Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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Her Stolen Six
For eight long years, a dull ache lived in my heart. I' d endured six stillbirths, each a crushing blow. My husband, Mark, always seemed supportive, telling me we' d get through it. Desperate for him to be a father, I even hired his ex, Chloe, as a surrogate. Their son, Miles, had just been born. Then, at the hospital, a simple blood donation for my niece Amelia shattered my world. My brother-in-law, Robert, panicked. Trembling, he confessed: "Lily is your first baby, Sarah. The one you were told was stillborn eight years ago. Mark… Mark gave her to us." My first daughter, alive. Stolen. When I confronted Mark, he gaslit me, calling it "compassion" for his childless siblings. His family begged me not to "destroy" Lily' s life. Chloe, now living with Mark, subtly undermined me. Mark dismissed my pain, giving me an ultimatum: leave if I couldn't be "reasonable." He watched me grieve through six "stillbirths." His family systematically stole every single one of our babies. The man I loved betrayed me in the most monstrous way. My entire life, built on his lies, disintegrated. A cold, burning rage ignited within me. His cruel ultimatum didn't break me; it forged me. I wouldn't be reasonable. I wouldn't calm down. I grabbed my phone, dialing my lawyer. I was going to fight for my children – plural./1/101276/coverorgin.jpg?v=d65d6c603e2d37af11a9b00f65d026ae&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Auctioned Wife: Escaping The Billionaire's Cage
The wooden box hidden in the back of my husband's desk wasn't a gift for me. Inside sat a diamond ring far more expensive than my own, engraved with a single name: *Else*. Else was the woman Derek swore was just his sister. That night, feigning sleep, I heard him laughing on the phone with his best friend. "Don't worry," Derek said, his voice cold and bored. "The bet is almost over. She was just a placeholder until Else came back. Once the assets are transferred, we auction her off to the highest bidder." My world shattered in a heartbeat. I wasn't his wife; I was an asset. A warm body he planned to sell like used furniture. But the betrayal didn't stop at infidelity. When Else returned, she caused a car crash that left me bleeding out on a gurney. I grabbed Derek’s hand, screaming for him to save our unborn baby. He didn't even look at me. He looked at the doctor and pointed at Else. "Save her," he commanded. "I don't care about the baby." I woke up in a sterile room, childless and hollow, only to discover the final horror: they were dosing me with an "Obedience Serum" to ensure I wouldn't fight back during the sale. Derek thought I was broken. He thought I was stupid enough to board the plane he booked, straight into the hands of his buyers. But when his security team stormed the aircraft, my seat was empty. By the time he realized I was gone, I was already thousands of miles away in Paris, watching his empire burn to the ground from a safe distance. He wanted to sell a victim. Instead, he unleashed a survivor./1/120743/coverorgin.jpg?v=6102e0cecbab7ae24aa0d7efe7aecaad&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Dead Ex-Wife's Spectacular Surgeon Comeback
For five years, Adaline Sinclair loved her billionaire husband Julian Thorne with an all-consuming passion, rearranging her entire world just to please him. But on his thirtieth birthday, while she waited until midnight with a handmade cake, he was photographed intimately dining with a famous socialite. When he finally arrived home smelling of sweet perfume and whiskey, he didn't even glance at the dinner she had carefully prepared. Instead, he looked at her with his familiar, dismissive coldness. "Don't play this devoted wife game. It doesn't suit you." He cruelly mocked her family's failing business and reminded her that their marriage was nothing more than a sterile business contract. With her final ember of hope brutally extinguished, Adaline hacked the birthday cake to pieces, threw a signed divorce agreement on the table, and walked out into the night. A month later, her yacht caught fire and sank into the gray Atlantic waters, leaving behind only her warped platinum wedding ring. Julian knelt on the cold sand, roaring in pure agony as his world ended. He had spent years pushing her away and treating her like a nuisance, only to realize too late that he had completely destroyed the only woman who ever truly loved him. But he didn't know that Adaline wasn't actually dead. Five years later, she returned to New York not as a broken wife, but as Dr. Elara Vance, a world-renowned surgeon with two genius children. This time, she was only here to save her dying aunt, and she swore she would never let Julian Thorne drag her back into his hell./1/108414/coverorgin.jpg?v=ae7a9a1e216b214936cc0c947c8905af&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Unwanted Daughter's Secret Billionaire Identity
