Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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He Faked Amnesia To Break Our Vows
I was sealing our wedding invitations with crimson wax when I heard my fiancé through the slightly ajar study door. Ethan wasn't reciting the poetry he’d written for me over the last seven years. He was outlining the logistics of his betrayal. "If I fake amnesia after the 'accident' tonight, I can delay the wedding without the family stopping the merger," Ethan laughed, ice clinking in his glass. "And Ava? The Canary?" his friend asked. "Ava is property. You maintain property; you don't have fun with it. While she plays nurse, I get a medical exemption to sleep with Chloe." My world shattered. I fled into the rainy night, blinded by tears, until headlights turned my world upside down. I woke up in the wreckage, my arm shattered, tasting blood. Ethan arrived moments later. But he didn't run to me. He stepped right over my bleeding body to comfort Chloe, who had a minor scratch on her forehead. "I've got you, baby," he cooed to his mistress, looking at me with nothing but cold annoyance. "Don't worry about her. She's tough." He left me in the street. By the next morning, the narrative was set: The tragic Don had lost his memory of his fiancée, but miraculously remembered his 'true love,' Chloe. He evicted me from our penthouse while I was still in surgery. He thought he had won. He thought the Canary would just die in the cold. He forgot one thing. I knew where he hid the bodies—literally. I walked into his staged public proposal, slammed my ring on the table, and left a note under it. *I remember everything. And so do you.* Then I boarded a plane with his secret incriminating journal in my bag. The empire was about to burn./0/79551/coverorgin.jpg?v=6bf0d4755eebdf885831c1be1a6d1307&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Husband's Double Life
My life with Liam Goldstein was a fairytale, a perfect love story plastered across every magazine and TV screen in Manhattan. He'd even unveiled the "Maya's Horizon" necklace, a multi-million-dollar cascade of sapphires, celebrating our perfect devotion. But fairytales are just that – tales. Then came the burner phone, the hushed calls, the screenshots, and hotel receipts that screamed 'affair'. I watched him live-stream gifts to his young mistress, Ava Sinclair, calling her his "queen," only to later find her visibly pregnant in a hospital, flaunting our engagement necklace and talking about a "situation" with me. His friends, the same ones who toasted our "perfect love," smirked as he publicly kissed Ava and joked about his "side action," assuring her I'd "never find out." Every grand gesture he'd made, from donating a kidney to cultivating a white rose garden, flashed before my eyes, revealing themselves as calculated performances. How could the man who saved my life, the one I vowed to, betray me with such grotesque audacity, in front of the world and his complicit inner circle? It felt like a sick cosmic joke, a public humiliation disguised as love. But I had given him a warning on our wedding day: "If you ever lie to me, truly lie, I will vanish from your life as if I never existed." Now, it was time to activate the Phoenix Initiative, erase Maya Goldstein, and leave Liam with nothing but ghost of a promise he had shattered./1/102078/coverorgin.jpg?v=6b76d75d40561bf7a94e5fbff5aa76d4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Matcha Scent of His Betrayal
My ten-year marriage was a transactional lie, built on an astrologer's prophecy that my chart would ensure my husband's success. But on my birthday, he abandoned me to take his young intern, Anais, to the sci-fi festival I' d dreamed of for years. He came home smelling of her sweet matcha perfume, a green hair tie and a festival souvenir tucked in his pocket. He called me dramatic, said she was "fragile" and needed him. At our anniversary gala, meant to be his grand apology, I watched him kiss her passionately on the terrace during the fireworks display. He was still whispering promises in my ear, completely oblivious. That night, I left him the divorce papers and my wedding ring. But he tracked me down on my solo trip to Utah, finding me with my new guide, Casey. He punched Casey, then accused me of cheating. "You belong to me!" he roared. Just then, his phone rang. It was a video call from a hysterical Anais. "Howard, I'm pregnant! My parents are furious! They're demanding we get married immediately!"/0/51236/coverorgin.jpg?v=6970612f09b5746499a10a893c961a56&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Bittersweet Arrangements : A Sugar Dady Affair
