Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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My Brother's Twisted Cruelty
For five years, I paid for a crime my brother never committed. I believed he was in prison and our family was ruined, so I endured homelessness, starvation, and constant torment, all for him. But after my third suicide attempt, I overheard a conversation that shattered everything. My suffering wasn't a tragedy; it was a "lesson" orchestrated by my own brother, Ashton. I found him celebrating at our family villa, throwing a lavish party for his girlfriend, Kecia. He called me dramatic and ungrateful. When I finally fought back, he slapped me to the ground, admitting they'd been traveling the world while I begged for scraps. My five years of hell had been their vacation. My life was nothing but a twisted game to teach me humility. So I decided to teach him a final lesson in return. As I bled out in my filthy apartment, I made one last call. "Ashton," I whispered, my voice fading. "Is the punishment over now?"/0/86627/coverorgin.jpg?v=4c287c623c19e1a7c35270e82ab2ae4f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Reborn For Vengeance, Not For Love
The sterile scent of the morgue was the last thing I remembered, watching my own lifeless body while my mother sobbed for someone else. My death, labeled a suicide after pushing my foster sister Ashley down the stairs, was a lie. No one cried for me, Chloe Chen; only for Ashley Miller, my mother Sarah' s "precious" foster daughter. My mother's betrayal had been a slow poison: she' d stolen my inheritance, my future, even fabricated a criminal record for my decorated NYPD father to disqualify me from a prestigious government job, all for Ashley. The final blow was discovering the truth in my mother's safe: a secretly altered birth certificate listing Ashley as her biological daughter, and me as erased. The grief consumed me, and my final confrontation ended my life. Lingering as a ghost, I saw Ashley' s faint, triumphant smirk, very much alive, playing the tragic victim. Rage consumed me-a tearing force demanding justice, revenge. Then, the world twisted violently, dissolving into white light, pulling me backward through time. I gasped, sucking in a real breath of warm, lemon-scented air. I was in my childhood bedroom, my phone buzzing with the date: the day my background check for the government job began. I was alive. I was back. This wasn't just a second chance; it was a chance to fight. I heard my mother' s cheerful voice downstairs, cooing over Ashley: "Ashley, darling, come see what I bought you." She presented Ashley with an expensive designer bag, then offered me a cheap knock-off. In my past life, I' d forced a smile, but now, I saw the deliberate cruelty. "No, thank you," I said, my voice clear and firm. My mother' s smile faltered, her face hardening as I called out her insult and Ashley' s fake concern. When I denied Ashley was my sister, her fury erupted, culminating in a violent slap that left me bleeding. Any shred of hope for my mother vanished with that blow. She blamed me for Ashley's feigned injury, demanding an apology. "You hit your own daughter to defend a fraud," I spat, revealing I knew about Ashley' s true parentage, the truth about Jake Miller. Leaving their shattered lies behind, I contacted Officer Thompson, my father' s best friend, to uncover everything about Jake Miller and their scheme. He revealed the horrifying truth: my mother, a victim of human trafficking by Jake Miller at fifteen, had given birth to Ashley and abandoned her, consumed by guilt. Now, that guilt had been weaponized into a calculated criminal conspiracy by Ashley and the recently released Jake Miller. I was done being manipulated. At Ashley' s lavish "victory" party, poised to celebrate her stolen job, I delivered my counter-punch. As the clock struck 8 PM, Ashley' s name was missing from the State Department list. Mine was at the top. Then, the doorbell rang. Two NYPD officers, with David Thompson, delivered the crushing blows: my mother was arrested for fraud and bribery. Ashley' s meltdown began. I silenced my condemning relatives, exposing my mother' s hypocrisy and her scheme to slander my father and erase me. On the living room TV, I projected the forged birth certificates, revealing Sarah' s deceit and Ashley' s true parentage: the daughter of a human trafficker. "This is my father' s house," I told a stunned Ashley, opening the door. "Get out." She retorted with a threat: "My father will hear about this." Knowing Jake Miller' s greed, I set a trap, luring him into a confession that led to his re-arrest. I sent Ashley a photo of her father in handcuffs. I never heard from them again. The past was behind me. I was Chloe Chen, no longer a victim, but finally free./0/80526/coverorgin.jpg?v=1030e217a1160a467ef73c226a5ca81d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Sister Who Tried To End Me
