her calculated lies over my raw pain, even after he caught them together. He pushed me, causing a head injury, and then publicly condemned me when I tried to expose Bianca's manipulation. My own partner, my friends, everyone I had saved and fought alongside, turned against me, siding with the "fragile" victim she pretended to be. Hazen's final betrayal was the coldest. He had me tortured, then left me broken in a cell, all to protect Bianca's fabricated innocence. "You are a liability, Echo," he had said, his eyes devoid of love, "a dangerous, unstable liability." I was left with nothing, my spirit shattered, my entire life a lie. The accusations, the abandonment, the sheer injustice of it all-it was a poison I couldn't live with. So I did the only thing I could. I walked into a clandestine clinic and had them erase it all. Now, I am Evelyn, a quiet bookseller in Vermont. I remember nothing. And today, three years later, a man with haunted eyes just walked into my shop and called me by a name I don't know: "Echo?"/1/102699/coverorgin.jpg?v=9a915c0b918d3e6d3dfb01f39c3b2651&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Fiancé He Severely Underestimated
My fiancé Jax and I built our Las Vegas empire from nothing. After fifteen years, he betrayed me for a "pure" girl named Ember, sacrificing a piece of our empire for her. He told our friends I was "too ruthless," and that he only felt "human" with her. He arrogantly believed I could never leave, that I needed our empire-and him-too much. To prove her victory, Ember found my mother's last keepsake, a small music box, and shattered it at my feet. The man I'd sacrificed everything for saw me as a cold, calculating machine. He thought I was ruthless? He hadn't seen anything yet. He believed I couldn't leave him. He was about to lose everything. I picked up the phone and made a single call to his estranged, powerful family in D.C. "Send him home," I said, my voice ice. "He's all yours."/0/84530/coverorgin.jpg?v=2f274864a1881b13616ac5b37959cc6d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Her Legacy, My Fight
The first call came as a familiar comfort, my mentor Professor Anya Sharma' s name on the screen, a stable part of my solitary life, her lab my sanctuary. Then, her voice shattered that peace – a choked whisper, tight with a fear I' d never heard, followed by a man's angry shout, a crash of glass, and dead silence. I rushed to the police, my heart hammering, only to be met by Detective Miller' s dismissive skepticism as he took down details of Anya' s research and the powerful CEO, Damien Vance, pressuring her. Hours later, standing over Anya' s body in the morgue, the official explanation of a botched robbery felt like a cruel joke; the specific, brutal injuries screaming of a deliberate execution, not a random mugging. My grief curdled into a cold, hard rage, a chilling certainty that Damien Vance was behind it, a suspicion Miller coldly brushed aside, reminding me I had no proof against one of the city's most powerful men. Then, the trap sprung: a grainy security photo of me at the crime scene, my fingerprints everywhere, painting me as the prime suspect in the murder of the woman I loved like a mother. My apartment was tossed, not for valuables, but for Anya's encrypted hard drive, her life's work, the dangerous truth she died to protect, now clutched in my trembling hands. Hunted, isolated, and accused, a single, burning thought solidified: If the system wouldn' t deliver justice, I would find it myself, even if it meant stepping into the lion's den. I walked into the charity gala, a ghost in a borrowed dress, offering myself as a pawn to Damien Vance, becoming his personal assistant, willing to sacrifice everything to destroy him from within./0/81610/coverorgin.jpg?v=c0a455e9b49f34289895802df21a7be1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Contract Wife to Global Icon
