Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
/0/83956/coverorgin.jpg?v=2553fab21e8f1ceae24d03b1e21f18b3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Fiancee's Vengeance
The roar of the Cheyenne crowd was familiar thunder, but on my 100th matchup against Wesley Johns, it felt heavy. I' d beaten him ninety-nine times straight. Just before I entered the chute, my fiancée Bree held my arm, pleading, "Caleb, please... let him have it." I refused, swinging onto the bull, ready for another easy win. My rope snapped. I hit the dirt, my ankle exploding with pain, hearing a crack louder than the crowd. Wesley won. From the ground, I watched Bree run not to me, but straight to him, embracing him victoriously. Their friends cheered, "That new rope worked like a charm!" My blood went cold as Bree presented my dream prize, a custom saddle, to Wesley. "You don't mind, do you, Caleb?" she asked, her voice bright. In a haze of pain and disbelief, I branded the pristine saddle with a searing iron, a scar for her betrayal. Bree screamed, accusing me of cruelty, diverting medics to a scatheless Wesley. Later, packing my bags to leave her ranch and our engagement, I overheard her call, "Marry him? Oh, honey, please. The plan is to invite him to the wedding. He can watch me marry Wesley." She laughed. My hand froze on the doorknob as the pieces clicked: her protection, Wesley's reputation, my humiliation. The old 'W' brand on my chest, burnt by Wesley himself, throbbed. I left without a word, my professional career shattered, my leg broken. Scrolling through a rodeo forum weeks later, a vintage silver belt buckle, identical to my lost father's, caught my eye. It was the prize at a dusty, unsanctioned rodeo. A new purpose ignited within me. I had to ride, even with a cast. My ride was the performance of a lifetime. But before I could claim what was mine, Bree appeared, ready to challenge me again./1/100503/coverorgin.jpg?v=2120f81b8aff644f922edc91990bdbe7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Grave They Dug For Her
I lay broken in a hospital bed after a brutal car crash, but my family never came. My father and brother were too busy preparing for my manipulative half-sister Ainsley's wedding. The groom was my fiancé, Clayton. While I fought for my life, his last words to me over the phone were a cold command. "Go to hell for all I care." They abandoned me, told the world I was dead, and even carved my name on a tombstone. They buried me under a mountain of lies so Ainsley could steal the life that was mine. But I didn't die. I was reborn. Five years later, I returned as Ivy Richardson-a bestselling author, married to a tech CEO, and backed by a family with unimaginable power. I only came back to settle my mother's estate. But the first person I met was Clayton, standing in front of my grave, mourning the girl he helped kill./0/81685/coverorgin.jpg?v=498a42bf13d3e2b3067abf103fa641d4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Alzheimer's Lie
Ellie Miller, a woman in her sixties withered by diabetes and heartache, lay dying in her bed. For forty years, she'd sacrificed everything for her husband, Richard, only to become his "punching bag" in his supposed decline. The last words she heard were Richard's voice, clear and chillingly lucid, telling his mistress Brenda, "Once Ellie' s gone, we can finally get married." His "Alzheimer's" was a monstrous charade, a performance perfected just for her. The ultimate betrayal, after years of emotional and physical abuse under the guise of an illness, sent a final, searing pain through her heart. It was the crushing end to a life stolen by deceit. But then, a jolt. She woke up, breathing, three years younger, her body lighter, in her own bed. Calendar: June 15th, the precise day Brenda first moved in, the day Richard's manipulative "condition" began. The horror of reliving those miserable years surged, but with it came a cold, furious resolve. This time, she wasn't the dying, submissive wife. Armed with every memory of their lies and her suffering, Ellie vowed to reclaim her life. "We'll see about your future, Richard," she whispered. The game was on, and this time, Ellie was playing to win./1/114130/coverorgin.jpg?v=21d5a3d83c8d29db210e5fb6a44eb8e9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
A Stolen Future, A Secret Bride
