Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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They Planned My Fall, I Built My Throne
After dreaming of her stepsister pushing her into the sea while her parents plotted to steal her inheritance, Rachael woke with the ability to foresee the future. Armed with that knowledge, she exposed schemers, crushed enemies, and reclaimed everything meant to be hers. Austin once believed their marriage was nothing more than an alliance, until he realized his wife was far more dangerous and brilliant than expected. So when Rachael announced their contract was over, he cornered her. "Let's renew it for life. My money, my family, and even I belong to you."/1/119876/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260617173939&imageMogr2/format/webp)
When Time Stopped, Love Was Lost
My husband, Daniel Carter, was obsessive about time. He had to wake up at exactly 7:05, and breakfast had to begin at 7:15 sharp. Even sex was limited to exactly thirty minutes. The second time was up, he pulled away and left. That day, our daughter had a dangerously high fever, yet he still refused to leave. Every second dragged by. I kept urging Daniel to hurry. But he only ate his breakfast at his usual unhurried pace. "My breakfast has to last a full ten minutes. Besides, children build stronger immune systems when they tough it out a little." I touched my daughter's forehead, which was growing hotter by the minute, and urged him to give me the car keys so I could take her myself. Daniel did not even look up. He slowly adjusted his tie and said, "Then I won't make it to the office by 7:50. Wait five more minutes. That's when I'm supposed to leave." Just then, his phone rang. It was his assistant, Emily Morgan. "Mr. Carter, I twisted my ankle. Could you come pick me up?" His expression changed at once. He grabbed the car keys and rushed toward the door. "I have something urgent to deal with. Call a cab yourselves." The next day, he called and asked why we had not gone home yet. I held my daughter's ashes in my arms, numb with grief. "Our daughter can't go home anymore." And neither could we./0/87883/coverorgin.jpg?v=20251230171445&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Thirty-Eight Divorces, One Betrayal
Today is my fifth wedding anniversary. It's also the day my husband, Ethan, asked me for a divorce for the 38th time. He does this for Ilene, his childhood friend. The woman who crashed her car on our wedding day, leaving her unable to have children. Ever since, he's been repaying a debt of guilt, and I've been the price. For five years, I endured the cycle of divorce and remarriage. But this time was different. Ilene pushed me down a flight of stairs. Ethan found me bleeding and promised me justice. He swore he would make her pay. But days later, the police called. The security footage of the incident had been mysteriously erased. There was no evidence, no case. That night, Ilene had me kidnapped. As her men tore at my clothes in the back of a van, I managed to call Ethan. He rejected my call. I jumped from the moving van. And as I ran for my life, bleeding on the cold asphalt, I made a vow. This time, there would be no 39th remarriage. This time, I would disappear./1/110716/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260324162913&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Seven Years of Devotion: He Left Me to Die, I Left Him for Good
On the seventh anniversary of my marriage, I, Clara Hart, received two "gifts." One was an urgent alert from the embassy-armed conflict in Arkania was imminent, and all citizens were advised to evacuate immediately. The other was a message from my husband, Adrian Foster, "Pack your things. Wait for me downstairs. Ten minutes." I quickly packed an emergency kit and rushed downstairs. People around me were already evacuating in a panic, yet Adrian was nowhere to be seen. I called him, my voice trembling, only to be met with a cold, clipped response. "The car's packed with confidential company documents. There's no room left. Sophie has a severe fear of war. I need to get her out first." My blood ran cold. "What about me?" I asked, barely believing what I was hearing. Adrian clicked his tongue impatiently. "Clara, stop being so dramatic. Just take the embassy bus. It's the same." Explosions thundered in the distance, shattering everything I had believed in over the past seven years. Whatever love had once existed between us crumbled to dust. I stopped waiting. Slinging the emergency pack over my shoulder, I turned and walked away into the chaos of war./1/105834/coverorgin.jpg?v=a9c0ddb20043431fba754883aa83c443&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Surgeon's Revenge: My Ex-Husband's Regret