"Uncle, is it wrong if I like you?" Elena whispered, successfully freezing Devan's body. "I don't know why this feeling has to be present. And I'm stupid why it has to be with my parents' best friend," Elena admitted, realizing her mistake."Of course not, El. It's natural for a daughter to like or even idolize her own father," answered Devan calmly, trying to make Elena aware.Those gentle but full of thorns words immediately stuck, tearing Elena's heart. Is this what it feels like to have a broken heart?Devan's facial expression turned dark when his sharp eyes fixed on the hazel eyes in front of him which were starting to look teary. Slowly the girl's lips opened. He seemed to be shaking violently to say a word."But...but El doesn't think of Uncle like Dad. El really likes Uncle," Elena honestly said while holding back the pool of water that was pressing on the corner of her eyes.It's all about love, hope and age. Can they convince the world that love never knows time and age?/0/84401/coverorgin.jpg?v=cd4cf00dd4118d521ca0b153c18e34b6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Wife, Her Intern, And The Watch
My phone buzzed, pulling me from millions in quarterly reports. It was Instagram. I found a picture of my wife' s intern, Ethan, smirking, wearing my grandfather' s prized Rolex – a priceless family heirloom. His caption: "A huge thank you to the most generous boss and mentor, Sabrina Anderson, for this incredible gift." Rage, cold and sharp, washed over me. I messaged her, "Where is my watch?" Her reply: "I loaned it to Ethan. Relax, Nate. Don't be so dramatic. It's just a watch." "Just a watch." Her words shattered everything. All the sacrifices, the empire I built for her. My anger turned to icy resolve. She didn't just disrespect the watch; she disrespected my family, my history, and me. I made a call. Her custom Porsche, impounded. Her designer wardrobe, shredded. There was no turning back. This wasn't just about a watch; it was about reclaiming my life./0/89720/coverorgin.jpg?v=38061431b7c3a5b1d745a0368512b074&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Regret Cheaper Than Dust
Everyone in Seavelt knew that Dr. Ethan Caldwell, the city's top gynecologist, never got close to women. No matter how many youthful figures stood before him, he never so much as glanced their way. I always thought I was different, even after ten years together, when he wouldn't let me touch him. If my fingertips accidentally brushed his sleeve, he'd snap, "Don't touch me." After another failed attempt to climb into his bed, he sent ten men to sleep with me. Afterward, when I cried and lashed out at him, he said flatly, "I can't let you live like a nun forever." The eleventh time he arranged for someone to pin me to the bed, I lost it and swallowed two hundred sleeping pills. When I woke up, Ethan, for the first time ever, allowed me to touch him. I thought I could slowly win him over. But the next day, at his private villa, I caught him holding another woman in his arms. He kissed the top of her head, his eyes burning with a passion I'd never seen. When I confronted him, Ethan looked at me coldly. "Clara's not like you. She doesn't have those filthy thoughts or try to seduce men." I bit my lip until I tasted blood. "Fine, Ethan. Let's break up."/1/107241/coverorgin.jpg?v=d1f138a007c48802b1d200eecde507cc&imageMogr2/format/webp)
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./1/101140/coverorgin.jpg?v=d37e0fd7b04d1056a7ce5c67fc160ad5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Wife He Tried to Erase
My doctor told me I had two weeks before a cerebral hematoma erased all my memories. I called my husband, Griffith, my rock, desperate for his comfort. He hung up on me. A text message followed: Come to the Aurora Gallery. Now. There, I was drugged, stripped naked, and put on a rotating pedestal as a live art installation for his mistress, Beryl. He watched from the crowd, smiling, and kissed her as the audience applauded my humiliation. When I discovered I was pregnant, he hid the sonogram. Then, for Beryl's next "art concept," he had his men drag me to a hospital and forced me to abort our child. He put our baby's body on display in the gallery. After I was kidnapped by men Beryl hired, I called him one last time, begging for my life as they held me over a cliff. He was with her. "Stop this nonsense," he said, annoyed, before hanging up. They cut the rope, and I plunged into the icy sea. But I didn't die. I woke up in Florence with no memory, a new name, and a kind man named Conner who nursed me back to health. Two years later, I returned to New York on Conner's arm, ready to attend our engagement party. And I saw him in the crowd, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Adelia?" he whispered, his face a mask of hope and horror. "Is that really you?"/1/102548/coverorgin.jpg?v=e32feb19df313f2fb299ff8ed1bbfa99&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From ATM To Tech Queen's Empire