For ten years, I lived as the "grateful orphan" in the Barnes manor, a shadow in their glittering world who endured every silent scoff and cold dismissal. I thought I had earned my place through silence and dedication, but I was nothing more than a charity project they were finally ready to discard. At dinner, Richard slid a thick envelope across the marble table and told me my "biological parents" from a rural wasteland were coming to pick me up the next morning. It was a hundred-thousand-dollar severance package, a final payment to buy my disappearance and ensure their social circle remained untainted by my presence. The exit turned into a nightmare when Mia tried to frame me for stealing a diamond necklace during a fake goodbye hug. Susan shrieked that I was a common thief, and Richard snatched the check back, sneering that I didn’t deserve a single cent of their mercy. They mocked my tattered sweaters and my medical textbooks, laughing as they predicted I would end up begging for scraps on the street. I stood in the driveway with my single, scuffed suitcase, listening to their cruel laughter ring out from the porch. They wanted to see me crumble, to see the "charity case" break down in tears as they pushed me into the gutter, never realizing that the ten years I spent with them was merely a test of their character—one they had failed miserably. The mockery stopped the moment a battered, bullet-riddled Rolls Royce Phantom roared onto the gravel. An impeccably dressed butler stepped out and bowed deeply, his voice booming across the lawn as he addressed me by the name they had never heard. "Miss Pennington, the Board of Directors is waiting for your arrival to finalize the takeover." The color drained from the Barnes' faces as I stepped into the car, leaving behind the girl they thought they knew. I wasn't going to a farm; I was going to the boardroom of the Pennington Group to sign the papers that would strip the Barnes family of everything they owned by sunset./0/58449/coverorgin.jpg?v=832be412a97f9da45417bd7e9a6ab88d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Calculated Love
Maggie was dumped by her boyfriend and unexpectedly gained a domineering boyfriend that same day. He flirted with her everywhere, loved her to the core, but always liked to call Maggie "Meg" in bed. Maggie thought this was his special quirk. Later, Maggie saw Megan's grave. Only then did she realize that there was no inexplicable deep love, only calculated manipulation./1/118797/coverorgin.jpg?v=7538841c37467fba1fc43435dd8140b2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Wife He Couldn't Destroy
My psychiatrist husband pushed me during a fight, causing me to miscarry our second child. To silence me, he used an experimental procedure to wipe my memory. But I woke up remembering everything-except how to feel. I became a ghost in my own life, a blank slate forced back into a world where my husband and son were strangers to me. He called me unstable, parading his mistress in our home, desperate to provoke the jealous wife he had destroyed. My ten-year-old son, coached by them, cried that he preferred her, that I didn't love him anymore. He was right. I didn't. The trauma had severed every emotional cord, leaving me numb to their taunts and his pleas. They thought my emptiness was a weakness he could "fix." But it was my shield. And when a doctor confirmed my condition was a permanent defense against his abuse, I knew I was finally free. I went home, looked him in the eye, and said, "I'm filing for divorce."/1/115877/coverorgin.jpg?v=6f28c519e650569543b105d04a5fde1b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
I Lost My Genius Surgeon Wife
Justine abandoned her career as a top trauma surgeon to marry Congressman Carl McConnell. She did it to fulfill her dying sister's last wish: to protect her son, Leo, from this ruthless political family. But the seven-year-old boy she swore to protect shoved her into a freezing koi pond, then cried to his father that Justine tried to drown him. Carl didn't even check the security cameras. He hugged his precious heir and looked at his freezing wife with pure disgust. "Are you out of your mind? Trying to hurt the heir to the McConnell family!" He locked Justine in a 55-degree wine cellar while she was burning with a 102-degree fever. When she finally told him the truth, Carl flew into a rage and hurled a heavy brass-cornered book at her face, slicing her cheekbone wide open. His mother even ordered the staff to starve her for seven days to reflect on her sins. Justine stood in the dark, blood dripping down her face, her heart completely dead. She had sacrificed her brilliant future and her pride for this family, only to be tortured and discarded like garbage. How could they be so utterly devoid of humanity? She pulled out her old medical kit and stitched up her own face. Then, she signed the legal documents to permanently relinquish her stepparent rights, threw them at the housekeeper, and calmly looked at her abusive husband. "I am divorcing you, Carl."/1/125935/coverorgin.jpg?v=ce942d8bf6ceb412af66996cc97c2f77&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: Watch Me Shine
