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Modern Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
I Divorced My Husband, I Married His Rival

I Divorced My Husband, I Married His Rival

When she's preparing dinner for him, he's out there dating; When she's drinking with men to get a business deal for him, he is announcing to be single for the price of his stock; When she drags herself to the hospital in high fever, he's at the same hospital, taking care of his ex girl friend. She loved him for ten years. She did everything for him and gave him everything she had. She thought their love can never die, yet it did. She doesn't hate him. She's just tired. She turns and left him, only to see that there was a firm chest that has been waiting for her all this time. She is also the one adored in another man's eyes, and when she finally gets a taste of being loved, she realize-- He has never loved her. That day he gets back home, only to be shocked that the woman who has always been there for him was gone. Regret taking over him as he chases after her, only to see another man saying the scared oath on the alter with their hands holding together. That was when he realized-- The innocent girl who loved him, the most precious treasure that he as ever got in his life, is gone. He lost the best thing that has ever been his. Two broken hearts. One fake marriage. A thousand buried secrets. Eva thought love would be enough to keep them together. Ten years loving Stephan. Five years married to him. And one tragic accident that shattered everything they ever were, she's left with a stranger wearing her husband's face. Until the day she finally walks away. And that's when she meets Micah, her ex-husband's enemy, the man who once set her marriage on fire just by existing. He proposes to her a dangerous deal: a one-year marriage that will make Stephan regret ever letting her go. But what starts as a game to wound her ex soon spirals into something raw, tender, and terrifyingly real. Only, Micah isn't what he seems. Behind his easy smile are secrets she was never meant to find, secrets that could destroy them both. And when the truth comes out, love might not be enough to save anyone. When the lies unravel... will her heart choose forgiveness - or freedom?
Bought By The Coldhearted Media Mogul

Bought By The Coldhearted Media Mogul

My bank account was four hundred dollars in the red when my brother called me screaming from the most exclusive club in Manhattan. He said he was going to be killed or arrested, and I was the only one who could save him from the mess he’d made. When I arrived at The Onyx, I found my brother on his knees, accused of assaulting a high-profile socialite. But instead of begging for my help, he pointed a shaking finger at me and screamed, "It was her! My sister set the whole thing up because she wanted money!" The man watching the chaos from the shadows was Adrian Clemons—the billionaire CEO of the company where I worked as a lowly assistant. He didn't look at me with pity; he looked at me with a profound, exhausted disgust, as if I were a stain on his expensive rug. To save his own skin, my brother didn't just lie; he offered me up like a piece of tradeable property. "She'll do anything," he pleaded with the billionaire. "She’s clean, she’s obedient. Just don't send me to jail!" Adrian didn't call the police. Instead, he made a cold, terrifying business proposal: "Lend her to me for one year. I wipe your debt, and the cops stay away." My brother didn't even blink before he snapped, "Done. Take her." I was whisked away to City Hall in a silent Rolls Royce, signing a marriage license before I could even process the betrayal. I wasn't a bride; I was a "human asset" bought to help a cold-blooded monster secure his inheritance. The moment my hand accidentally brushed his during the signing, he recoiled as if I were contagious, his face turning a ghostly, panicked white. He made it clear that I was nothing more than a prop, a girl from the slums meant to spite his elitist mother. As the heavy iron gates of the Clemons estate slammed shut behind me that night, I realized I hadn't just saved my brother. I had entered a golden cage owned by a man who hated my touch, but owned my life for the next three hundred and sixty-five days.
The Surgeon’s Scars: Running From My Past

The Surgeon’s Scars: Running From My Past

I returned to the Hamptons after six years, believing I had finally outrun the ghosts of my past. As a surgeon, I had spent years stitching others back together, yet I remained a collection of jagged shards held together by secrets. I thought I could survive one family dinner, but the moment I stepped inside, the air turned to lead. Then I saw him. Damon Hansen stood in the archway, looking more lethal than the man I’d once loved. When our eyes met, he shattered the crystal glass in his hand with such raw force that blood stained the pristine rug. It was a silent, violent declaration of the rage he’d been nursing since the night I vanished without a word. The dinner was a battlefield. Damon sat across from me with his new girlfriend, Campbell, draped possessively over his arm. He used every word like a blade, mocking my "escape" while secretly ordering the only food I could stomach. He didn't know that I hadn't just run away six years ago; I had crawled away to survive a miscarriage that nearly took my life, a trauma that still made my hands shake at the sight of a child. I fled to Seattle for a clean slate, only to find Damon waiting in the rain. He had traded his business empire for a firefighter’s uniform, joining the city's most dangerous station just to force his way back into my world. When he ended up on my trauma table, soot-stained and broken, he gripped my wrist with a heat that almost broke my resolve. "I'm yours, Adria. Do whatever you have to do." I almost let my walls crumble until the hospital doors swung open. Campbell burst out, throwing herself into his arms and claiming him in front of the entire staff. I didn't stay to hear his excuses. I turned my back on the man who had followed me across the country just to break my heart again, finally realizing that some wounds are too deep for even a surgeon to heal.
The Stranger Who Slept with Me Is the Ice God

