Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
/1/108153/coverorgin.jpg?v=8bacd3fc5d2aaa34fd06320f57ed65c8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Billionaire's Contract: Protecting My Secret Son
I sat in a Louis XV-style chair that cost more than my entire education, picking at the peeling leather of my thrift-store handbag. Across the mahogany table, Council Bartlett didn't even look at me; he just checked his watch, treating our marriage like a corporate merger that needed to be finalized before the market closed. To the world, I was a gold digger hitting the lottery, but I was actually a woman with a secret I guarded more fiercely than a state secret. I had one week to show a social worker a stable home with a husband, or they would take my four-year-old nephew, Leo, and put him back into the system forever. The ink was barely dry on our marriage certificate when my world started to fracture. My aunt called, screaming for help as her drunk husband broke into her house, forcing me to leave my new "billionaire husband" in my cramped Queens apartment to handle a domestic nightmare with a baseball bat and pepper spray. When I returned, smelling of cheap whiskey and sweat, I found Council’s mother—the ice-cold Hortense—waiting on a video call. She didn't just want a business arrangement; she wanted an heir, and she’d already sent a box of fertility drugs to my kitchen counter to prove it. I was living a lie in a tenement building, caught between a man who treated me like a line item and a social worker who viewed my life as a "phantom." Council was sleeping on my lumpy sofa, his expensive legs dangling off the end, while I locked the bedroom door every night. I didn't want his money; I just wanted my boy. But how could I survive a war where the enemy lived in a penthouse and the casualties were measured in custody hearings? Just as Council saw me holding Leo and the "Ice King" finally began to thaw, his phone buzzed with an anonymous threat. "I know you're faking it. Pay me 100k or the press gets the story." The blackmailer was someone inside the Bartlett estate, and the "shield" I had built for Leo was about to become our cage./1/109451/coverorgin.jpg?v=99185c23e86728137b82a6a1ae818c0a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Her Perfect Lie: The Empire Heiress
In a world ruled by power and illusion, the most dangerous role is playing yourself. When scandal detonates inside the powerful Laurent empire, its fragile heiress, Georgia Laurent, vanishes from public view. Investors panic. Markets wobble. The media circles like vultures. Then Georgia returns. Perfectly styled. Perfectly composed. Perfectly convincing. There's just one problem. She isn't Georgia Laurent. She's Sharon Beckley - a struggling actress drowning in debt and one missed audition away from losing everything. When the enigmatic fixer James Barnett offers her an obscene amount of money to impersonate the heiress "temporarily," Sharon accepts. It's a role with strict rules: smile for cameras, memorize the biography, sign where instructed, and never ask questions. But behind the mirrored walls of the Laurent estate, Sharon discovers this isn't damage control. It's containment. Locked wings of the mansion. Security systems recently upgraded. Burned files in marble fireplaces. Offshore accounts bleeding billions from Laurent Global Holdings. And whispers of a former executive whose fatal accident may have been murder. When Sharon pushes too far, the pressure shifts. Surveillance tightens. James grows colder. The board becomes ruthless. Then the real Georgia disappears. No flight records. No secure messages. No proof she's alive. And suddenly Sharon understands the truth: she wasn't hired to stand in. She was selected to replace. Now trapped inside a stolen identity with powerful men determined to preserve the illusion, Sharon faces an impossible choice - become Georgia completely and inherit an empire built on blood... Or expose the conspiracy and risk being erased permanently. Because in the Laurent world, identities are assets. And only one Georgia Laurent is allowed to exist./1/110749/coverorgin.jpg?v=47e135932cc95d8f24be0683141cf9f6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Untouchable Billionaire's Only Healing Touch