Our wedding night. The acrid smell of smoke choked me as roaring flames consumed the beautiful new home I’d bought for Chloe. A heavy vase smashed against my skull. Through the blinding pain, I heard her voice, sharp and cold: "You and Mom and Dad ruined my love. I’ve given everything to Ryan. You destroyed my life. Now you can die with me.” The searing heat enveloped me, then, nothing. I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my own bed, not the master suite, entirely free of smoke or the ominous red decorations. My heart hammered against my ribs; disbelief warred with the dizzying joy of being alive. But then my eyes landed on the digital clock: 11:03 PM. June 12th. This was *the* night. The night Chloe was drugged, the horrifying prelude to my murder. A chilling whisper snaked down my spine as Chloe’s strained voice drifted from next door: “Ethan… I don’t feel good…” The phantom pain of shattered ceramic returned, a stark reminder of her betrayal. My first instinct screamed for me to flee, to escape her, to get out while I still could. But a cold, sharp thought pierced through my fear: Chloe was reborn too, and she was still entangled with Ryan. This time, I wouldn't just run. I would expose their schemes, break free from her toxic grip, and ensure my family’s actual tragedy never happened./1/114473/coverorgin.jpg?v=b63057ca022a7515fda6434d728b0600&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late, Mr. Husband, She's Hope
Eliana, once a billionaire heiress, had given up everything to become the perfect ordinary wife for Dustin, meticulously erasing her elite past for him. She cooked, cleaned, and mastered the art of espresso, pouring all her energy into their quiet life. But as she brought him his coffee, she found a bottle of bright pink nail polish and a delicate shark-bone bracelet on his desk, jarringly out of place, instantly shattering her carefully constructed world. Dustin’s cold dismissal stung, yet her corporate upbringing kept her questions silent. Then, her phone buzzed with an anonymous text: "He likes my taste," followed by a photo. It was a woman's pink-nailed hand, intimately on Dustin's thigh in his car, his Patek Philippe watch with its tell-tale scratch mocking her—a watch she had nearly ruined her health to buy him. The elaborate birthday dinner she’d spent hours preparing burned, filling the kitchen with acrid smoke as her marriage turned to ash. Slumped on the freezing floor, a chilling clarity replaced her despair. She clutched the unopened pregnancy test, once a symbol of hope, now a cruel joke. Then, from Dustin's study, came a rare, indulgent laugh. He was on speakerphone with his mistress, Jami, promising her the bracelet, and then, the poisoned blade: "Her? She can't even remember what date it is. She just sits at home all day studying broken recipes." Today was Eliana's 30th birthday, forgotten and weaponized against her. The sorrow evaporated, replaced by cold, absolute resolve. Eliana stepped out from the shadows, her hand flat against the heavy wood, and shoved the mahogany door open with a resounding thud. "Is that so? I didn't realize my recipes were so boring."/0/18108/coverorgin.jpg?v=b75bc606cc2480bbdc48d57780e23432&imageMogr2/format/webp)
MAFIA COLLATERAL (Mafia series 2)
"Do you wish to die, Dr. Sadia?" He inquired all of a sudden, catching her off guard. She was taken aback with his question. What the hell type of question was that? "Of course not." She mumbled through my tears. "Will you do anything to live?" "Yes." She immediately said without thinking. "Alright then," he lowered the gun. She let out a breath that she hadn't even realised that she was holding in. He walked towards her and caught her arm and began to drag her back to the car. She was relieved beyond belief. 'Is he letting me go? He didn't kill me that that means he's letting me go.' She thought innocently. "Are you letting me go?" She inquired in a hushed voice. He scoffed and pulled opened the passenger seat door and shoved her inside. "No," he stood by the door and leaned inside so that he was inches away from her face. "You said you'll do anything to live, right?" "Yes." she gulped, not liking the sound of this. He smirked as his eyes flashed and she saw his expression change from deadly lethal to mischievous. "Welcome to the world of the Mafia Dr. Sadia. You've just become our most important collateral at winning many battles in this Mafia war." Dr. Sadia Rehman is taken as collateral by Zameer Sheikh, in order for him to redeem himself and prove his loyalty and devotion to his boss. A SEQUEL TO MAFIA INDEBTED. COVER CREDITS @Uzmyyhere/0/80370/coverorgin.jpg?v=96d80467064b3f577562902934a4ed22&imageMogr2/format/webp)
One Act of Kindness, One Blacklist