For three excruciating years, I was Olivia Prescott, the dutiful, silent wife in a cold, pre-arranged marriage, foolishly loving a man who only saw his college sweetheart, Chloe. My unspoken devotion and tireless efforts to manage his life and our opulent home were met with blatant neglect and emotional indifference. The breaking point arrived not with a bang, but a searing lash and a crumpled heirloom: my grandmother' s cherished cashmere shawl, deliberately ruined by Chloe, then callously dismissed by Ethan as "just a piece of cloth." He publicly humiliated me, forcing a humiliating apology for an "accident" that was anything but. That same night, his formidable mother Eleanor, enraged by my perceived defiance, wielded a riding crop, physically assaulting me. While she beat me, her son laughed softly on the phone with his beloved, utterly oblivious to the cruelty unfolding just feet away. How could I have been so blind, so foolishly hopeful, to believe love could blossom in such a barren wasteland of contempt and betrayal? My heart, once foolishly hopeful, turned to stone, burning with a quiet fury that day. With divorce papers signed and a decade of unrequited love finally extinguished, I walked out of the Prescott mansion. I left behind the ghost of a docile wife and stepped into the unknown, determined to rise from the ashes of my shattered life and show them precisely what a disposable woman could achieve./1/114055/coverorgin.jpg?v=a4ef862f763ccca7b133eee06a3c2071&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Ninety-Nine Heartbreaks, One Final Goodbye
The ninety-ninth time Jax Little broke my heart was the last time. We were the golden couple of Northgate High, our future perfectly mapped out for UCLA. But in our senior year, he fell for a new girl, Catalina, and our love story became a sick, exhausting dance of his betrayals and my empty threats to leave. At a graduation party, Catalina "accidentally" pulled me into the pool with her. Jax dove in without a second's hesitation. He swam right past me as I struggled, wrapped his arms around Catalina, and pulled her to safety. As he helped her out to the cheers of his friends, he glanced back at me, my body shivering and my mascara running in black rivers. "Your life isn't my problem anymore," he said, his voice as cold as the water I was drowning in. That night, something inside me finally shattered. I went home, opened my laptop, and clicked the button that confirmed my admission. Not to UCLA with him, but to NYU, an entire country away./0/82259/coverorgin.jpg?v=e4caa42e4051b89495c0abdeff2ac6d4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Quiet Assistant's Roar
For five years, I played a part. I was Ava, the quiet admin assistant. I lived in a Brooklyn walk-up, deeply in love with my charming boyfriend, Ethan Hayes. Our life together felt so real, so perfectly normal. Then, one night, I overheard him. He called me a "minor asset to be divested." A low-risk, low-yield stock, ready to be cut loose. It was for his upcoming merger with Chloe Parker. He was getting married, and I was just his secret. His 'simple' comfort to manage. The crushing blow wasn't just his words, but his fiancé Chloe' s endless DMs. She taunted me with pictures of their engagement ring and private jet "strategy sessions." My heart shattered. Then, during a car crash, his first instinct solidified everything. He shielded an absent Chloe, not the bleeding me beside him. He chose his lie over my life. How could the man who swore he loved me now see me as a disposable asset? Worth less than a lie? How could I have so completely misjudged him? The indignity and calculated cruelty burned through my veins. They thought I was simple. They thought I was weak. But they were about to find out how wrong they were. I returned home, not to a Brooklyn walk-up. I returned to AuraSphere. The multi-billion dollar private equity firm my family owns. And I was coming for them./0/82908/coverorgin.jpg?v=416f0ff39139c7afd777d461d5248611&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Behind the Scoop
My investigative journalism career was at its zenith, poised to expose a sprawling human trafficking network that reached into the city' s highest offices. I had irrefutable proof, years of hard work culminating in this moment, ready to break a story that would shake the city to its core. But then, only days from publishing, my former intern, Jessica Evans, unveiled my investigation with eerie precision, claiming my unique angles and even confidential source details as her own "intuition." Overnight, I was branded incompetent and slow, my decade-long reputation imploded, while she soared as the city' s new journalistic darling. The fallout was brutal: my editor, once my strongest advocate, viewed me with suspicion, and the whispers of a "washed-up" journalist followed me everywhere. The pattern continued; lead after lead I was developing, cases I was quietly researching-like the chilling "Poetic Justice Killer"-Jessica miraculously scooped with impossible, intimate detail I hadn't even fully formed. Then