For thirteen years, I worked myself to the bone for my boyfriend, Angel. We were just $500 shy of our $100,000 goal for a house and a wedding. Then came the frantic late-night call. His aunt needed $50,000 for life-saving surgery. I sent our entire life savings without a second thought. But when I fell and injured myself rushing to the hospital, he told me he was busy and hung up. I found him there, not in an ER, but in a private wing, coddling his influencer mistress over her sprained ankle. My money was for her. He wasn't a struggling artist; he was a secret millionaire who'd used me as his personal ATM for over a decade. When I confronted him, he leaked my private photos to the world, painting me as an unstable ex to protect his new life. He left me broke, humiliated, and physically injured on the street. He thought he had won. But he forgot who I was. I picked up the phone and called my mother, the CEO of Mayli Tech. "Mom," I said, my voice steady. "I'm ready to take you up on that offer."/1/115063/coverorgin.jpg?v=a50755739c939bb4ac82457dff93b53c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Loved Me When You Didn't
Kaitlyn Barton POV: After three years building my family's hotel empire abroad, I came home to New York, expecting a warm embrace from my childhood fiancé, Edwin. Instead, he greeted me with a warning. He told me to be gentle with his new girlfriend, Kacy, painting me as a villain before I even knew her name. At my own welcome-home party, he let her stage a dramatic fall and then publicly blamed me for it, his eyes burning with a hatred I'd never seen. He cradled her in his arms as if she were a fragile doll I had broken. "Happy now, Kaitlyn?" he snarled, shattering twenty years of our shared history in front of everyone we knew. In his eyes, I was no longer his love, but a monster he needed to protect his new flame from. As he stormed out, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Everett Rowe, the man who had quietly loved me for five years. "If you are truly ready, I will marry you. Right now. Just say the word." My fingers moved on their own. "Yes," I typed. "I'll marry you." The moment I stepped back onto New York soil, a city I had once shared completely with Edwin, he greeted me not with a hug, but with a warning about his new girlfriend, painting me as the villain before I even knew her name. Three years abroad, cultivating my family's hotel empire, had prepared me for many business battles, but nothing for the cold, calculated betrayal that awaited me at home. He had replaced me, and then twisted our shared history, turning me into the aggressor he now needed protection from. This was not the reunion I had envisioned, nor the Edwin I remembered. My heart, which had swelled with anticipation, now froze into a solid block of ice./0/85340/coverorgin.jpg?v=e05c620ba01da09d665527693dc1b2ae&imageMogr2/format/webp)
A Wife's Treachery, A Husband's Rebirth
The last thing I remembered was the cold, sterile air of the prison visiting room. Sarah' s face, twisted into a mask of contempt, spewed venomous words at me. "Ethan, that data-exfiltration device was clearly planted by you; you were just jealous of Alex and wanted him dead!" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the thick glass. "I truly regret leaving Alex for a simpleton like you; you deserve to rot in prison for what you did to him!" Then the guard pulled me away, the clang of the steel door sealing my fate: life in prison. For a crime I didn't commit, framed by my own wife. It all started with a ring, a smart ring Alex Thorne, her "mentor" and my rival, gave her. My FBI instincts screamed security risk, but Sarah, blinded by his charm, wore it anyway. That night, I found a sophisticated data-exfiltration device hidden inside, an espionage tool. I tried to protect her, to buy time, to frame it as a vulnerability in Thorne' s tech, sacrificing my career. But she betrayed me, leaking