The view from our twenty-million-dollar penthouse was stunning, but all I could see was the cracked screen of my phone. A single message from a contact named Sienna had just appeared: "Game On." For four years, I had worn the shapeless beige cardigans and played the quiet, submissive wife the elite Rutledge family demanded. "Dorothea is back in the city," my husband Hunter said, refusing to meet my eyes as he pushed the divorce papers toward me. He offered a "generous" settlement, patronizingly claiming that with my felony record and "creative resume," I’d be living on the streets without his charity. He had no idea that while he was rehearsing his breakup speech, I was already zipping up a duffel bag filled with cash and a passport in a name he didn't recognize. His sister Kamala didn't even wait for me to pack before she was in our bedroom, calling me a leech and trying to destroy the only photo I had of my mother. I didn't cry or beg; I simply dropped Hunter’s favorite three-million-dollar Ming vase, watched it shatter, and walked out the door with a cold smile. That night, I traded my sensible flats for a crimson silk dress and lethal heels, leaving Hunter’s jaw on the floor when he saw me at an exclusive club. He watched in horror as I smashed a vodka bottle over a harasser's head, still believing I was a broken woman who needed his protection. He didn't know the truth until his grandmother finally revealed that I was the anonymous investor who had rescued their company from bankruptcy. I had gone to prison to protect his father's reputation, wearing the shame for years so their family name wouldn't implode. Hunter fell to his knees in the driveway, begging for a second chance and promising to dump his mistress, but the anger in my heart had already turned to ice. The man I had sacrificed my life for was now just a stranger I used to know. "The opposite of love isn't hate, Hunter. It's indifference." I climbed into a purple supercar as my phone buzzed with a call from Mount Sinai Hospital. My medical license was reinstated, and a high-profile trauma case was waiting for my hands. Iris the housewife was dead, and Dr. Gutierrez was finally back in play./1/117759/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260612115714&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Married To My Best Friend's Billionaire Father
For ten years, I gave everything to Abe Hays. I put my architectural dreams on hold and worked like an unpaid maid to build his legacy, believing his promises of a future on my late parents' estate. Then yesterday, he threw me away like garbage for a wealthy heiress, leaving me homeless, jobless, and utterly ruined. When he cornered me on campus today, there wasn't a shred of guilt in his eyes. "My family took you in out of pity," he sneered. "You’re a penniless orphan, Chloe. You are nothing without me." It wasn't just a brutal breakup. It was a calculated heist to corporate-merge me out of my own family's land for his new resort project. But Abe made one fatal mistake. He didn't know that last night, drowned in tequila and heartbreak, I signed a marriage certificate. I accidentally married Alistair Sterling—a ruthless, untouchable titan of industry who controls the entire city's economy. And my best friend’s father. Before Abe could threaten me further, my best friend stepped in with a razor-sharp smirk. "Too bad about your resort, Abe. My dad bought that land yesterday as a wedding gift for his new wife. My new mom." Watching the color drain from my ex's arrogant face, I casually caught the keys to my new husband's Bentley. Abe wanted me to know my place. Now, he’ll have to watch me rule from a height he could never hope to reach./1/107844/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260325194007&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Acceptable Service: Tipping The Ruthless Billionaire
I woke up in a penthouse suite at the Pierre with a hangover from hell and a naked man who looked like he'd been carved from marble. Thinking he was a high-end escort I couldn't afford, I left my last hundred dollars and a petty note on the nightstand. "Service was acceptable. Keep the change." But when I rushed home to check on my dying father, I found the locks changed and my boyfriend, Chad, draped over my stepsister on the landing. My stepmother, Meredith, didn't even look up from her coffee as she handed me a legal folder. She told me to sign away my inheritance or she'd stop paying for my father's life support. The hospital called seconds later, demanding fifty thousand dollars by the end of the day, or they'd pull the plug. Meredith had already arranged my "payment": a dinner with Boris Gorsky, a predator who collected young women like trophies. I was being sold to a monster to keep my father alive, standing in a thrift-store dress while my family laughed at my ruin. I didn't understand how my life had collapsed in twelve hours, or how my own blood could put a price tag on a man's life. I sat at that restaurant trembling, waiting for the man who would buy my soul. Then the man from the hotel walked in. It wasn't Gorsky; it was August Sanders, the billionaire CEO of a media empire, and he was holding my hundred-dollar bill. He didn't want an apology; he wanted a contract wife for a year. He slid a confirmation for a five-hundred-thousand-dollar hospital deposit across the table and handed me a fountain pen. "Welcome to the firm, Mrs. Sanders." I signed the paper with a shaking hand, knowing I was trading my freedom for my father's life. But as August handed me his black card, I realized I finally had the weapon I needed to destroy the people who thought I was nothing./0/93416/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106214029&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Silent Mate The Alpha Left to Die