Fresh out of grad school with a hefty education degree and crushing student loans. I tweaked my resume, dropping the master's, just to get a job as a domestic. My first gig was for the ultra-rich Davis family. I quickly discovered their nine-year-old daughter, Chloe, wasn't a "terror" but a traumatized child, neglected and abused. Her parents, especially her mother, ignored her cries for help, then punished her for every slight. I couldn't stand by. I protected Chloe, showed her kindness, and slowly, a bond formed. But the moment their cruel matriarch caught wind of it, she used my falsified resume as an excuse to destroy me. I was fired, blacklisted from every wealthy family in the city, and left penniless, deemed a liar and a troublemaker. How could showing a suffering child an ounce of compassion lead to me losing everything? I was stranded, my career shattered, all for daring to care where others wouldn't. The injustice burned, leaving me with nothing but despair. Just when I thought this was the end, Chloe, the very girl I was accused of "manipulating," ran away from her gilded cage and found me. Clinging to me as her last hope, she whispered, "I have a plan."/0/82873/coverorgin.jpg?v=5185b72329a6b0cd4dc8f3877aef66a2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late For Her Tears
My career was stalling, but I thought I had love. My wife, Cassie, was everything to me, even if it meant sacrificing my own ambitions. But then, HR put me on administrative leave. Why? Because I finally confronted her about David Miller, her "grieving" colleague, whose son, Sammy, was always conveniently sick. Cassie twisted it, accusing me of "harassment," and suddenly, my job was on the line. Yet, she kept prioritizing David, leaving me alone even when I begged her to talk. My own neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, confirmed what my gut already knew: Cassie wasn't just supportive, she was unfaithful. The final straw came when Cassie ditched our "last chance" date for another one of Sammy's "emergencies." I followed her and saw them at the county fair, Sammy perfectly healthy, laughing, with David's arm around her, joking about me being a "placeholder." The truth hit me like a physical blow: I wasn' t just betrayed; I was a pawn. How could I have been so blind? The woman I loved had systematically deceived me, used me merely as a stable background while pursuing an affair. Every sacrifice, every quiet night, felt like a deliberate lie. But I wasn't powerless. I called General Armstrong, accepting a top-secret position. Then, I set a trap. I would make her sign her own divorce papers, right under her nose, finally reclaiming my life./1/102897/coverorgin.jpg?v=687e9dd31b100883a45169168ae7853a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Your Regret, My Revenge
I waited desperately for three years for my lifeline of hope, only to discover that my husband, Vincent, planned to give it to his mistress who was carrying his child. It was then I realized that the unwavering love over those three years was nothing but a heartfelt deception. I didn't want anything to do with this tainted man anymore. But I must seize my life back with my own hands. I erased every trace of myself from my past and dialed a number I hadn't called in ages: "Auntie, take me away. I want to survive." Yet when I rose from the ashes, transformed, the man who had personally pushed me into hell was tormented by regret, slipping into insanity./0/80683/coverorgin.jpg?v=2c1b7f4ad559ac5f0dad7ac2ff2ef8ef&imageMogr2/format/webp)
No More Miss Nice Wife
My husband Ethan and I had built a life together. Ten years of marriage, my career and inheritance poured into his rising tech venture, Innovatech, all from our beautiful Hamptons home. On our tenth anniversary, a young woman named Chloe Washington arrived, her words like a knife: "I'm pregnant. It's Ethan's. You need to divorce him." She had photos. Ethan confirmed it, unapologetically stating he needed an "heir" due to my infertility. He publicly paraded Chloe, even setting her up in an Innovatech office next to his. When I confronted him, Chloe feigned a fall, and Ethan, in a fit of rage, threatened to call security on me, the woman who built his empire. My decade of sacrifice—my youth, my money, my identity—all dismissed as he gaslit me, calling me "hysterical." How could he betray me so utterly, then demand I remain "reasonable" while he erased me from our life? As Ethan extended his hand for the phone, a chilling calm replaced my heartbreak. The broken wife was gone. I dialed the only number that mattered, initiating a battle he never saw coming./1/103210/coverorgin.jpg?v=833084f46071a8377f258c2c03421605&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Intense? Watch Her Soar