My husband, Bennett, and I were New York's golden couple. But our perfect marriage was a lie, childless because of a rare genetic condition he claimed would kill any woman who carried his baby. When his dying father demanded an heir, Bennett proposed a solution: a surrogate. The woman he chose, Aria, was a younger, more vibrant version of me. Suddenly, Bennett was always busy, supporting her through "difficult IVF cycles." He missed my birthday. He forgot our anniversary. I tried to believe him, until I overheard him at a party. He confessed to his friends that his love for me was a "deep connection," but with Aria, it was "fire" and "exhilarating." He was planning a secret wedding with her in Lake Como, at the same villa he'd promised me for our anniversary. He was giving her a wedding, a family, a life—all the things he denied me, using a lie about a deadly genetic condition as his excuse. The betrayal was so complete it felt like a physical shock. When he came home that night, lying about a business trip, I smiled and played the part of the loving wife. He didn't know I'd heard everything. He didn't know that while he was planning his new life, I was already planning my escape. And he certainly didn't know I had just made a call to a service that specialized in one thing: making people disappear./0/86552/coverorgin.jpg?v=2b0b9fdf6642817cf4a7e216fd39a665&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Beyond Her Cruelest Lie
The "Dreamland Adventures" carousel flashed, a stark contrast to the bruised purple sky. It was my twins' fifth birthday, a day meant for joy, but dread tightened in my stomach with every distant thunder roll. Sophia, my neurodivergent daughter, pointed at the Ferris wheel, her voice pure happiness: "Daddy, look! Can we go on that one next? Please?" Leo, always more sensitive, clutched my hand. "It' s getting loud, Daddy." My wife, Olivia, a busy CEO, had insisted on this flashy park, then vanished. This was her grand gesture, now she was nowhere. My tenth call finally connected. "What, Ethan?" Olivia' s voice was sharp, impatient, a loud cocktail party behind her. Mark Jenkins, her ex, laughed nearby. I pleaded, "Olivia, where are you? The storm is getting worse, the park is shutting down rides. The kids are scared." "Don' t be so dramatic. It' s just a little rain." Her lie, so blatant, left me breathless. "I can' t just leave, Ethan. Mark is having an emergency. His father is ill. I need to be here for him." I held Sophia' s hopeful gaze. Olivia' s dismissive sigh echoed: "Sophia will be fine. You' re there, aren' t you? That' s your job. Just take them on one more ride to shut them up and then go home." My heart screamed no, but her words pushed me into a corner. "Okay, sweetie," I said, my voice tight. "One last ride." "This is the best birthday ever!" Sophia shouted as the Cosmic Rocket lurched upward. It was the last thing I ever heard her say. The ride groaned, a metallic screech ripped the air, and her car detached. It just… fell. My world ended. Hours later, on the wet pavement, I received a notification. Olivia' s social media: a picture of her and Mark, champagne glasses raised. "To new beginnings and rekindling old flames! Best night ever." She was celebrating. While our daughter lay dead and our son was broken, she was celebrating. A black, icy rage washed over me. It wasn't an accident. It was the direct result of her choice. Sophia is dead. "Ethan, this is not the time for your melodrama. I told you I' m dealing with something serious. Stop trying to get my attention." Her phone call followed, syrupy and annoyed: "Honestly, Ethan, you need to grow up. I have a real crisis on my hands. Just handle the kids. I' ll send you some money. Buy them something nice." Then, muffled, "Sorry, honey. Just Ethan being needy again." Needy. For telling her our child was gone. My father-in-law, Richard Hayes, arrived, crumpled and old. "My little Sophia." I showed him Olivia' s texts. He heard the voice note. His face shifted from grief to disbelief, then to a deep, terrible fury. "That… woman. She is no daughter of mine." He looked at me, eyes clearing. "I' m so sorry, Ethan. I' m sorry I ever let you marry her. I was a fool." The doctor' s words echoed: "He' s not speaking, Mr. Davis. Selective mutism." Olivia hadn' t just abandoned them. She had destroyed them both. In that sterile hallway, my decision was made. Not about grief, but justice. "I want a divorce. She will never see Leo again." Richard nodded. "Whatever it takes. I' m with you."/0/86228/coverorgin.jpg?v=6ebce3d6b1d777c24a0f4f3049b5cc37&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Ex-Best Friend's Cruelty