classified files, framing me with meticulous precision. The evidence was overwhelming, and I was arrested. The day in the visiting room, her final, venomous blow, shattered the last fragments of my soul. If I could do it all over again… Then, a wave of warmth, the scent of coffee, not prison food. I opened my eyes to sunlight in my living room. Sarah sat on the couch, her face lit with that same excited glow. In her hands, a small, sleek black box. "Ethan, look what Alex gave me!" she said, her smile bright and guileless. Time hadn't just rewound; it had given me a second chance. This time, I wouldn't be a fool. I wouldn't save her. I would save myself./1/101766/coverorgin.jpg?v=b5510b340da8094b145f04c600ca7f44&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Marrying His Rival: The Jilted Wife's Sweet Revenge
"Her blood type is a match. It’s the only option." I froze outside the conference room door, the quarterly reports digging into my ribs. I knew that voice. It was Ben, my husband’s best friend and doctor. But the next voice, cold and devoid of warmth, shattered my world. "Then we do it," my husband Ethan said. "Chloe cannot wait any longer. If Ava is the match, then Ava is the solution." For the past month, Ethan had been obsessed with my health, insisting on daily "vitamins" and endless checkups. He called it love. Standing in that hallway, I realized he was actually shopping for spare parts. "She is your wife, Ethan," Ben argued weakly. "You can't just harvest her like a crop." "She became my wife because she was useful," Ethan replied, his indifference cutting deeper than any scalpel. "Now, she can be useful for this." The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. The nausea I’d been feeling wasn't stress. I was pregnant. And those "vitamins" he fed me every morning? They weren't supplements. They were poisons designed to ensure I remained a viable donor. He was killing his own child to save his mistress. To him, I wasn't a partner. I was livestock. An asset to be liquidated for parts. I didn't burst into the room. I didn't scream. I walked away in silence, my hand hovering over my stomach. He wanted my kidney? He wanted to carve me up? I decided right then. I wouldn't just leave. I would terminate the pregnancy, fake my death, and burn his entire world to the ground./0/32308/coverorgin.jpg?v=e6c0bdbe2b4b788b5b505c63c16fa64a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Meeting Mr. Right By A One-night Stand
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" Anderson's back stiffened. Undoubtedly, she was beautiful. After a while, he said uneasily, "Yeah." Clarissa moved closer to him. She whispered in his ear and she thought that her voice was very low, "If I want to sleep with you, will you agree?" He narrowed his eyes slightly and said with meaningful eyes, "You have to pay the price for sleeping with me. Are you sure?" "Money? I have money."Clarissa laughed,"Aren't they looking down on me? I'm going to find someone who is much better than him. I want to piss them off!" She then put her arms around his neck and kissed his lips. It was a torrid night. The next morning, however, he handed her a copy of the marriage application she had signed. -------------------------------------- Clarissa Chapman, one day, when delivering condoms to a hotel room, she found her client was her... fiance? She caught her fiance and half-sister in bed! Only then did Clarissa realize that her six-year-relationship boyfriend had cheated on her! What's more ridiculous? Her father said it was because she wasn't attractive and her sister's more deserving of him. Dumped her douchebag fiance, she bumped into her Mr. Right by a one-night stand! Wait... why was this man looked exactly like the Billionaire CEO - Anderson Jordan on TV?! Anderson was of many things, handsome, considerate, and loyal. She'd never imagine a gorgeous like Anderson would fall in love with her, until that day... Her nightmarish family found her, trying to drag her to the miserable past...again.../0/79552/coverorgin.jpg?v=687e310de846e0f86932a1599d73d122&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Sister's Lover, My Husband