came the deepest cut: Professor Marcus Thorne, my respected Columbia mentor, praised Jessica's "raw talent" while publicly dismissing me as "envious," twisting the knife of my isolation and despair. How could Jessica know my raw, unfettered thoughts, my most private investigative theories, ideas I hadn' t even fully committed to paper? The sheer scale of this inexplicable theft, coupled with my mentor's shocking public betrayal, left me utterly confounded, adrift in a sea of public accusations and professional ruin. But their words, their disbelief, ignited a fierce fire within me; this wasn't mere envy or decline, it was a profound, calculated betrayal, and I would expose how she truly saw into my mind, starting with my "retirement" from the public eye./0/86477/coverorgin.jpg?v=86fd82534a95c92bfc2d2e0ec844d352&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Stardust Secret
My alarm should have been my wake-up call, but it was Matthew' s frantic Discord messages, desperate for me to play a game of Valorant. He promised good money for a few hours of coaching – a lifeline I desperately needed with my tuition due and my mom' s medical bills piling up. I logged in, ready to carry strangers, but one player stood out: "Nyx," a mysterious, rich gamer who offered me a retainer, making me her exclusive coach. My life flipped overnight as my channel, "Stardust_vlr," exploded online thanks to anonymous, lavish donations from "0x." Then, my mom set me up on a blind coffee date with a "friend" from UCLA. It was Stella, the helpful girl who' d given me directions on my first day. We hit it off, becoming real-life friends, completely unaware of our deep connection in the virtual world. The biggest Twitch charity tournament arrived, and I finally enabled my face-cam, revealing Ethan Scott, the broke freshman. Across campus, Stella watched, realizing the face belonged to the quiet guy she knew, and that Stardust was Ethan. Just as the tournament countdown began, I heard Nyx' s voice in my headset, and the pieces clicked into place. Nyx was Stella. The shock was mutual, paralyzing us both as the biggest game of our lives was about to begin. How could my coach, my anonymous benefactor, and the girl my parents set me up with all be the same person?/0/84206/coverorgin.jpg?v=177c4b40ebfbf7835ef622a02f02fe59&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Unmasking the Viper
My life as a Dallas socialite seemed perfect, dwelling in a grand mansion built with old money and maintained by new. Then, my husband, Ryan Lester, walked through the door with a woman I' d never seen, Sabrina Chavez, announcing she was "staying with us for a while." Her feigned innocence turned sinister as she systematically drugged me, leading to a horrifying assault that was meticulously filmed. Ryan then used that video as his weapon, turning my home into a prison, stripping me of everything, and publicly humiliating me at my father' s charity ball by projecting the assault on giant screens for everyone to see. The world shattered as I collapsed, suffering a devastating miscarriage, left to wonder how my life could be so cruelly dismantled, and who was behind this orchestrated nightmare. But just as despair threatened to consume me, a familiar face from my past, Andrew Scott, stepped into the light, and with him, the promise of truth and a fight for my lost life./1/102051/coverorgin.jpg?v=2d0cfeed499f81ff6149153e643f00e2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Love Lost, A Life Reclaimed
My world shattered with a piece of paper. A DNA test revealed I wasn't a Daugherty by blood, but an impostor. My husband, Kane, divorced me, and the real heiress, Britt, took my home, my life, and my son. Five years later, I was a waitress drowning in my foster mother's medical debt when they walked into my diner. Kane, Britt, and my son, Cleveland, who now called Britt "Mommy." He looked at me with disgust. "Mommy said you' re not my real mom anymore," he announced. "And you're just a waitress now. Daddy says waitresses are poor." The words were a knife to the heart. Later that night, my foster mother, Jessi, died in the hospital after Britt whispered poison in her ear, leaving me with a cryptic warning about Britt's dark secrets. Britt then offered me a job as a live-in nanny, a chance to watch her live my life up close. It was a cruel, humiliating offer. But I accepted. Because in my old home, I discovered Britt wasn't just cruel-she was poisoning my son and had infected my ex-husband with a disease. This wasn't just about humiliation anymore. It was about revenge./1/102700/coverorgin.jpg?v=2e274acd524427f2de3ce85c950a2e51&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Marriage: A Million Lies