I was ready to throw away my entire future for my boyfriend, Aaron. Believing he was the victim of a brutal hazing campaign at our prestigious law firm, I'd arranged for us to escape to a small town, sacrificing my own career. My bags were packed. But at our farewell party, I overheard him laughing with his friends. The hazing was a lie. He just couldn't handle the pressure and felt suffocated by my success. "Chelsea's too intense," he sneered. "Kassandra is different. She needs me. She makes me feel like a man." Kassandra, the sweet new intern he was leaving me for, joined in, calling me "intimidating." They were all laughing at my blind loyalty. My love was a burden. My competence was a threat. He hadn't just betrayed me; he had used my fierce loyalty as a weapon to orchestrate my downfall. But I didn't give them the satisfaction of a scene. I walked away, my heartbreak hardening into cold resolve. He thought he was getting a clean break. He had no idea he had just declared war on the wrong woman./1/103523/coverorgin.jpg?v=f30fe1d9556eb9edbb2c483abaceeb02&imageMogr2/format/webp)
One Hundred Reasons To Walk Away
For three years, I documented my husband Ashton's neglect in a secret ledger I called "The Song of a Hundred Reasons." Each forgotten anniversary and dismissive glance was a point deducted from a hundred. When the points hit zero, I would walk away. The final reason came not as a quiet slight, but as a deafening crash. When a massive chandelier fell towards us in a restaurant, Ashton didn't hesitate. He shoved his "best friend" Bailey to safety, shielding her with his body while I was left to be crushed. I woke up in the hospital with broken ribs and a severe concussion. He never visited. Instead, he spent a fortune on a private med-jet to fly Bailey to a luxury retreat for her "panic attack." Her well-being was paramount; mine was an afterthought. That was the final reason. I signed the divorce papers from my hospital bed and never looked back. Two years later, holding a Grammy for my hit album "Song of a Hundred Reasons," he showed up, begging for a second chance./1/102428/coverorgin.jpg?v=1006123a3f6de712dae18c6a2d277908&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Doctor, The Husband, The Lie
My Broadway dreams died with a fall on stage. For three agonizing years, my husband Hudson was my rock, nursing me through what doctors called a career-ending injury. Then I discovered the truth. My "injury" was a lie, a conspiracy orchestrated by my husband and our doctor, Bethany. They had been slowly poisoning me to keep me crippled and dependent. When I confronted them, they tried to silence me with an overdose. In the hospital, Bethany carved up my body with a scalpel. To complete their twisted fantasy, they decided she would carry my child, forcibly harvesting my embryos while I was awake on a pain-enhancing drug. Hudson just watched. "Just endure it, Emmy," he murmured. But they didn't break me. I escaped and meticulously erased myself from his world. My final act before disappearing was pressing 'send'-unleashing every piece of evidence to the entire world. "You took everything from me," I wrote. "Now, I'll take everything from you. Tenfold."/0/83812/coverorgin.jpg?v=3bad48b4de11627c80c2d280b4a03f3e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Husband's Verdict
I sacrificed everything for her. My top-tier university scholarship, my architectural dreams, all to work for her father' s firm, playing the perfect, accommodating husband to Chloe for five long years. One Tuesday, curiosity led my hand to unlock an ornate wooden box on her vanity, a box she claimed held precious family heirlooms. Inside, there was no jewelry. Only a discreet urn and two receipts: one for a D&C procedure, the other for cremation. My blood ran cold when I saw the 'father' s name' wasn't mine. It was Leo, the musician she' d painted as a crazed stalker, the man I' d served a restraining order to protect her from. That restraining order, my very act of protection, wasn't a deterrent to their affair; it was the ultimate foreplay, according to a recording I later heard. Her family dismissed my pain, my father-in-law openly favored Leo, even hiring him to work alongside me. But the true breaking point came when Chloe watched, impassively, as I thrashed in a cold lake, struggling to breathe after she pushed me in. She walked away, leaving me to drown. The love I had for her didn't just die; it was extinguished, replaced by a chilling void. It wasn't about anger or sadness anymore, but an utter sense of betrayal that twisted my entire reality. And that's when the plan began to form. A cold, precise design to give them the "legacy" they truly deserved, on the biggest stage of all: the dedication ceremony of the skyscraper I designed./1/109937/coverorgin.jpg?v=b8c0fb5ce9911eaaaef351df47395d21&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Far Apart, Safe at Last