I stood outside Room 2206 of the Pierre-Saint Hotel, my thumb hovering over the "Go Live" button on my phone. I wasn't Isa Faulkner, the dutiful fiancée, anymore; I was an executioner ready to broadcast my own ruin to the world. The door swung open to reveal my fiancé, Holden, tangled with a runway model while 50,000 viewers watched the betrayal in real-time. I expected the truth to set me free, but I didn't realize the explosion would destroy me first. My father slapped me across the face for tanking a billion-dollar merger and disowned me on the spot, while my sister Kylee smiled as she took my seat on the board. Within an hour, I was kicked out into the freezing rain with nothing but a suitcase and a broken pearl bracelet. Just as I hit rock bottom, a black Maybach pulled to the curb and Gerhardt Phillips—the "Ice King" of Wall Street—offered me a seat. He was a man who lived behind glass walls and suffered from a touch phobia so severe he hadn't been touched in years, yet he was holding my hand as if I were his only oxygen. I didn't understand why my presence was the only thing that could stop his violent tremors, or why I found my mother’s "lost" necklace hidden in his family’s private vault. I certainly didn't understand why I overheard his father plotting to "dispose" of me the same way they had handled my mother years ago. What really happened in the fire that killed my mother, and why was the man I just married the only one who knew the truth? I gripped the contract he gave me and prepared for a life in the lion's den. "I'll marry you, Gerhardt," I said, looking into his cold, ice-blue eyes. "But when we're done, I want enough gasoline to burn the Faulkner name to ash."/0/99069/coverorgin.jpg?v=718d76cc1876d0350d56d926c40e4ab7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Caught In The Wrong Marriage With My Mr. Right
At first, she figured she was signing a marriage agreement, just a checkbox. As the empire's heir, he said he'd claimed a wife only to dodge his family's arranged match. Both of them missed that the document had bound them. A certified marriage certificate arrived, and she waved it off as a clerical glitch-until the same elusive tycoon appeared at her sister's engagement, his name matching hers. Their "sham" turned into a feud: her modest family hid the scandal, and his ruthless family pushed her out. Each time she tried to annul it, the threat of divorce grew sharper, like a trap closing in./1/113345/coverorgin.jpg?v=b97f4c85c89fbe6e6dc539b4ec796208&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Unwanted Wife: Dancing With The Blackwell Devil
I was the invisible daughter of the Graves family, a living ghost in a house of gold. On the morning of my half-sister Brittny’s wedding to the terrifying Elliot Blackwell, I watched from the shadows as she escaped, leaving behind a ruined reputation and a bankrupt legacy. The panic in the foyer was a masterpiece of dysfunction. My father and stepmother realized their social ladder was burning to ash, and they only had one card left to play to save their fortune. "We promised them a bride," my stepmother whispered, her eyes settling on me like a butcher assessing a spare piece of meat. They didn't just want to sell me to the Blackwells; they planned to trigger a legal clause to steal my late mother’s multi-million dollar trust fund the moment I said "I do." I was being traded like a commodity to cover my father’s gambling debts, forced to marry a man the world whispered was a cold-blooded monster. To them, I was a sacrificial lamb, a spare part used to fix a broken machine. I stood there, listening to them plot my ruin, and I realized that in this house, blood wasn't thicker than water—it was just another currency. How could my own father sign away my life for a merger? Why did they think I would go quietly into the arms of a man who looked like he had just walked off a battlefield? But they didn't know I was the one who orchestrated Brittny's escape. As the armored Blackwell motorcade smashed through our front gates like a strike team, I didn't cry. I walked into the parlor with a transfer protocol of my own, forcing my father to return every cent of my inheritance before I ever touched that white silk dress. Elliot Blackwell didn't come for a wedding; he came for a head. When he gripped my chin, his eyes dark with a terrifying, predator-like clarity, I didn't flinch. "You're not the bride I paid for," he growled. "I'm the one you're getting," I whispered back. The game was just beginning, and for the first time in my life, I was playing for keeps./1/113670/coverorgin.jpg?v=933bee834ffb6da725e41dbdce5c1926&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Reborn At The Altar: Reject My Cruel Groom, Marry A Mysterious Tycoon
Lainey spent her last life destroying herself for Larry, only to become the woman he discarded most cruelly. He never loved her, never wanted her, and made no secret that his first love still owned his heart. On their wedding day, he abandoned Lainey at the altar for that woman, then later used Lainey as nothing more than a stepping stone for his company's rise. In the end, he even had her kidney ripped from her. Reborn at the very moment everything began, Lainey called off the wedding without hesitation. But after losing her, Larry begged desperately. Lainey shot him a cold look, then turned and walked straight into the arms of a powerful, aloof man, who stared down at Larry with pure contempt. "She's my wife now."/1/110102/coverorgin.jpg?v=2cf57932ba1cd53ea83d859ebe684408&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Sweet Captive Wife: You Belong to Me, Forever