My marriage to the cold New York tycoon, Eli Drake, was supposed to be an impossible love story. I was the rebellious artist who had chased him across continents, believing I' d found my soulmate. Then I overheard a conversation that shattered everything. Our three-year marriage was a lie, a charade designed to protect his fragile sister-in-law, Kala. I was just the "lightning rod," strong enough to take the hits meant for her. The worst part? He' d secretly had a vasectomy, letting me endure his family' s scorn for being "barren" while he knew the truth all along. It all clicked into place: the public humiliations, the framed financial crimes, the "accidents" that left me scarred. They systematically broke me, forcing me to give a piece of my own skin to heal Kala and staging a car crash that landed me in prison. Eli' s justification was always the same: "Kala is delicate. Not like you." He thought I was strong enough to take it, that my defiance was a tool he could use. He exiled me, thinking I was broken and forgotten. He was wrong. I reinvented myself as the celebrated artist 'Lark.' And when he came crawling back, begging for forgiveness on a global stage, I knew my moment had come. My revenge would be a masterpiece./0/86802/coverorgin.jpg?v=346b8233b5768b0c6abc8385c8c2e40c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Fake Death Plot
The ninety-ninth time I tried to kill myself, I was sent to the hospital. For seven long years, I had lived in a fog of grief, believing my husband, Ethan, had died in a fiery car crash. But then, in that sterile white room, I saw him. Ethan. Alive, vibrant, and kissing Olivia Hayes, his former sister-in-law, who cradled a prominent baby bump. Their child. In that instant, the truth crashed down on me. There was no crash, no death. He had abandoned me to elope with Olivia, living a happy life while I wasted away: my hair turning gray, my wrist scarred with 300 marks for every missed month, while he cried with joy over her pregnancy. My world went black. When I came to, I was back in time, seven days before our first wedding anniversary. Ethan stood before me, his eyes filled with intoxicating adoration, murmuring sweet words. Yet, the image of him kissing Olivia, the name "Olivia Hayes" flashing on his phone, burned in my mind. He left me to check on her, claiming she was unwell, while I knew the truth. I was blindsided by my trust. I thought of what he put me through, what he planned to do to me. The betrayal felt like a gaping wound. I looked at him, then called my brother, David. "I want to come live with you abroad," I said, my voice cold. "And David, could you please help me arrange something? I need a body. A fake one. I want to give it to Ethan on our wedding anniversary. Seven days from now."/0/81611/coverorgin.jpg?v=80286d1c0ae4b1608e8338efe47b4703&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Five Years of Lies: A Wife's Escape
My five-year marriage to Logan was a twisted cycle: he' d orchestrate "final" breakups, always expecting me to beg him back. I always did. Our tenth "final" split began over spilled coffee. But this time, I found his unlocked laptop and "The Ava Project" – a chilling journal where he meticulously documented his sadistic pleasure in my tears, his calculated cruelty, and how he used his mistress, Chloe, as a weapon. He was a monster. He publicly paraded Chloe with my heirloom locket, then ignored my injury from a falling chandelier. He moved Chloe into our home, framed me for poisoning her, and force-fed me migraine-inducing wine. Worst of all, he actively helped Chloe steal my culinary dream, crushing my scholarship. He genuinely relished my anguish, believing my submission fed his warped need for control. My love was his perverse entertainment, my loyalty exploited. The horrific realization clicked: my suffering was his ultimate pleasure, and he was deliberately destroying me. But no more. Feigning surrender, I secretly secured a new culinary scholarship in New Orleans. Despite his escalating torment, I finally escaped his clutches. Now, thriving and free, Logan believes he can reclaim his "broken doll." He has no idea his cruel games ultimately forged a phoenix./0/82260/coverorgin.jpg?v=75184434baf2eadf81fb1d6fbd4a64ee&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Ninth Life: Breaking Free