I spent a whole year trying to melt my billionaire husband's icy heart, carefully planning our grand wedding reception. Then a trending news alert popped up: Augustine was spotted at the airport, intimately holding his childhood sweetheart, Bianca. When I frantically called him, he declined it and sent a cold text. "Don't call." At the family estate, he didn't even acknowledge my existence. Instead, he announced that our wedding reception was canceled. "Bianca and I discussed it," he stated flatly, as if she were the real wife. His aristocratic family just sneered at me. His aunt called me a classless gold digger, and his grandmother demanded I endure the humiliation to protect their public image. They even moved Bianca into our penthouse, redecorating the suite for her while I was barred from his office. For a year, I gave up my career and dreams, desperately molding myself into the perfect Mrs. Rhodes. I thought my devotion would eventually earn his respect, but to them, I was just a pathetic, temporary replacement keeping the seat warm. When I saw he had completely blocked me on social media, erasing me with a single click, my heart finally died. I didn't cry or beg for his affection anymore. I packed my bags, walked out of that suffocating gilded cage, and sent him a simple text. "Let's get a divorce." I am done playing the tragic clown. This time, I'm taking my life back./1/107766/coverorgin.jpg?v=ee8ad23b8b456d09c0bbf3299ff95adf&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Ghost Surgeon: My Ruthless Ex's Obsession
I was balancing four pitchers of watery beer when my phone buzzed with a photo of my cousin flaunting a massive pink diamond on the hand of my ex-fiancé. Jennings Bowen didn't just break our engagement; his family stripped away my medical scholarship and branded me a "reputational liability," leaving me to scrub grease in a Queens dive bar. When Jennings walked into my bar with the arrogance of old money, my alcohol-fueled rage took over, and I ended up vomiting all over his handmade Italian leather shoes. He didn't just have me arrested; he baited my younger brother, Leo, into a fight and had him charged with felony assault. "He’s nineteen, Bronwyn. We’ll bury him," Jennings whispered at the precinct, while his mother ensured no lawyer in the city would touch our case. With a fifty-thousand-dollar bail I couldn't pay and an eviction notice on my door, I was backed into a corner with absolutely nothing left to lose. I couldn't understand why these people were so obsessed with crushing someone who was already down, or how they could sleep at night while destroying a teenager's life. I realized then that playing by their rules wouldn't save Leo, so I dug out the set of black ceramic scalpels I had hidden under my bed for five years. I wasn't just a waitress or a failed student; I was "The Ghost," a surgeon who operated in the shadows where the law couldn't follow. I marched to the gates of the Phelps estate, the home of the billionaire father who abandoned me, ready to trade his life for my brother's freedom. "I'm here to save you," I told the dying man as his family watched in horror. "But the price is my brother’s life, and you’re going to pay it."/1/114255/coverorgin.jpg?v=d2c93b5e24f20f35edd3ead1837fe100&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Cruel Revenge, Her Secret Child
Rory stood on the witness stand, forced by her father into an impossible choice: secure her dying mother's medical funding, or save her innocent boyfriend. She looked Corbin right in his trusting eyes and lied to the court, testifying that he was the one driving the car during the fatal hit-and-run, sending him to a maximum-security prison for ten years. The betrayal destroyed him. Corbin's father died of a heart attack upon hearing the guilty verdict. Six years later, Corbin returned as a ruthless billionaire and systematically blacklisted Rory from every job in the city. He cornered her into singing at his private club, humiliating her by forcing her to drink scotch—knowing she was severely allergic—and making her throw away his promise ring just to earn a stack of cash. "Remember this moment. This is only the beginning." She endured his cruel revenge because she was hiding a desperate secret: she was raising his five-year-old daughter, Willa. But when Willa's congenital heart defect suddenly worsened, requiring an impossible one-million-dollar surgery, Rory realized Corbin's calculated blockade had left her completely trapped with no way to save their child. Staring at the sterile hospital walls, the last shred of her guilt burned away, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. He had destroyed her career and backed her into a corner, but he was the only one with the money. Wiping her tears, Rory turned and headed straight for Vance Tower./1/108415/coverorgin.jpg?v=20de5bb9175113555955e665de0106ad&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Billionaire's Fake Savior: Unmasking The Truth