My mother was in the hospital after a nasty dog bite, so I called my fiancé, Cohen. He was supposed to be my rock. Instead, I got annoyance. He was in Aspen, on a ski trip with my best friend, Hillary. “What do you want me to do? Fly back right now?” he snapped, before hanging up to get back to the “perfect snow.” The dog, it turned out, was Hillary’s. The bite on my diabetic mother’s leg quickly developed into a raging infection. I texted Cohen an update, telling him she was getting worse, that they were talking about surgery. He didn't call back. Instead, Hillary’s Instagram story updated: a photo of her and Cohen, cheeks flushed from the cold, smiling in front of a fireplace. The caption was a single heart emoji. While they were sipping hot chocolate, my mother went into septic shock. As I sat alone in the grim hospital waiting room, staring at my silent phone, I knew he had already made his choice. He had chosen a vacation. He had chosen my best friend. He had left my mother to die all alone. She passed away at 3:17 AM. I held her hand until it grew cold, then walked out into the gray dawn. I wasn't just grieving. I was done. I was going to erase myself from his world and burn everything to the ground./1/116873/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260716193335&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Genius Heiress Plays The Fool
In my past life, I was treated like a mentally defective piece of trash by my family and forced to marry the paralyzed, ruthless billionaire, Charlton Moreno. I thought he would despise me, but when the yacht exploded, this terrifying man threw his massive body over mine. His blood soaked into my clothes as the blast tore us apart. Before I died, the cruel truth finally came to light. My family had been slowly poisoning him with a neurotoxin for years, turning his legs into dead weight. They only used me as a filthy pawn to humiliate his bloodline and steal his fortune. And when I was no longer useful, I was stripped of everything and left to die in the gutter. Why did he protect a broken, uninvited stranger like me? Why did I let those greedy traitors destroy the only person who ever truly made me feel safe? Opening my eyes again, I was back on the day my family shoved me, wearing a torn wedding dress, into the freezing foyer of the Moreno estate. "This is what you bring us? A mental defective?" I kept my head down, hiding the cold, calculating hatred in my eyes, and let my facial muscles go completely slack. This time, I will play the perfect idiot, I will cure his legs, and I will take back everything./1/105387/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260527185051&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Billionaire's Regret: My Hidden Wife
I sat at a mahogany table long enough to land a plane on, signing the papers that ended my two-year marriage to billionaire Eric Koch. He didn't even show up for the divorce; he was in a private cigar lounge downstairs, sending his lawyer to hand me a five-million-dollar check to buy my silence like I was a discarded employee. For two years, I had perfected the role of the "mouse"—the plain, timid wife Eric looked right past, never suspecting I was actually Rose, the world-renowned designer behind a secret fashion empire. I never told him I was the "angel" who dragged his unconscious body from a burning car years ago, the woman he’d been searching for while he ignored the one across the breakfast table. To celebrate my freedom, I had a one-night stand with a stranger in a penthouse, only to wake up and realize the man I’d just slept with was my ex-husband. Before the ink on our divorce was dry, Eric used his billions to buy my studio, trapping me in a contract that forces me to work for him as a "lowly assistant" or face a fifty-million-dollar penalty. I watched in silence as a fame-hungry actress paraded around his office wearing my stolen heirloom locket—the only proof of my true identity—claiming she was the mystery woman from his bed. Eric looked right through my frumpy disguise with the same cold indifference he showed his wife, never realizing the woman he was hunting was standing right in front of him. I couldn't understand how he could be so obsessed with finding a ghost while treating the living woman who saved him like garbage. Why was he so determined to own every piece of Rose while he had spent two years throwing Aislinn away? "Tell him nothing," I whispered to my reflection as I reapplied the thick foundation that masked my face. "You're dangerous, Ann Reese," he told me later, his eyes narrowing as he sensed a familiar spark behind my thick glasses. I adjusted my bun and looked him in the eye, ready to play the long game. He thinks he’s bought my future, but he’s about to find out that Rose doesn’t just design couture—she designs ruins./1/109885/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260504002429&imageMogr2/format/webp)
A Love That Waited In Silence
Once a legendary healer capable of miracles, she sacrificed her hands to save the man she loved. Now, as her mother lay dying, that same man offered a cruel bargain-marry him and raise another woman's child in exchange for the medicine. With trembling fingers, she typed one final line of code, getting in touch with that mysterious man. In the darkness, he watched her with restrained longing and asked, "Are you ready for this?" Unknown to everyone, her mother's rare medicine came from a project he had secretly begun the day she was injured-and he had been waiting for her ever since./0/83942/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106203331&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Second Chance Trap