I' d died eight times already, each a brutal end, all thanks to Caroline Hawthorne. Now, I was on my ninth life, cold in a dusty attic room, a flat digital voice repeating its impossible command inside my head: "Secure Caroline Hawthorne's genuine, exclusive romantic devotion." But this wasn' t just about winning her love; it was about survival itself. This time, the System' s chilling ultimatum echoed with no emotion: "Failure in this iteration will result in permanent dissolution." No more chances. My tormentor, Caroline, then entered, pregnant with her fiancé Derek' s child, and immediately imposed her latest cruelty: I was demoted to the gardener' s shed, while Derek' s prize-winning show dog got my warm room. She kicked me. Memories of my past deaths, stark and agonizing, flooded me: freezing in a wine cellar, drowning after being pushed overboard, a shank in prison, botched medical procedures where she watched me bleed out. I' d endured skin grafts from my own thigh because Derek faked an injury, been forced into life-threatening blood transfusions for his "recovery," and suffered public humiliation at her hands. Her blind devotion to Derek was absolute, her cruelty towards me boundless. I was broken, tired of the endless loop of torture and failure. Why did I have to suffer endless agony for a devotion she clearly didn't deserve, a woman who treated me as less than human? I just wanted it all to end, for oblivion to claim me. My silence became defiance against her rage. That yearning for freedom, once a desperate wish for death, hardened into something cold and resolute: revenge. If the System demanded her "devotion," or her "permanent removal from the equation," then I would choose freedom. After her last threat-to harm the only person who cared for me-I knew what I had to do. This time, I wouldn't just survive; I would ensure her downfall, and finally, truly break free./1/104647/coverorgin.jpg?v=7e4561cb163c120e68c4b8f26af09859&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Sold To The Devil: Escaping My Ruthless Husband
I was standing in the center of the gallery, holding a glass of expensive champagne, when the screens behind me flickered and my life ended. It was supposed to be an art unveiling, but the monitors shifted to fake footage of me handing evidence to the FBI. My fiancé, Ethan, looked at me like I was a sick dog that needed to be put down. My father slapped me across the face in front of everyone, disowning me to save his own skin. That was when Luca Vitti, the city’s most dangerous man, stepped in. He cleared the room and took my hand. I thought he was saving me. I didn't realize he was just collecting a new pet. I was locked in his estate, isolated and terrified. Then, my healthy mother suddenly "died" of pneumonia in a Vitti clinic. Days later, I saw Luca’s frail stepsister, Clara, breathing easily for the first time in her life. She had my mother’s lungs. I became nothing more than a breeding vessel. When I fell pregnant, I overheard Luca and Ethan planning my death. "Once the kid is cut out, she's a loose end," Luca had said. They were going to kill me and give my son to the woman who stole my mother's breath. I couldn't let that happen. So, I staged a tragedy. I induced labor in secret, hid my living son, and placed a fake corpse in the crib with a note: The Vitti Legacy. I escaped while they mourned. Five years later, Luca finally found the doctor’s confession. He learned that Clara had orchestrated everything. He opened the velvet box I left behind and realized it was empty. Now, he knows I didn't kill his son. I saved him from becoming a monster like his father./0/85829/coverorgin.jpg?v=c402a250c6386a1df3e44b23e07df69b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Escaping The Betrayal's Chill