I was a disgraced heiress hiding as a dishwasher in a high-end club, scrubbing lipstick off glasses until my fingers went numb. One night, I was forced to deliver a bottle of vintage whiskey to the penthouse, only to find the tech billionaire Kenan Cervantes collapsing from a lethal neural storm. I used my surgeon’s training to save his life, holding him in the dark until his fever finally broke. The next morning, the world I knew shattered. My coworker Tiffany, who hadn't even stepped foot in the room, claimed my identity as the savior. She signed a non-disclosure agreement and walked away with a $200,000 check, while I was accused of stealing the whiskey and had my entire month's wages forfeited as punishment. While Tiffany was flaunting Chanel suits and posting photos from his balcony, I was being shoved into the mud by my abusive foster father in a dark alley. I watched from the shadows as Kenan stepped into his luxury car, looking right through me with nothing but cold distaste. To him, I was just "street trash" cluttering the sidewalk, while the imposter was the "angel" who had stabilized his heart. The injustice felt like a physical weight. I had quieted the noise in his brain and kept him from the brink of death, yet I was the one facing eviction and hunger. I didn't understand how he could be a genius and still be so blind to the truth, rewarding a thief while I rotted in the basement. Everything reached a breaking point when Tiffany forced me to sneak into his penthouse to help her maintain the lie. But Kenan returned from Tokyo early, finding me on the terrace with his military-grade protection dog. The beast that had tried to bite Tiffany was now resting its head in my lap, protecting me from its own master. Kenan dropped his briefcase, his eyes locking onto mine as the fragmented memories of the storm finally clicked into place. "You," he whispered./0/54881/coverorgin.jpg?v=3a2bdb55ea492b8b39f7dda4b4a85cd6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Heiress' Returns
Tyra runs away at 14 and thinks that she can escape all the responsibilities and family drama behind. But can she really? or will she have to go back and clean up every ones mess and take over the family business and figure out how to get it on the right track. Or will she keep running and deny everything./0/99655/coverorgin.jpg?v=4bfd563373f3d23740276c2744a96e6b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Toxic Love That Almost Destroyed Me
For five years, I was Broadway's golden girl, and my powerful CEO boyfriend, Brennan, was my anchor. Our love felt invincible, a modern fairytale written across city marquees. Then he met Aimee, a struggling musician he claimed saved his life in a car crash. He gave her the vintage guitar he'd promised me. He stole my private journal so she could turn my pain into a hit song, making me a national laughingstock. He even used my dying mother's medical bills to keep me trapped. But the night my mother was dying, the night she needed an emergency helicopter, he diverted it. He sent her only hope to Aimee, who was having a "panic attack." My mother died alone. At her funeral, a reporter asked about his engagement to Aimee. He thought he had broken me, but he had just started a war. He didn't know the separation papers he'd already signed weren't for a payout-they were for a divorce, and I was about to disappear./0/84406/coverorgin.jpg?v=050138b371b94efe87be53756b6f7fe5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Echo of a Life Lost
On our seventh wedding anniversary, the Austin air thick with humidity, I stood before a newsstand. There, on the glossy cover of Austin Monthly, was Caleb Jones, a kid three years my junior, a junior aide from my wife' s campaign. "Caleb Jones: The Future is Now. A Star on the Rise." the headline screamed, words I knew Jennifer herself had written. Then, the gut punch: Caleb's Instagram post, "Making our private victories public. Thanks, Jen! This means the world!" I didn' t feel anger, not the hot, explosive kind. Instead, a deep, bone-chilling coldness settled in. The woman who was once my rock, who pulled me through crippling anxiety for years, the Jennifer I married, was gone. She was replaced by a stranger celebrating another man' s future on our anniversary, a stranger whose clothes carried the faint, hoppy scent of his beer. How could she so casually erase twelve years, seven years of marriage, with such calculated public celebration of another man, a boy she had known since he was an intern? Was this all a carefully orchestrated betrayal, a long-game strategy I was too blind to see? I looked at the generic cufflinks she'd given me, a last-minute thought, and remembered the dead cigarette flickering in my hand. The decision was made. I was done./0/85055/coverorgin.jpg?v=8621dafed2b02fb4fbed9ef8d60c5a22&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Price of His Deception
The soft glow of three monitors was my world, lines of code and complex algorithms my language. Tomorrow was the IPO, the culmination of years of tireless work building Nexus from the ground up with my live-in boyfriend, Mark Davis, CEO of ConnectCorp. But then, the office door hissed open, revealing Chloe Miller, Mark' s new Head of Product and my old college rival. Her voice, dripping with fake sweetness, announced, "The board and I have had a discussion. We've decided to let you go." I blinked, the words echoing, "You're firing me? The day before the IPO?" She sneered, calling me redundant, uncommitted, just a "coder." Then, with a predatory smile, she whispered, "I'm going to be the First Lady of Tech... You were just a gold-digger who got lucky. Your time is up." Rage surged as I reached for my phone to call Mark, but Chloe snatched it, answering and feigning distress. "Mark? Oh, thank god," she sobbed into the phone, "It's Ava... she's going crazy. She's threatening me... I'm scared." The crowd gathered, their