The old man hit the pavement hard. One moment I was walking to meet my best friend, Jessica, for coffee, the next my medical student instincts screamed. "Sarah, stop!" Jessica's grip on my arm was tight, her face a mask of alarm. "Don't get involved," she hissed, warning of scams and pickpockets. Her words, and a past trauma of kindness exploited, made me pause, just for a second. A fatal second. In that life, I listened. I stood by, fear warring with my training, as precious minutes ticked away. Mr. Henderson, the veteran, died before the ambulance arrived. The public fallout was immediate and brutal. Jessica, my best friend, painted me as a cold, heartless medical student in a viral interview, cleverly omitting her own role in dissuading me. "Heartless Med Student Lets Veteran Die." That headline destroyed my life. I was suspended from medical school. My boyfriend left me. My address was leaked, and I received death threats, trapped as a pariah in my own home. Jessica, meanwhile, thrived, becoming a celebrated symbol of civic virtue, funneling donations from a foundation in Mr. Henderson's name into her own pockets. The weight of the world's hatred, Jessica's betrayal, and crushing guilt became too much. I lost everything. My future. My will to live. The last thing I remembered was Jessica's triumphant smile on a talk show. Then, darkness. Until I was ripped from it. My eyes flew open. The scent of hotdogs, a taxi's screech, humid air. I was back. Standing on the same sidewalk, my bag in hand. Twenty feet away, Mr. Henderson was just beginning to crumple to the ground. This wasn't a memory. It was happening again. The thud of his body was the starting gun for my second chance. I didn't waste a second./0/99855/coverorgin.jpg?v=0cc81300ce6f9da471e4b4ad517a6791&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Shattered Vows, Unyielding Blood Vengeance
For seven years, I poured my family's fortune into my husband Chris's company, Bell Dynamics. Then, his lover, Dr. Kimberli Luna, intentionally botched my father's routine surgery, leaving him on life support. They locked me in the hospital room, a gilded cage, while Chris ignored my frantic calls. Kimberli appeared, a cruel smile on her lips, revealing a horrifying truth: every crisis in my life-my mother's death, a near-fatal car accident, even the miscarriage of what I thought was our baby-was orchestrated by them. "He was with me every time," she sneered. "You were just an inconvenience." They murdered my father by shutting off his life support right before my eyes, all because I refused to sign a waiver absolving Kimberli of her crime. Chris then had me committed, drained my blood for their future surrogacy plans, and annulled our marriage to marry her. He thought he had erased me, broken me completely. But he forgot about the prenuptial agreement my father insisted on. An agreement that left me with 25% of Bell Dynamics. Now, armed with my father's final gift, I will not mourn. I will avenge./0/96935/coverorgin.jpg?v=f3a69479a75d9967711014189fadced8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Husband's Secret, My Silent War
On our third wedding anniversary, my husband's "best friend," Jade, told a room full of people about the night she spent kissing a scar on his hip. My husband, Julian, just laughed. He chose her, not me. That night, I found their secret group chat. They called me "the ball and chain." But the worst message was from Julian. He confessed he'd been swapping my birth control pills with placebos for a year, all while promising to be a sperm donor for her. He had held me while I cried over my "unexplained infertility," telling me I was all he needed. It was all a sick, calculated lie. The next morning, he left for her birthday trip, forgetting it was my birthday too. He told me to stay home. Instead, I got in my car and followed them. I was done watching my marriage die. It was time to burn his world to the ground./0/81037/coverorgin.jpg?v=b6c5b576bd7d84c97375c24600782396&imageMogr2/format/webp)
No Longer His Second Choice