During a snow-mountain expedition, an avalanche buried me alive. By the time they dug me out, the cold had already drained every last trace of warmth and life from my body. Julian Crowe dug through the snow with his bare hands for ten straight hours. His fingers were torn and bleeding by the time he finally pulled me out. Then he chartered a private jet and rushed me to the most elite private hospital for emergency treatment. Inside the thermal recovery chamber, a faint thread of consciousness returned to me. Through the haze, I heard Julian arguing with the doctor. "Weren't we supposed to amputate just to save her life? Why are you draining all of her hematopoietic stem cells too? Mr. Crowe, you're personally destroying her last chance of survival!" Julian's voice, usually so controlled, carried a chilling cruelty. "Letting her live safely and comfortably until today is already the greatest mercy I've ever shown her. The only woman who will grow old with me is Serena Vale. And the only thing that can save Serena is her life. She owes Serena that much, and now it's time to repay it." So the promise to live and die together had only been my own foolish fantasy. Julian had married me, Stella Hart, for one reason only. To turn me into a walking blood bank for his precious mistress. If that was the truth, then I would give them exactly what they wanted./0/85220/coverorgin.jpg?v=0bbbd261667ce454549536db740ca40e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Love's Deception, A Fortune's Rebirth
The plan was simple: two weeks of quiet solitude at my apartment, a much-needed break from the relentless grind of my architecture career. But the moment I unlocked the door, a cloying, unfamiliar perfume assaulted my senses, followed by the sight of a stranger lounging on my custom velvet sofa, nonchalantly filing her nails. "Can I help you?" she drawled, dripping with disdain, as I stood dumbfounded in the doorway of my own home, apartment 3B. This woman, Tiffany Stone, introduced herself as my brother Liam' s new girlfriend, claiming this was "Liam's place," scoffing at my very career and dismissing my deeply personal space as a mere "graduation present" for a girl who "drew buildings." The audacity escalated swiftly. Tiffany and her mother, Mrs. Stone-a woman cloaked in fur and radiating venom-informed me they were "redecorating" my apartment and expected me to find a hotel. My cherished minimalist decor and art prints had vanished, replaced by gaudy, tasteless clutter. When I tried to reach my bedroom, where my personal safe contained the deed to the apartment, they physically blocked my path, declaring, "It's not your room anymore. It's our guest room." My own family, my own brother, seemed to be orchestrating this hostile takeover. The situation spiraled into a nightmare; a physical altercation broke out, leaving me bruised and bleeding, yet they accused me of assault. The building manager, Mr. Davis, shockingly sided with them, presenting falsified records to claim the apartment belonged to Liam. Then Liam himself arrived, not as a rescuer, but as the architect of my downfall, embracing Tiffany, feigning concern, and publicly humiliating me. He flatly stated he had transferred the deed to his name and then, with a chilling smile, proposed to essentially sell me off to a business associate. Every accusation, every betrayal, shattered my reality. He even revealed I was adopted, not truly a Reed, trying to strip away my entire identity. But in that moment, as I lay on the floor, a cold clarity crystallized. He had given me a weapon. I seized my T-square, shattered a mirror in a defiant act, and ran, finally breaking free to call for help. From the depths of betrayal, armed with undeniable evidence from a hidden camera and a desperate revelation that Liam, not I, was the adopted one, I watched as Liam, Tiffany, her mother, and the building manager were arrested, their carefully constructed lies crumbling on national television. This was not just about reclaiming an apartment. It was about rebuilding a legacy, reshaping my family's future, and redefining my own purpose./1/102741/coverorgin.jpg?v=ed2c7f952e63c309f0a26c471040c60e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Fiance's Betrayal, My Fiery Vengeance
My fiancé and my adopted sister framed me for burning down our Hamptons beach house. They had me declared insane and used a forged power of attorney to lock me away in a private facility for four years. While I was drugged, tortured, and systematically broken, they stole my company, my reputation, and my life. When I was finally released, they stood before me, dripping in the wealth they'd stolen. Kelly, my sister, even wore my mother's engagement ring, a glittering trophy on her finger. They saw a vacant, docile shell, not the woman who spent every waking moment meticulously planning their ruin. They thought they had extinguished the fire. At a party meant to celebrate their victory, Kelly held up a dog collar studded with cheap rhinestones. "Wear this," she cooed, "and you can have your mother's watch back." I dropped to my knees and barked. They thought it was my final, crushing humiliation; it was the beginning of their end./0/81153/coverorgin.jpg?v=3e376c98a8c8f271a8e3a88d6f093fe8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Beyond the Stuntman