The smell of burnt coffee and cheap vanilla filled my lungs, my hands shaking behind the counter of "The Daily Grind." Just moments ago, I was on a rooftop, the white of my wedding dress stained with grime, watching my fiancé declare his love for my best friend, Molly. My mother collapsed, her heart giving out from the shock, and I saw her fall before I turned and jumped. Yet here I was, alive, the calendar showing weeks before that catastrophic wedding day, the memory of my mother's lifeless body still fresh in my mind. Molly walked in, her fake-sweet smile exactly as I remembered, still utterly oblivious to the hatred now burning ice-cold in my stomach. She started her tale of a "Karmic App," claiming any man I liked would fall for her instead, her crocodile tears perfected. This was the lie she told me the first time, covering her tracks as she systematically stole every relationship and piece of joy from my life. I stared at her, the woman who orchestrated my downfall, consumed by a rage so pure it threatened to shatter me. Why was I back? Why was I given this impossible second chance, only to relive the agony that killed my mother and drove me to jump? Then it hit me: The app wasn't a curse; it was her weapon, and this time, I wasn't just back-I was going to be the one to erase her./0/97968/coverorgin.jpg?v=20251219104920&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Unveiling Stardom: The Forsaken Heiress' Gifts Know No Limit
Nicole spent a decade as the Hewitt family's treasured daughter, bathed in praise-until she was ten, when the truth cut through. She was the mistress's child. Thrown out in a rage, she vanished. A decade later she walked back in, no longer meek. The Hewitt family sneered and tried to grind her down; she didn't flinch. Every scheme, she made them regret. Gossip called her a naive country bumpkin. She answered with a diploma. On the track and the runway, in clinics and code, she stunned-ace driver, noted designer, legendary healer, elusive hacker. The so-called impostor stood above them all!/1/120746/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260618180642&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Secret Heiress They Tried To Erase
Taken in by the wealthy Haynes family, Elara was paraded at their gala as the grateful, clueless charity case from the countryside. But the "welcoming" party was a trap. Her new cousin violently shoved her toward a priceless antique vase, and the entire family immediately scapegoated Elara to save face. The patriarch ordered her to swallow the insult and apologize to her abuser. Her "perfect" sister cried fake tears, masterfully painting Elara as a jealous, clumsy savage to the elite guests. Behind closed doors, the sickening truth was finally revealed. The Haynes family knew Elara was the missing Sinclair heiress all along. They deliberately hid her identity, dressing her in cheap, ill-fitting clothes to keep her ignorant. Their grand plan was to use her as a disposable bargaining chip to secure a partnership with the untouchable Sterling family. They expected her to be a docile puppet, completely at their mercy in this snake pit of a mansion, trading her future for their greed. What they didn't know was that Damien Sterling himself had already stepped out of the shadows to shield her tonight. And as Elara quietly locked her phone, confirming her secret full-ride scholarship to Yale, her eyes grew cold. She wasn't going to be anyone's pawn./1/109944/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260303185353&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Stolen Heart, A Mother's Revenge
My five-year-old daughter, Lily, was dying. I used my entire tech fortune to secure a donor heart, a last-ditch effort to save her. The only surgeon I trusted to perform the transplant was her father, my husband, Graham. But on the day of the surgery, he vanished. He diverted the heart I bought to another child-the daughter of his mistress, Bella Savage. Lily died. As her heart monitor flatlined, Graham called not to console me, but to celebrate the successful surgery for his lover's child. He blocked my number as I screamed for him. He didn't even come to the funeral. He called me selfish. He said I didn't deserve to be a mother. He stood at our daughter's grave and asked her to forgive the little girl who now had her heart. My love for him died with our daughter, replaced by a cold, surgical rage. He thought he had destroyed me. He had no idea he had just created the monster who would incinerate his entire world./1/117538/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260526213307&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Betrayed Me, I Erased Him