My Charleston dream wedding to Ethan, my fiancé of ten years, was just days away. Our future together felt set, a lifetime hand-in-hand. Then, my smart home security feed played a horrifying, silent film. Ethan, my fiancé, intimately with Chloe, my stepsister, right there in our house. An undeniable, sickening betrayal. A decade of devotion shattered, revealing I was merely a placeholder. Ethan enabled Chloe's every cruel stunt, from public humiliation to outright wedding sabotage. He dismissed my pain, protected her lies, and left me invisible, even after injury. My world crumbled. Grief gave way to a cold, burning rage. How could I have been so blind? So carelessly used? The truth hit hard: I was just a prop in their long, illicit affair. But the wedding would still proceed. Only, it wouldn't be their triumph. It would be my grand exit, a public act of devastating defiance. I would ensure their world came crashing down around them. My countdown to liberation had officially begun./1/103424/coverorgin.jpg?v=f31675876b8693225bdf99e48b826cc2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Five Years, A Forgotten Name
He remembered my childhood pet' s name, our first meeting, and my obscure tea brand, but for five years, Braylon couldn't remember I was allergic to shrimp. It glistened in my pasta, a cruel reminder of how little of me registered in his mind, especially as he laughed with a familiar blonde across the room. My stomach churned, not from the allergy, but from a deeper sickness. That night, at a sprawling rooftop party, Braylon handed Dallas Huff, a young blonde, a delicate bracelet-a replica of her grandmother's, a story he'd told me a hundred times. "Dallas, this reminded me of you," he said, his voice soft, intimate. She beamed, leaning into him, her eyes sparkling, then flickered to me with a triumphant, venomous gleam. When Dallas purred about a gallery opening, Braylon chuckled, "Eliza will be coming with us. Our anniversary dinner is that night." He turned to me, a forced smile pleading for me to play along. But I was done. "It's over, Braylon," I whispered, "And my name is Eliza." He looked genuinely lost, unable to recall my actual name, while Dallas and his friends mocked his forgetfulness. His eyes, wide and confused, searched my face. "Eliza? What are you talking about? Your name is... it's always been..." He trailed off, genuinely lost. A bitter taste filled my mouth. He remembered every trivial detail of Dallas' s life, but my actual name? It was a blank. Later, he left me stranded on a dark, winding road after I refused to apologize to Dallas. My phone was dead, and I stumbled, breaking my ankle. As I lay there, alone and injured, I sobbed, "Why did I stay? Why did I waste five years on him?" Braylon, meanwhile, drove away, a gnawing unease simmering beneath his anger, only to return to a horrifying scene./1/104073/coverorgin.jpg?v=4d85db99a825638df70c57cf909551c2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Broken Fiancée To Corporate Queen
I walked into the hospital wing to find my fiancé, Derrick, holding his pregnant high-school sweetheart. His plan was sickening: he would publicly claim her baby to save her from scandal, while our child, the one I was secretly carrying, would be hidden away-a shameful 'accident'. He locked me in a damp guesthouse as his mother called me a whore and my unborn child a bastard. But the true cost of his weakness came when she dragged me to a clinic and forced an abortion, killing my seven-month-old baby while Derrick was away caring for his other family. Six months later, I returned. Backed by a powerful new family, I walked into the Bradford Corporation's boardroom to face them all. Derrick looked at me like he'd seen a ghost, not realizing I was there to take his entire empire. I signed the papers that made me his boss and smiled for the cameras. "The old Ava is dead," I whispered. "Long live the queen."/0/60597/coverorgin.jpg?v=ee3fb939181fc0a85ac87ed88cf08790&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rebirth: Shattering My Sister's Facade
After my family went bankrupt, I entered the entertainment industry to support my sister's education. In order to make money, I endured the advances of older men and even drank until I had stomach bleeding. My usually calm sister criticized me for being too eager for success and not respecting myself, but she used my money to help others and gain a good reputation. In order to get her a famous teacher, I exposed the scandals of her competitors. She accused me of being ruthless and malicious, but she didn't refuse the opportunities I fought for her. Later, she became a famous painter while I suffered from the revenge of her competitors, ruined my reputation, and accumulated huge debts. I asked her to ask her wealthy boyfriend for help, but she said, "Sister, I told you before that we should be kind and not have malicious thoughts. Look, you are now facing retribution!" She refused to help me in order to make me realize my mistakes. I was forced to jump off a building. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the day I entered the entertainment industry./1/104074/coverorgin.jpg?v=59ccc78ddb0f0aed2eeefc9ab97e21ae&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Love He Destroyed, My New Power