The biting cold was the first thing I felt, deep in the walk-in freezer where Chloe, my wife of five years, had locked me. My punishment for accidentally breaking an outrageously expensive Patek Philippe, a gift not for me, but for Liam O'Connell, her "soulmate" who was returning to the US today. Hours earlier, her face had turned to ice, her voice dangerously quiet, "You clumsy fool! Do you have any idea what you've done?" Her grip like steel, she' d shoved me inside, snarling, "Two hours. Think about what you did," before the heavy door slammed shut. I had loved her, so much so that I' d sold my firm and inheritance to free her from gambling debts, thinking my selfless love had won her heart. A dream shattered by a hidden journal revealing her rage, resentment, and her true love for Liam, whispering to our son, Leo, "This is your real dad." Now, shivering, I heard a muffled thud, then another, against the door, and Leo' s small voice screaming, "Get out! You made Mom unhappy! Get out of here!" A harder kick, "I don't want you as my dad anymore!" My spirit shattered into a million tiny pieces, the cold from the freezer nothing compared to the chill in my soul. Just as consciousness faded, Chloe unlatched the door, the kitchen light blinding me. She found me collapsed, feverish, but her face was a mask of irritation, annoyed she' d been caught, already on the phone with Liam, gushing, "Leo? Oh, he's wonderful. He calls you 'Dad' all the time now. He can't wait to see you." My son looked down at me, his face twisted in disgust, "You're pathetic." That was the moment. The last flicker of hope died. I stumbled to the guest room, my hands shaking. Ignoring calls, I booked a one-way international flight to anywhere, vowing never to return. Two days later, Chloe was seen on the news, chasing my taxi to the airport, screaming my name in a public meltdown no one, least of all me, could have predicted. I still had no idea how deep her betrayal ran./0/81287/coverorgin.jpg?v=d9596f3aa3652765998fca0a88858307&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Pianist's Reckoning
Ava Thompson, a renowned concert pianist, had a life that felt like a perfectly orchestrated symphony. Her husband, Mark Chandler, an architect from a powerful family, was her biggest fan, her rock, their love a fortress built over shared dreams and quiet evenings. Her quiet, seemingly sweet cousin, Lila Hayes, lived with them, a shadow Ava had welcomed into their sunshine. The first dissonance struck when Lila's prized Persian cat, Snowball, vanished. Then came Lila's theatrical despair, followed by her chilling accusation: "You did this!" She dramatically "found" a crudely written note: "Stay away from my husband. Next time, it won't be the cat that disappears." She claimed I wrote it. My heart pounded, expecting Mark to laugh it off, to defend me. He didn't. His eyes, once full of love, turned cold, filled with a chilling disappointment. He believed her. He banished me to our secluded lake house, confiscating my phone and keys, isolating me completely. A week later, he made me his spectacle: dressing me in a maid's uniform, fastening a jangling cat collar around my neck, and then, in front of our high-society circle, he leashed me to the veranda post like an animal. My Mark, the man who called me "magic," who vowed he couldn't breathe without me, orchestrated this grotesque public humiliation. Was it all a lie? How could years of devotion dissolve in the face of my cousin's fabricated malice? My spirit had been crushed, but as the storm raged, desperation ignited a spark. Bleeding and barefoot, I smashed a window, tearing off the mocking bell, and made a desperate call for help. They thought they had killed Ava Thompson. They were about to witness her rebirth, stronger and deadlier than ever, ready to reclaim her life and expose their monstrous betrayal./1/102052/coverorgin.jpg?v=b0170e856c1b1e6df0545ce75061fa79&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Burning Down His World Of Lies
My husband, Dax, was cold and distant, obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, Frida. His neglect cost me our first child. Then, Frida' s schemes cost me my dream job. When I became pregnant again, Dax abandoned me while I was in agony to rush to Frida's side for a minor scratch. This time, I didn't just lose the baby-I almost died. He never even visited me in the hospital. Instead, he was photographed comforting Frida, his "one true love." His mother finally revealed the truth: Dax's loyalty stemmed from a twisted childhood memory. He believed he had saved Frida from a traumatic event, a debt he felt he owed her for life. But as I lay broken, a memory of my own surfaced. A dark warehouse. A kind boy who saved me. A promise whispered. It wasn't Dax. His entire devotion to Frida was built on a lie. Now, he stands on my doorstep in Argentina, begging for a second chance after I've filed for divorce. He doesn't know that I know his secret. And I'm about to burn his world to the ground./1/102701/coverorgin.jpg?v=93cd1480525534bb692a3a0de5cc3030&imageMogr2/format/webp)