My fiancé Easton proposed with a perfect diamond, whispering about our future, when his phone flashed a $50 million wire transfer to his ex-girlfriend's family. That very night, he abandoned me at my wedding dress fitting for an "emergency" that was really his ex, Catarina Kane. Days later, I lost our baby because he shoved me aside for her, then yelled at me about the mess on his office floor as I bled. His cat allergy, a five-year lie, dissolved as I saw him stroking a cat in her living room. While I recovered from the miscarriage, Easton publicly smiled with Catarina at a gala. This profound betrayal, the loss of our child, and his utter indifference extinguished all love, leaving only chilling clarity. At my hospital bedside, as he begged for forgiveness, I pulled out my IV. "It was my child, Easton," I told him. "You were never there." I walked out of his life forever, determined to uncover his deception and rebuild my world./1/105669/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260527193052&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rising From The Ashes Of Betrayal
I spent my whole life trying to fit into the "Kensington aesthetic," dyeing my hair blonde and playing dumb just to earn a crumb of my father's approval. But when the manor went up in flames, I realized I was never a daughter to them-I was just an inconvenience. I lay pinned under a heavy oak beam, the smell of copper and burnt sugar filling my lungs. My father, Arthur, stood in the doorway with my brothers, looking like a phalanx of saviors, but their eyes weren't on me. They rushed past my outstretched, bloody hand to save my sister, Karly, who was huddled in a corner without a scratch on her. My brother Archer scooped her up like spun glass, stepping over my crushed leg without a second glance. Just before they crossed the threshold, Karly looked back at me and smiled-a small, victorious, terrifying smile. My father didn't offer help; he just shouted that I was an arsonist and slammed the door, sentencing me to burn alive in my own bedroom. As the crystal chandelier melted and crashed toward me, I didn't feel fear anymore. I felt a guttural, distilled hate for the family that left me to die because of a lie. I had spent my life begging for scraps at a table that was never meant for me, and I died realizing they never loved me at all. "If I come back," I promised into the void, "I will burn you all down." I gasped for air and woke up in my bed, the smell of lavender replacing the smoke. It was September 14th, five years before the fire, the exact week I had started ruining myself to please them. I looked in the mirror, scrubbed off the pathetic makeup mask, and realized the old, desperate Kala was dead. If I was going to burn, I'd make sure they were the ones who felt the heat first. "Queen is back online," I whispered./1/117674/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260623135745&imageMogr2/format/webp)
I Walked Out While He Begged
My husband burst through the OR doors on Christmas Eve, not for me, but for his mistress, whose baby I had just delivered. He declared his love for her, telling her they finally had "their own family." But the real horror was still to come: I realized the prenatal vitamins he'd lovingly given me for a month had been tampered with-they were meant to harm our unborn child. I was Dr. Erin Ramsey, five months pregnant, living a "fairy tale" marriage. That illusion shattered when Aiden, my husband, rushed past me in the operating room to embrace Debbra May, my patient-his mistress of four years. His whispered words of love, "our own family," were meant for her. The betrayal deepened: he'd given Debbra our baby's crib and, more chillingly, replaced my vitamins with something dangerous, intended to cause irreversible damage. His entire family, I discovered, had been complicit in the four-year deceit. This wasn't just infidelity; it was a monstrous, calculated plot to hurt my unborn child. With terrifying calm, I walked out of the OR and told my best friend, "Book an appointment for me, Chloe. I need to end this pregnancy. " My marriage was over; my counterattack had begun./0/81027/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106194623&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Unwanted Daughter's Reckoning
I woke up staring at the familiar water-stained ceiling of my teenage bedroom. My SAT scores and a local community college acceptance letter sat on my desk, marking the day I was supposed to fill out college applications. Just weeks after high school graduation, this was it. Except, it wasn't just a day. It was the day. The starting point of a previous life filled with relentless hunger, brutal beatings, and my family' s chilling neglect. A life that led, eventually, to my agonizing death. I remembered everything: my mother Brenda' s venomous hate, my father David' s chilling indifference, and my brother Kevin' s endless demands. I remembered the pregnancy, my mother's deliberate cruelty, letting me bleed out until it was too late. I died. A loud bang on the door shattered the quiet. "Sarah! Get those damn applications filled out!" Brenda's voice, a dreadful screech, tried to drag me back into the nightmare. The old fear coiled, sharp and cold, but the memory of my death and lost child burned hotter. Not this time. I would not live that life again. Unsteady on my feet, I walked to the door. "I'm not going to community college," I declared, my voice surprisingly steady. "I'm applying to a four-year university. A good one. Far away." This time, I would save myself./1/105385/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260527185051&imageMogr2/format/webp)