The Stranger Who Slept with Me Is the Ice God

At my lavish engagement party, I slipped away to surprise my fiancé. Instead, I found him in a dimly lit study, passionately kissing my stepmother. They weren't just having an affair; they were plotting to steal my mother's trust fund. "I put a little something in her champagne. By morning, she'll be the laughingstock of New York," my stepmother purred. She had arranged for a known felon to assault me in a hotel room upstairs, planning to invite reporters for my "walk of shame" so I'd lose my inheritance forever. Hunted by them and burning from the drug, I crawled across a narrow balcony ledge and fell right into a dangerous stranger's penthouse. To avoid the horrific fate my family planned, I chose my own destroyer, pleading with the cold-eyed stranger for help, my body burning with the drug. Returning home the next morning, my father furiously accused me of running off with a tramp and ruining the family name. My stepmother stood by his side, playing the sweet, concerned peacemaker while her eyes gleamed with smug victory. The naive girl who loved her family died in that hotel room. I finally saw them for the monsters they were. Instead of defending myself, I hung my head and spoke in a trembling, obedient voice, begging them for forgiveness. Let them think they had successfully broken me. When they least expected it, I would burn their world to the ground.
The Mute Wife's Silent Revenge

The Mute Wife's Silent Revenge

I haven't spoken a word in three years. As a professional art restorer, I spent my days fixing seventeenth-century Dutch oils and playing the role of the perfect, silent wife to billionaire Arno Rutledge. I thought our marriage was a cold but stable arrangement, a gilded cage I had accepted to keep my father’s medical bills paid. That illusion shattered when I found a VIP hospital pass in Arno's suit pocket. Following the trail, I discovered my husband was keeping a woman named Serena on life support in a restricted wing. He wasn't just paying for her care; he was micromanaging her vitals from a tablet like a volatile stock portfolio, obsessed with controlling her every breath while lying to me about late-night board meetings. When I confronted him at the hospital, the mask of the refined businessman slipped. He didn't offer an apology; he offered a violent shove. I crashed into a glass display case, the shards slicing deep into my dominant hand—the hand I used to restore history. As blood pulsed onto the white tiles, Arno didn't even look back. He was too busy cradling the other woman’s hand, leaving me to stitch my own mangled flesh together with industrial glue in a public restroom. Back at the penthouse, the nightmare only escalated. When I tried to pack my bags, Arno froze my bank accounts and reminded me that he controlled the ventilator keeping my father alive. He dragged me into my studio, snapped my custom sable brushes in front of my face, and forced himself on me atop my own workbench. "You’re an asset, Edlyn," he whispered against my skin. "And right now, you’re underperforming." He told me that since my hands were now "broken equipment," I had to find other ways to compensate for my lack of value. He thought he had successfully liquidated my soul, leaving me a hollow shell trapped in his high-rise fortress. But Arno made one fatal mistake. He thinks because I am mute, I am also blind. He thinks because he broke my hand, I have lost my touch. He doesn't realize that a restorer’s greatest skill isn't her hands—it's her ability to see the hidden rot beneath the surface. He wants to treat me like a line item on a balance sheet? Fine. I’m about to show him exactly what happens when an asset decides to set the entire portfolio on fire.
Reborn as the Villain's Wife

Reborn as the Villain's Wife

I died in a mangled wreck of metal and fire, abandoned by the man I thought was my soulmate. But instead of the void, I woke up pinned against a cold marble wall, staring into the turbulent, storm-gray eyes of Damian Vincent. This was the night I destroyed my life. In my past world, I spat in Damian's face and ran into the arms of Eddie, a parasitic loser who was secretly plotting with my cousin Jill to strip me of my inheritance. My "escape" turned into a slow-motion suicide. My brother Donavan died in a horrific car crash while racing to save me from another one of my messes. Damian, consumed by a toxic mix of grief and vengeance, crushed the Nelson family empire until my father was a broken man. I spent years as a drugged-up social pariah, finally dying alone while the people I trusted laughed at my funeral. The most bitter realization didn't hit me until the end. The "controlling monster" I spent years fighting was the only person who ever truly protected me. I had traded a man who would burn the world for me for a man who would burn me for the world. Opening my eyes three years in the past, I find myself back at the airport, the rain lashing against the windows. My brother is pleading with me to run, and Damian is standing there, braced for the slap he thinks is coming. But I don't strike him. I press my palm to his burning cheek and give him the only piece of my soul he couldn't buy. "I'm not going anywhere, Dami. Keep this as my collateral." The game has changed. This time, I'm not the victim-I'm the one holding the match.
Pampered By The Ruthless Billionaire Cousin