My life with Mark was perfect, a picture of happy marriage. He and his identical twin, David, ran a thriving brewery, and together with my sister Jess, we were an unbreakable foursome. Then, a shattering phone call. David, always so full of life, had collapsed and died. Weeks of agonizing grief followed, but the true nightmare began at a solemn family dinner. Mark's mother, Brenda, demanded the unthinkable: I was to carry David's child for my sister, a vessel for the "Thompson legacy." My own mother, always favoring Jess, twisted the knife, urging me to "be understanding." I stood paralyzed, while Mark, my supposed anchor, vehemently defended me. But that defense was a cruel facade. One night, I found him in my guest room, not comforting my grieving sister Jess, but kissing her. And then I heard it: "I want your baby, Mark. Openly. Not... not David's ghost." Jess was pregnant with his child. The man who swore to protect me was betraying me with my own sister, all while their desperate family tried to force me into a truly monstrous act. Every loving gesture, every word of trust, twisted into a grotesque lie. Was I truly so blind? So easily manipulated? Why me? Why this profound and sickening betrayal? That night, the naive wife died. A cold, hard rage ignited. I demanded a divorce, packed my bags, and moved halfway across the country. But Mark, Jess, and their twisted family thought they could sweep me aside. They were wrong. I wasn't running; I was retreating to draw the battle lines. This wasn't just about escape anymore. It was about meticulously crafting the perfect retribution, a revenge so complete, they'd wish they never crossed me./1/102079/coverorgin.jpg?v=486ae6fa60474bbd23b61d2a45560a7e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Peace Beyond His Regret
My boyfriend, Damien, chose a Vegas trip with his toxic best friend, Branden, over our relationship, ignoring my ultimatum that if he walked out, we were over. He walked. A week later, he was back, dangling a designer handbag as a peace offering. But while he was partying, I was in the ER with a severe, stress-induced anxiety attack. The final blow came when I saw Damien had 'liked' Branden' s social media post mocking my pain. He stood outside my apartment, laughing with Branden, calling me "dramatic" and "clingy," completely unaware I had already packed his entire life into boxes. "What... what is all this, Cecil?" he stammered, his face turning from shock to rage as he saw his belongings ready for the movers. "What have you done?" I looked him dead in the eye, my voice cold and steady. "We're over, Damien. So, are these boxes going to your place, or to Branden's?"/0/84871/coverorgin.jpg?v=903912920d3e956943176ff60f9a58ba&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rose Garden Revenge
For ten years, I, Eleanor Vance, played the perfect wife, silent and supportive, while my celebrated architect husband, Robert, built his monuments of glass and steel-and enjoyed a revolving door of ninety-nine mistresses. But the real crack in my meticulously constructed facade came when his latest, Liam, moved into our guesthouse and began digging up my most cherished possession: my rose garden, a sacred memorial to the two children we lost. Not only did Robert permit this desecration, but he publicly humiliated me, praising Liam as a "dazzling talent" at a lavish party more extravagant than our wedding, while our social circle whispered and pitied me. The ultimate blow came when he used the memory of our dead children as a weapon, ordering me to kneel before Liam. How could he so casually dismiss my grief, my sacrifices, and the sacred space I carved out of our shared tragedy? How could a man I loved with every fiber of my being tear down my very soul for an empty imitation of a past ghost? In that shattering moment, as a cruel smile spread across his face, I knew my love for him was finally dead; and Eleanor Vance, the dutiful wife, chose to embark on a radical, irreversible path to reclaim her life, her dignity, and her legacy, planning a public, messy fight he wouldn' t see coming./1/102705/coverorgin.jpg?v=6b9713646879215ea1369b33df93e266&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Public Betrayal: My Husband's COO
At our company's launch party, while I was pregnant with our child, my husband's COO, Dorian, slid her hand into his. She leaned in and purred that she was already "taking care of" his unique needs, a public declaration of their affair. My husband, Bryon, just laughed nervously, his classic tell when he was caught. The next morning, after I'd made the gut-wrenching decision to terminate our pregnancy, I saw them again. I stumbled and fell to the pavement. Bryon rushed to my side, but when Dorian faked a dizzy spell, he abandoned me on the ground without a second thought to cradle her in his arms. Lying there, forgotten on the dirty sidewalk, I finally understood. He didn't just cheat; he had no care for me or the child I had just lost. All my love and sacrifice meant nothing. As he walked away with her, I pulled out my phone. "Dad," I said, my voice ice-cold, "Pull every penny from AuraTech. And get me the best lawyers. I need divorce papers and a termination of pregnancy consent form. Tonight."/0/86592/coverorgin.jpg?v=4b00bc76d62039b45520749f83ee4284&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Betrayed By Blood, Loved By None