Kiara Watson had lived an unhappy life with her family, always overshadowed by her sister, Cloe, who stole all the attention with her beauty. However, Kiara's fate took an unexpected turn when, by mistake and out of obligation, she found herself linked to Archie Villarreal, the man who caused a sensation in the most powerful family, the Villarreals. A dirty trick by Cloe awakened the fury of billionaire Archie. For Kiara, being Cloe's twin became her greatest sin. She received cruel punishment from Archie, who would do everything in his power to keep her from escaping, creating a stormy and passionate game of love and vehemence./1/113671/coverorgin.jpg?v=1450bea5de9396db413f3dfe5262502b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Stop Begging! I'm Now A Star Beyond Your Reach
Three years of marriage were all Olivia needed to learn that love alone could not hold Theo. She gave him everything, only to find another woman's photo in his phone after a night of passion. When she confronted him, he coldly told her Jennifer was disabled and could never compete with her. That answer ended the marriage. After the divorce, Olivia rose like a storm-becoming a dazzling musician, the world's leading accordionist, and a woman whose talents amazed everyone. Too late, Theo saw her worth and begged with reddened eyes, "Babe, please come back to me, will you?"/1/108480/coverorgin.jpg?v=456c39a86e31b351f87668f73e7e0455&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Married To The Vulture Of Wall Street
I had exactly forty-five minutes to get married, or I would lose the voting shares needed to stop my father from laundering millions through our family foundation. Everything was riding on this one legal signature at the City Clerk’s office. But just as I reached the front of the line, my phone buzzed with a high-definition photo of my fiancé, Preston, tangled in sheets with a junior associate at a SoHo hotel. The man I was about to tie my life to was a fraud, and my deadline was ticking toward zero. When I shoved the evidence in his face, he didn't even flinch. Instead, he gripped my wrist until the bone ground together, whispering that I was just a "junkie" fresh out of a Swiss clinic and that no one else would ever marry a liability with a personality disorder. My father was already standing by with a fraudulent medical affidavit, ready to force me into a conservatorship and strip me of my freedom the moment the clock hit 5 PM. They had spent years using my fake "instability" as a leash, treating me like a broken doll while they bled the company dry. I was the only one with the evidence to take them down, yet I was being discarded like a sunk cost by the very men who were supposed to protect me. I looked at Preston’s smug face and realized I didn't need a husband; I needed a predator. I scanned the room and spotted Dominik Mack, the "Vulture of Wall Street," a man who specialized in hostile takeovers and stripping men like my father of everything they owned. I walked straight up to the most dangerous man in New York and offered him a business transaction. "Do you want to get married?" I asked. He looked at my trembling hands, then at the man chasing me, and adjusted his collar with clinical detachment. "Deal," he said. I didn't just find a groom; I found an accomplice. This wasn't a wedding anymore—it was a declaration of war./1/114321/coverorgin.jpg?v=210d6d35fbfd379e8fb3480249a5bc4a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Ruthless Billionaire's Rare Captive Rose
Alexa Thorne was just an eighteen-year-old girl trying to survive her wealthy friend's sweltering summer pool party. But a violent asthma attack, triggered by heavy cigar smoke, forced her to confront the man smoking it—Armando Holmes, a ruthless Wall Street billionaire and her friend's older brother. She begged him to put it out. He complied, but his cold gaze instantly shifted into a terrifying, predatory obsession. From that moment, her quiet life was over. Armando cornered her in a dark hallway, staking a terrifying claim. He forced her into his Bentley, practically kidnapping her to his secluded Hamptons estate, a gilded cage he called the Rose Manor. When he offered her a dark rose and declared his "enchantment," the sheer terror finally made Alexa run. But she tripped, tumbling down the hard stone steps, breaking her arm and severely gashing her face. Waking up in the hospital, facing the horror of a permanent, ugly scar, Alexa wept in sheer despair. She didn't understand why this dangerous, powerful man had targeted her, tearing her away from her modest life just to lock her in his terrifying grip. "I swear to you, you will not have a single scar." Armando vowed, his eyes burning with dark possession as he effortlessly dismissed her own brother's attempts to protect her. As he personally tended to her most humiliating needs with trembling hands, Alexa realized with chilling clarity: the real nightmare wasn't the fall, but the inescapable, obsessive love of the monster who had claimed her./1/125677/coverorgin.jpg?v=2a89568b47be4a54e9418ef3589ca2fb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Addicted To My Secret Genius Wife