Jack Riley, a top Hollywood stunt coordinator and a discreet civilian specialist for the Department of Defense, was heading to a classified flight. After six critical months away on a secret vehicle testing project, he' d left his multi-million dollar company, Riley's Precision Stunts, and his personal finances in the seemingly capable hands of his longtime fiancée, Brenda. He thought he could trust her with everything. However, his composure shattered on the freeway when a bright orange McLaren recklessly swerved, brake-checked him, and caused a violent collision. The driver, Kyle "King Kyle" Peterson, a preening social media pest, immediately started boasting about his "sugar mama" buying his six-figure supercar. The cold truth hit Jack: it was the exact McLaren Brenda had cooed about wanting for an anniversary gift – a gift he' d wisely refused. Then came the deeper blow: Kyle called Brenda, and her sickeningly sweet voice confirmed she was his "baby," mocking Jack and his truck, declaring it "worthless." She then shockingly attempted to have him "fired" from his own company, even bringing her imposing "assistants" to underscore her authority. Outsiders watched, openly judging Jack, thinking he was just some old, pathetic man. The sheer audacity of her betrayal churned in Jack' s gut. How could the woman he' d loved, the woman he' d empowered and trusted with his entire life' s work and fortune, not only be cheating but actively plundering his company and brazenly siding with a narcissistic opportunist against him, all while he' d been serving his country? The injustice was a suffocating weight. But Jack Riley was no ordinary man. A master of strategic thinking and quiet resilience, he decided then and there, amidst the chaos. He would play their twisted game, allowing them to dig their own graves. He' d meticulously expose every layer of deceit, beginning his calculated, devastating counter-attack that would reclaim everything they thought they' d stolen from him./0/85377/coverorgin.jpg?v=5e4c005a941efd7783bec91cbc49072e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Code Monkey's Revenge
I poured five years of my life into Nexus, the social media giant, building its very soul from lines of code in my quiet apartment. The world knew my live-in boyfriend, Mark Davis, as the CEO of ConnectCorp, the charismatic face of our success, but they didn't know I was the genius behind the curtain. On the eve of our IPO, a critical server failure threatened to derail everything, which I, Ava Chen, single-handedly fixed, only for the doorbell to ring. It was Chloe Miller, my college rival and Mark' s new Head of Product, who sauntered in uninvited, her smile as sharp as her designer suit, to tell me my contract was "terminated, effective immediately." Fired? It was impossible, I was Nexus, the very heart of the company. My call to Mark rang once, then Chloe answered on another phone, locking eyes with me as she faked distress for her "call with Mark," accusing me of aggression. "You' re his mistress," the horrifying realization hit me with the force of a physical blow, confirmed by her cruel smirk and the photo of Mark and me she turned face down. Outside, a crowd of ConnectCorp employees gathered, pointing and whispering, eager witnesses to my public humiliation, confirming my worst fears. Then Mark' s car screeched up, and he stormed out, ignoring me to pull Chloe into a theatrical embrace before yelling, "What the hell did you do, Ava?" Before I could explain, his hand flew through the air, connecting with my cheek, the crack echoing through the silent street. The man I loved, the man I built an empire for, had just publicly slapped me for his mistress. "You' re just the code monkey who got replaced," he sneered, joining Chloe' s cruel laugh as the crowd cheered my downfall. It was in that moment, stripped of everything, that a cold, hard resolve solidified within me. When Mark, attempting a final insult, offered me our old, dilapidated apartment as severance, I grasped the USB holding Nexus' s un-uploaded core. "There' s your data," I declared, throwing the drive to their feet, forcing them to scramble like dogs. Then I walked out, leaving the life I built behind, burning it all down for a chance at true liberation./1/102898/coverorgin.jpg?v=5b53d87fab2f098dd3f4faee24464c6d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Career and Love Life Flourished after a Divorce
On the third day after my unexpected miscarriage, my husband, George Wood, brought home my stepsister, Savannah Ahmed. She was eight months pregnant. My stepmother, Julia Ahmed, said, "The Food family needs a child to continue the family legacy." My father added, "Clara, you must learn tolerance." When Savannah had an accident, George dragged me to the hospital and said, "We must save Savannah, even if we have to drain every last drop of Clara's blood. Clara, you should feel honored that you are still useful." George's cold words pierced through my heart. "You may leave now." I lay alone in the hospital corridor, waiting to die, but no one knew that I had already made a deal with George's most formidable rival, who was like a devil from hell./1/102429/coverorgin.jpg?v=b54868f94dfbabbdfca92208d08d9145&imageMogr2/format/webp)