The valedictorian medal, cold against my skin, was a stark reminder of the ceremony an hour ago. My father' s face was a mask of disappointment, my mother fussed over my adopted brother, Alex, who sat slumped on the sofa. My crime? Not mentioning Alex in my valedictorian speech. An academic speech, not a family showcase. But to them, it was a deliberate act of cruelty, a way to "overshadow" Alex, who had just failed two finals and wouldn' t even get a full diploma. My mother accused, "Every success you have is just another way to remind him of what he isn't." My father added, "Family is supposed to support each other, not tear each other down. We are so disappointed in you." All my life, I'd craved their approval, but it was never enough. Alex was their sun; I, a distant, cold star. I tried to offer a peace offering-a framed photo of us, genuinely happy, from years ago. My mother twisted in disgust, pushing it away. It shattered on the floor, echoing the breaking of my heart. My graduation gift, a car for my internship, was given to Alex instead. My punishment: exile to my uncle' s farm, five hours away. Two hours into the drive, my phone buzzed. It was my mother, not to apologize, but to ask for my student ID for Alex's summer school discount. Then, she demanded I forget my internship and return to tutor Alex. As she listed his needs, a deer appeared. I hit the brake. Nothing. The pedal went straight to the floor. The last thing I heard was the sickening screech of metal against an old oak tree. Time became fluid, I was floating, watching my body in the wreckage. Ten days passed. No one came. My family didn' t notice I was gone. The letter from my internship, rescinding the offer, finally reached them. My father' s brow furrowed, "He's probably trying to punish us." That' s when I saw myself-a faint shimmer. I was a ghost. They couldn' t hear my screams, my explanations. My mother called my physical phone, miles away in the wreckage. Her voicemail, dripping with fury, not fear, echoed in my spectral ears: "This childish tantrum is over. Your brother needs you!" Anguish, cold and sharp, pierced through me. They only thought of Alex. What happened to us? And why was I, who worked so hard, always the family problem? What twisted delusion allowed them to ignore my efforts, my needs, my very existence, all while lavishing adoration on Alex? Why did they choose to be blind, even in my death? The answer would come, slowly, agonizingly, as my spectral presence clung to the home that no longer recognized me. And the truth, when it finally surfaced, would shatter their world just as irrevocably as my body had been shattered on that dark highway./0/48578/coverorgin.jpg?v=1adf9936065d9db4a354e2b09f86ace1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Threads of Betrayal
Could anything be more worse than a betrayal from the ones you loved and trust the most? ****** "You better not be an ingrate or you sure will regret it for the rest of your life, that you know pretty well.. Understood?" "Yes sir!" I managed to answer back as rivers of tears were already rushing down from my eyes. I rubbed the tears off my face with the back of my palm as I walked to the exit of the office. ****** Join Diana Roberts on a heart-wrenching odyssey through betrayal, survival, and the quest for identity. When her mother's tragic death thrusts her into a vicious family power struggle, Diana is cast into the unforgiving streets. Yet, in the shadows of despair, she encounters unlikely allies, including the compassionate Jake Stewart. As she battles demons from her past, a sinister conspiracy unfolds, revealing a tangled web of deception, crime, and a shocking family secret. Can Diana break free from the chains of her lineage, or will she succumb to the darkness that threatens to consume her newfound life? Uncover the gripping saga of one girl's resilience against a world determined to break her./0/79709/coverorgin.jpg?v=dae65ff2a079e79f65a9f29a2bfab3dd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