My father called me into the opulent living room just to announce that my arranged marriage had been given to my stepsister. Olivia, wearing a smug smile in her Chanel suit, had stolen my fiancé. And as compensation, I was ordered to marry his older brother, Julian—a paralyzed outcast who lived in the neglected, rotting wing of the Sharpe estate. When I refused to be tossed away like trash, my father used my only weakness. "Sign the agreement. Otherwise, you know your brother's medical bills..." My brother Ethan was lying in a hospital bed, trapped in his own body by a rare neurotoxin. I had no choice but to sign the paper and be shipped off to the Sharpe family that very night. There, I was treated like a joke. The servants placed bets on my humiliation, and my new stepmother-in-law ambushed me with a public brunch to mock my country background. They all thought I was just a docile, uneducated pawn they could bully and discard. They didn't know about my perfect SAT score, my hidden Columbia University acceptance letter, or the jar of contaminated soil from my hometown I kept hidden in my bag. They didn't know I already understood the biochemistry of the poison destroying my brother's brain. Looking at the arrogant family trying to step all over me, and my observant, wheelchair-bound husband who was slowly uncovering my secrets, I smiled coldly. I didn't come to New York to be a trophy wife, I came for revenge./1/113997/coverorgin.jpg?v=32a9a752ba732c02efdbfaf7d71e9080&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Spectacular Comeback Of The Neglected Heiress
Alya Harrell was the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy Long Island family, treated worse than a stray dog in her own home. Tonight, her family finally found a use for her. Her stepmother and half-sister, Chloe, forced her into a scandalous, plunging red dress. They were offering her as a bargaining chip to Warren Thorne, a ruthless, sleazy hedge fund manager known for collecting and discarding young girls. Just to ensure her absolute humiliation, Chloe intentionally "tripped" and spilled a glass of red wine all over the silk dress. "Now you'll have to wear that hideous little black thing you own," Chloe sneered, leaving Alya to face the high-society dinner looking like a beggar. When Alya tried to escape Thorne's groping hands, her own father hunted her down. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back, and raised his hand to strike her for embarrassing the family. She was nothing but a pawn to them, a cheap product to be sold and abused for their financial gain. Alya's heart turned cold as she realized her blood relatives would gladly destroy her just to secure a lucrative business deal. But when she was sent to the cellar to fetch a $50,000 vintage wine for their billionaire VIP guest, Alya caught her perfect sister hooking up with a personal trainer next to the priceless bottle. Quietly stealing the vintage wine and burying it in the garden dirt, Alya returned to the ballroom with a dangerous smile. "I think I saw Chloe carrying a bottle down to the cellar," she told her furious father and the VIP, leading them straight toward the trap that would completely ruin her sister's perfect life./1/110104/coverorgin.jpg?v=e5c6511e6ec0fdef2827ddad625849e8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Ex-Wife's Empire: When She Stopped Begging And Started Conquering
After a long trip, I arrived in an unfamiliar city, hoping to celebrate my birthday with my husband and daughter. Instead, they didn't remember the occasion at all. Worse, the two of them were busy preparing a surprise for my half-sister. Throughout our seven years of marriage, I lived far away from my husband and daughter so I could support my husband's career. Over time, the distance gave them the chance to grow close to my half-sister, and the three of them nearly became a real family without me. For the longest time, I believed that if I kept giving everything I had, they would eventually return my devotion with genuine love. Yet the moment the cruel truth destroyed that final shred of hope, I didn't hesitate. I asked for a divorce. Maybe because I spent so many years focused on my family, they had forgotten something important. I was a business prodigy. I refused to keep living as the woman who craved their approval. Even if they came to me on their knees, begging for forgiveness, I wouldn't spare them a second glance. From now on, I would make sure the world saw me in a completely different light./1/116593/coverorgin.jpg?v=9c15dddae74e5345cc2a2984866da866&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Divorcing The Cold Billionaire After Baby Birth