After seven years together, I told my boyfriend, Jaxon, I was pregnant. I thought it was the beginning of our forever. Instead, I found him at my prenatal clinic, comforting his secret, pregnant wife. He called our life a lie, a "business arrangement." His family beat me, humiliated me, and locked me in a dusty attic with rats for a month, leaving me to starve while he took his wife to her appointments. He promised me a future, a family, but chose to protect her and abandon our child. I was just an inconvenience to be discarded. So when they finally dragged me to the hospital, I made a choice. I waited for him to arrive after the procedure, his face full of fake concern. He saw the blood-stained sheets and his face crumbled. "What... what have you done?" he stammered. I smiled, my voice as cold and empty as my womb. "I got rid of it, Jaxon. I aborted your baby."/0/99857/coverorgin.jpg?v=48b678171aa93afcb95183db2b7d3412&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Price Of His Twisted Love
Eight years ago, my husband, Greyson, framed me for a car accident that cost me my legs, my parents, and my unborn child. He did it all to protect another woman, his political prodigy friend, Isla. He threw me in prison for three years, using my mother's fragile life as leverage to keep me silent and compliant. I was his puppet, a broken ballerina whose only escape was the phantom ache of a dance I could no longer perform. After I was released, broken and alone, he knelt before me on my comeback stage, confessing everything to a live audience. He admitted he faked the explicit photos that ruined my name and that Isla was the one who hit me with her car. He said he did it all for love, a twisted, possessive love that destroyed everything it touched. But his confession had a price. He had already killed Isla. And as he was sentenced to death, he had one last request: to see me./1/104075/coverorgin.jpg?v=026ea8092ad0de335fa1fcbaaafe02d1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
A Legacy of Lies, A Love Lost
My family called me a cold, controlling workaholic. My husband, my sister, even the brother I raised-they all lived in the architectural empire I built, yet they resented me for it. Then, the doctor gave me a few months to live. But before I could even process my own death sentence, my husband was already asking me to give up my only chance at survival-a spot in a life-saving trial-for my "sick" sister, Cayla. They took everything. My company, my fortune, my home. At a lavish party celebrating my "generosity," my own son looked me in the eye and told me he hated me. They praised my selflessness as they stripped me of my life's work. But I knew Cayla wasn't sick. I knew they were just waiting for me to die. So I smiled and gave them the perfect woman they always wanted. But my real gift wasn't my fortune or my life. It was the truth I left behind, a final act designed to trap them in a prison of guilt they could never escape./0/81364/coverorgin.jpg?v=788afbd518d81a0735865ef27292b721&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Phoenix Heiress: A Second Chance at Vengeance
My life ended with my own brother' s hands pressed tight around my neck. Ethan, obsessed with our stepsister, Sophia, saw me as the monster, believing her every manipulative word. He was going to make my death look like a suicide, all to give her my share of the family fortune. The world faded to black. But then, I woke up. To screaming. To gunshots. I was back, reborn into that same, horrific nightmare: our home under invasion, my mother already bleeding out, just like before. I knew what I had to do. I fought to save her, racing against time, only to be met by my fiancé, Liam. Instead of aid, he spouted Ethan' s cruel lies, accusing me of arson and a "psychotic episode." He dismissed my critically injured mother as an "actress," trying to have me arrested for a fabricated crime. The man I loved believed them over the horrifying truth right before his eyes. How could these blatant deceptions hold such sway? Why were they all so blind to Sophia' s true nature, so quick to believe I was deranged? This wasn't just jealousy; something far more twisted was at play. This time, I wouldn't let history repeat itself. I would uncover the true architect of this chaos and reclaim my life./1/106347/coverorgin.jpg?v=b7d3310e30b35a421c325f44d3ebcc40&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Claimed By My Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle
I spent our third anniversary alone in our penthouse, adjusting a white rose and waiting for a man who didn't want to come home. When my fiancé, Chris Osborne, finally arrived, he didn't notice the 1982 Lafite or the dinner I’d prepared. He looked at me with disgust, calling my desire for a wedding date "pressure" before storming out to a private club. I followed him, hiding behind a marble pillar at The Vault as I recorded his voice on my phone. He was laughing with his friends about a $20 million bet. He called me a "boring ice queen" and a "marble statue," explaining that he only needed to keep me around until the merger closed so he could steal my shares and "cut me loose." To make it worse, my own father was in on it, prioritizing his stock price over his daughter's life. Broken and barefoot in a torrential Manhattan downpour, I sought refuge at the Four Seasons. I collapsed into the arms of a tall, dangerous-looking stranger and begged him to take me upstairs. I wanted to be erased, to forget the transaction my life had become. After a night of salt and desperation, I left my engagement ring on his nightstand as payment for services rendered and fled. The next morning, I realized I had jumped from the frying pan into the furnace. My "stranger" wasn't a nobody. He was Gallagher Osborne—the ruthless patriarch of the family and my fiancé’s uncle. He tracked me to a private clinic, trapping me in a room while holding my medical file and the ring I’d discarded. He told me I was his now, and that he’d dismantle Chris piece by piece if I didn't comply. I was a piece of currency to my father, a bet to my fiancé, and a prize to his uncle. I had no allies, no escape, and no mercy left. I realized that being the "perfect daughter" had only made me a target. If they wanted to play games with the "Ice Queen," I decided to give them a frostbite they would never forget. I trashed my art gallery, backdated a diagnosis for a psychotic break, and sent a cryptic suicide note to Chris. As Gallagher watched from the shadows and Chris panicked over his investment, I began the process of scorching the earth. The merger was still happening, but I wasn't the bride anymore—I was the wrecking ball./1/104076/coverorgin.jpg?v=4069479bfbc1c657df3bce1238a05b38&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Broken Sister To Beloved Wife
After our parents died in a plane crash, my brothers were my whole world. That ended the day they brought Francis home-a manipulative liar they treated like a saint while he systematically turned them against me. He framed me for everything, from fake injuries to sabotaging the neuro-linker compound that was my life's work. My brothers always chose his crocodile tears over my truth. "He's in the hospital, Jenna. Thanks to you," Bryan snarled over the phone. They even offered him my childhood bedroom right in front of me, as if I was already a ghost. They had no idea I was about to become one. I had a one-way ticket to Zurich and a contract with their biggest rival, a man who saw my value when my own blood saw a problem. I wasn't just running away-I was taking all of their secrets with me./1/111214/coverorgin.jpg?v=57d7dc288640709775d9f4909d31888a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My secret lover is the CEO
It's common knowledge that Ethan married me only because I look like his first love. Three years of marriage, and he never once slept with me, because he thought it would be a desecration of his first love. On the surface, I was madly in love with him. In reality, I was blowing through his money like crazy and keeping a man on the side. But now there's a problem. The man I've been keeping… how does he look exactly like the richest man in New York? And even have the same name?/0/80716/coverorgin.jpg?v=5af72257d24a3ea0899de00ae59ffdbf&imageMogr2/format/webp)