Pampered By The Ruthless Billionaire Cousin

For two years, Chloe Sullivan lived in a gilded cage, playing the perfect, quiet wife to Ryan Astor in a loveless marriage of convenience. Until a high-resolution photo of Ryan passionately kissing actress Sienna Sterling dominated the internet. Sienna's fans launched a digital crusade, hailing the affair as true love while viciously cyberbullying Chloe as a hollow, gold-digging obstacle. But public humiliation wasn't enough for Ryan. To void their ironclad prenup and leave her with absolutely nothing, he orchestrated a sickening trap. He lured her to an exclusive club under the guise of meeting her divorce lawyer, and had a sleazy friend slip a heavy drug into her water. "Once we have photos of her in bed with another man, she'll sign anything just to make it go away." Chloe's limbs went heavy as the drug burned through her veins. She was dragged down a dim hallway, shoved into a dark restroom, and felt a stranger's hands tearing at her dress. She had endured his constant indiscretions and kept her end of their bargain, yet he was willing to completely destroy her dignity and life just to play the victim. As her vision blurred and terror consumed her, she used her last ounce of strength to whisper a desperate plea for help. But Ryan's perfect setup failed. When Chloe finally opened her eyes the next morning, she wasn't surrounded by flashing cameras in a cheap hotel room. She was safe in a luxurious penthouse, and sitting beside her bed was the one man Ryan was absolutely terrified of—the true, ruthless heir to the empire, Julian Astor IV.
The Divorced Wife And Her Billionaire

The Divorced Wife And Her Billionaire

As Aurora lay dying of organ failure in the freezing ICU, she used her last ounce of strength to call her husband on their son's fifth birthday. Instead of his voice, she heard the pop of champagne and the sweet laugh of his mistress, Jessica. Conrad snatched the phone, impatiently ordering Aurora not to "ruin the mood" with her irrelevant calls. But what truly pushed her into cardiac arrest was her five-year-old son's excited voice ringing through the speakerphone. "I wish for Auntie Jessica to be my new mommy!" "As long as you like it, Daddy will give you anything," Conrad promised without a second of hesitation. Aurora gagged on her own blood and flatlined, the heart monitor erupting into a piercing red alarm. She had swallowed her pride and wasted five years playing the perfect, submissive housewife, only to be thrown away like garbage by the two people she loved most. She couldn't understand why her absolute devotion ended with her dying completely alone on a sterile mattress. But she didn't die. Snatched from the jaws of death by a mysterious billionaire from her past, she woke up in a luxury suite, fully healed. Looking at her pale, cold reflection in the window, the pathetic old Aurora died. She packed her battered suitcase, signed a brutal postnuptial agreement waiving every single cent of her husband's wealth, and dropped the divorce papers on the table. This time, she was leaving for good.
The Secretary's Fake Rockstar Husband

The Secretary's Fake Rockstar Husband

For twelve years, Cora lived in silent agony, loving her boss Bennett Hodges while serving as his perfect, invisible secretary. But after one night of drunken despair, she woke up in a stranger's penthouse. The man, an indie musician named Callum, showed her viral paparazzi photos of her ripping his shirt off and demanded a fake marriage to save his career. Cora immediately agreed, desperately needing a legal shield. Bennett had just ordered her to attend a gala as the personal date of a billionaire known for sending women to the ER. When Cora refused and showed Bennett her marriage certificate, he thought it was a pathetic bluff. To force her submission, Bennett froze her entire savings, permanently denied her hard-earned department transfer, and watched with a smug smile as his sister humiliated Cora for being the "maid's daughter." He wanted to completely destroy her life until she crawled back begging. Looking at her ruined design portfolio scattered on the floor, Cora felt her heart turn to ice. She had dedicated her entire youth to a man who saw her as nothing more than a piece of furniture that knew its place. How could she have blindly loved such a cruel, controlling monster for so long? The violent shaking in her hands stopped, replaced by a terrifying calm. "I have documented every single abusive directive from this office." She flashed the massive diamond her new fake husband had given her, threatened to burn Bennett's pristine reputation to the ground, and finally walked away.
Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge

Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge

I lay on a mildewed mattress in a run-down motel, my body trembling from withdrawal. Once the most feared "Gossip Queen" in Hollywood, I was now a forty-three-year-old ghost staring at a cracked mirror, waiting for the end. The door clicked open, and Brittany Potts stepped in, looking immaculate in a beige trench coat that cost more than my life. She didn't come to help; she tossed a waiver of marital assets onto my bed and handed me a cup of coffee laced with something that smelled like bitter almonds. She laughed, telling me my husband, Bennet, was already in the Bahamas celebrating my death. I froze when I saw the sapphire pendant around her neck—my mother’s necklace, which had vanished the day she died. As the poison began to burn through my chest, Brittany leaned in and whispered her final secret: she was the one who cut the brake lines on the car that killed my father when we were teenagers. My entire life had been a lie. The pills, the scandal, the bankruptcy—it was all a masterpiece of betrayal orchestrated by the two people I trusted most. I died on that filthy floor, suffocating on my own rage and the taste of chemicals, praying for a single chance to make them pay. But when I opened my eyes, the pain was gone. I was sitting in my old bedroom, the morning sun shining on a calendar that read September 15, 2024. My mother’s voice, warm and alive, called me for breakfast from downstairs. I was eighteen again, back in my senior year at Crestview Academy, and the monsters who destroyed me were still pretending to be my friends. This time, I’m the one who holds the shears.