Aria Miller was forced to marry billionaire Victor Sterling to pay for her dying grandmother's medical bills. She was six weeks pregnant after one accidental night. But Victor despised her, convinced she was a scheming gold digger who used her body as a bargaining chip. Right after signing the marriage papers at City Hall, he dumped her at a decaying, rat-infested apartment in Queens and drove away in his Rolls-Royce. He cut her off entirely, leaving her to scrub rotting floors and eat discounted groceries while pregnant. He expected her to break. When his grandmother forced him to stay over to keep up appearances, his team hauled in piles of luxury luggage. During a surprise video call from his grandmother, Victor pinned Aria to the wall, intimately stroking her hair. "Smile, or the nursing home stops getting checks," he whispered into her ear. But the second the screen went black, he shoved her away in absolute disgust, looking at her like she was a disease. Aria was suffocating. She never wanted his money, yet she was trapped in this nightmare, treated like a worthless parasite. When Victor smirked and threatened to leave her with nothing, the dam inside her finally broke. Aria didn't cry. Instead, she grabbed a raw, dripping egg and smashed it directly into the center of his bespoke midnight-blue suit. Staring into his shocked, murderous eyes, she made her terms clear. "The day this baby is born, I want a divorce."/1/113673/coverorgin.jpg?v=6546b1b30b4cfc511e9291a7e9960277&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Married To The Undercover Billionaire Boss
To escape my sister-in-law selling me off to a local thug, I married a complete stranger I met at City Hall. My new husband, Drake, claimed to be a broke Uber driver who could barely make rent. He even made me sign a brutal ten-page prenup just to ensure I wouldn't take his rusted, beat-up Ford sedan if we ever divorced. I thought I was just sharing a decaying Brooklyn apartment with a struggling man at the bottom of the ladder. But things quickly stopped making sense. When that local thug cornered me at a restaurant, my "weak" husband didn't cower. Instead, he dismantled three massive mobsters in ten seconds with the terrifying, fluid speed of an apex predator. "I used to be a human punching bag in an underground boxing gym to pay off debts." I believed his excuse, until his supposedly homeless grandfather showed up at our door in a moth-eaten sweater, begging to sleep on our lumpy sofa. Before going to sleep, the old man casually pressed a heavy, intricately engraved pocket watch into my hand as a wedding gift. He claimed it was a cheap flea market find that didn't even keep time. But the sheer weight of the solid rose gold and the flawless mechanical gears inside screamed otherwise. Why did a destitute driver have the aura of a man who controlled empires? And what kind of homeless old man casually hands over a priceless, museum-grade antique? I had no idea the "broke driver" sleeping on my floor was actually a ruthless billionaire CEO, and I had just walked straight into his trap./1/126651/coverorgin.jpg?v=d1f5a1ba48f44d45426f40bb57e8a07a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Hunted By My Secret Billionaire Employer
I finally terminated my tutoring contract with Donovan Carlisle, the wealthy hockey captain I had never met. I even waived a six-figure settlement just to get my freedom back. To celebrate my new life, I went to a popular campus bar, only to be cornered by a group of aggressive, drunk football players. Desperate and trapped, I spotted a dangerous-looking stranger in a dim corner. I ran over, threw my arms around his neck, and kissed him hard to use him as a shield. Instead of pushing me away, the stranger played along. His icy blue eyes mocked me as he whispered a command to keep going. In my absolute panic to make the act convincing, I fumbled with his shirt buttons. When the threat finally left, I shoved him away. Overwhelmed with shame, I slapped fifty crumpled dollars on the table for his "trouble" and ran out into the cold night like a fugitive. I hid in my dorm room, terrified and humiliated. I couldn't understand why he chose to play along just to watch my pathetic show. I thought I had just offended a random, arrogant guy. But then my best friend dropped a bomb on me. "That guy you kissed? That's Donovan Carlisle." My blood ran cold. The stranger I had just forced myself on and insulted with cheap cash was the very employer I dumped this morning. And worst of all, he had just ordered his team to turn the entire university upside down to hunt me down./1/108482/coverorgin.jpg?v=c63bb9db7b2d738a179f697cd90244f3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Contract Marriage: The CEO's Silent Shield
Aunt Lydia told me that if I didn't secure the loan shark Mr. Jareth tonight, I’d be sleeping on the street. I stood outside the brass doors of the restaurant, my lungs refusing to expand, my hands shaking so violently that my gray wool skirt blurred in my vision. I was supposed to sell my soul to a monster to pay off my family’s debts. But when I sat down at Table 12, I didn't find a man in a leather jacket smelling of stale beer. Instead, I found a man in a bespoke suit who smelled of cedarwood and cold winter air, a man who looked at me like a specimen under a microscope. "Sit down," he commanded, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated in my chest. Before I could realize I was at the wrong table, he had already signaled the staff to throw the real loan shark out into the street. Then, he slid a blank black card across the table and offered me a deal: a marriage of convenience to satisfy his board of directors in exchange for my total protection. I signed the contract and moved into a penthouse he claimed belonged to his "boss," trying to play the part of the quiet, broken wife. But the lies were too loud to ignore. He called a half-million-dollar bottle of wine a "Costco blend" and claimed his $4 million Patek Philippe watch was a cheap replica. He thought he was protecting a helpless, mute girl, but he had no idea who I really was. I didn't understand why this "manager" had the police commissioner on speed dial or why he was tracking my every move with hidden cameras. While he was busy playing the savior, I was secretly logging onto the dark web as "The Surgeon," the only medical genius capable of treating the chronic, agonizing migraines he kept hidden from the world. The truth finally exploded when the loan shark cornered us at my aunt’s estate. As I held a corkscrew to a killer’s throat with surgical precision, I saw the mask slip from my husband’s face. I realized then that I hadn't just married a businessman—I had married the most dangerous man in New York, and he was currently wiring thousands of dollars to me to save his life./1/118540/coverorgin.jpg?v=a1d615cda4d507e01618923203edf856&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Neglected Wife Is A Genius Auctioneer
Chloe had just undergone surgery to remove her fallopian tube, but her billionaire husband, Julian, didn't show up at the hospital. Instead, his housekeeper called, ordering her to attend a business dinner. When she dragged her agonizing, stitched-up body back to their penthouse, Julian didn't ask if she was okay. He just threw a limitless black Amex card at her face, telling her to stop playing the victim and name her price. Things escalated when his seven-year-old daughter accidentally spilled scalding water on Chloe's hand. His ambitious assistant, Kara, immediately swooped in, screaming that Chloe had deliberately burned the child out of jealousy. Julian didn't even look at Chloe's blistering skin. He held his daughter, called Chloe a monster, and threatened to destroy her. "You wouldn't survive a day without the Carlisle name," he sneered. Looking at the child she had raised for five years and the husband she had sacrificed everything for, a chilling coldness seeped into Chloe's bones. She had abandoned her Ph.D. at Columbia and her status as a top Christie's auctioneer, only to become a disposable, unpaid nanny and a corporate accessory. She didn't cry or defend herself. She simply took off her five-carat diamond ring, threw the black card at the assistant's feet, and packed a single suitcase. When Julian saw her a week later, she was standing in the spotlight of the Met Gala, holding an auction gavel, ready to make him pay./1/113998/coverorgin.jpg?v=8e96ce924f6dfabdf7b16e63ef712660&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Flash Marriage To My Mysterious Patient
I am the undisputed ice queen of the ER, a doctor whose life is built on absolute control. A month ago, I impulsively married a stranger to create a legal shield against my ex-mentor's betrayal. Our prenup had one strict rule: a fake marriage with zero interference in each other's lives. But tonight, my "husband on paper" was wheeled into my ER, unconscious, reeking of cheap whiskey, and suffering from a bleeding ulcer. To authorize his emergency surgery, I had to sign the consent form as his wife, detonating a gossip bomb among my colleagues. Worse, his overbearing family found out he was hospitalized. To stop his terrifying mother from flying in and exposing our sham marriage, I had to lean over his hospital bed and take a fake, loving couple's selfie. I didn't understand why this disciplined math professor was suddenly drinking himself to death, nor why my chest tightened when he looked at me with exhausted eyes and begged for homemade soup. My perfectly ordered, untouchable life was crumbling into a chaotic mess, and I was losing my grip on the narrative. "We should probably spend some time together beforehand. We could be roommates." To prepare for an unavoidable family dinner and a wedding, my stranger husband just asked me to move into his apartment. The ultimate uncontrolled variable has just crossed the line, and our fake marriage is about to become dangerously real./1/112376/coverorgin.jpg?v=18dfe2e4e21a113a47fd4b43f0633a2d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