judgmental eyes painting me as the unstable villain. Mark stormed in, his handsome face contorted with fury, not at Chloe, but at me. "What did you do to her?" he snarled, immediately comforting Chloe. "She's lying," I pleaded, "She fired me." "I heard the whole thing, Ava! You're harassing my Head of Product. I can't believe you." Then, he slapped me. The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the shock that cleared everything: the late-night meetings, Chloe's perfume, their triumphant glances. "You're sleeping with her," I stated, not a question. He didn't deny it, dismissing my years of dedication. "You were just the help," he spat, "A glorified typist." "A code monkey," Chloe added, snuggling into his side. The final blow came when I demanded my share, only for Chloe to brandish a marriage certificate-hers and Mark's, dated three months ago. "The one we have is a fake, Ava," Mark confessed, his voice devoid of emotion. "It was just a piece of paper to make you feel secure. It never meant anything." My world shattered. "You have no equity, Ava. You were an employee. And now, you're a fired employee." He tossed me a grimy key, "As a severance package, you can have our first apartment. The one you loved so much with the leaky ceiling." They wanted the core Nexus algorithms, the encryption keys, everything. I pulled the small, black USB drive from my laptop. Then, with all my strength, I threw it between them. "You want it? Find it." I walked away, leaving the wreckage of my old life behind, a spark of cold fury igniting a new resolve./1/107442/coverorgin.jpg?v=78f1d959f2d13af63b2301df297f12bc&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Contract Bride: Rising From The Shadows
I was hired to be the "cure" for the Stuart family’s reputation, a wife whose only job was to manage the emotional risks of Casper Stuart’s cold-blooded empire. My life was governed by spreadsheets and compliance reports, and my value was measured solely by my ability to remain a silent, perfect asset. On our second anniversary, Casper didn't come home for dinner; instead, a Page Six alert showed him with a Victoria's Secret model at Soho House, his hand possessively on her back. When he finally returned, he didn't offer an apology, but a clinical reminder of my "obligations." I soon discovered he had given my three-million-dollar anniversary bonus—a pink diamond necklace—to his mistress, while tossing me a cheap bracelet his assistant had picked out. When his mother offered me a two-hundred-million-dollar settlement to disappear, Casper tore the contract to shreds in front of me. He whispered that he had bought up every cent of my family’s medical and gambling debts, turning my marriage into a life sentence of indentured servitude. To prove his power, he kicked me out of his car in a rainstorm twenty miles from the city, leaving me to walk home barefoot while he drove off with my dog. "Tell her you want to stay," he had commanded in front of his mother, using my mother’s life as leverage to keep his "portfolio" intact. I stood in the mud, shivering as the rain washed away the mask of the supportive wife, realizing that to the Stuarts, I wasn't a human being—I was a line item that could be liquidated or crushed at will. But Casper forgot one thing: I am an actress, and I’ve finally landed the role of a lifetime. I’m done managing his risks; I’m about to become his greatest liability./1/115878/coverorgin.jpg?v=ca89c76f87586b4f28f9873b810621f5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rising From Ashes: The Betrayed Wife's Return
I took a pet-sitting gig at a luxury apartment, thinking my life was perfect. I was pregnant and engaged to Damien, a successful attorney who had spent seven years proving his unwavering loyalty. But the moment I stepped inside, I recognized his cologne. Then I saw the photos. The apartment belonged to his mistress, Candace. She had deliberately hired me to flaunt their year-long affair and the massive diamond ring he had just bought her. Candace even set a trap, calling the police to falsely accuse me of stealing that ring to completely destroy my reputation. But I turned the tables, using my knowledge of his habits to expose her perjury and their affair right in front of the detectives. Furious that his flawless public image was ruined, Damien confronted me outside the precinct. When I told him I was pregnant, instead of joy, his eyes filled with panic for his career. "Shut up!" he roared. He violently shoved me to the ground in front of a crowd of onlookers. Blood pooled on the cold pavement. I lost our baby. As I lay in the ICU, my heart turned to ash. He had spent seven years promising me a safe harbor, only to brutally murder our unborn child just to protect his own selfish ego. I didn't shed a single tear. I used his overwhelming public guilt to make him sign over all his assets to me, then vanished without a trace. A year later, I returned to New York not as the broken Addison, but as "Phoenix," the world's most powerful jewelry designer. And I am here to personally put him in a prison cell./1/104847/coverorgin.jpg?v=0d2d4475a8e3ed8fd3566191302555aa&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Hidden Heiress: The Maid You Betrayed
For five years, I was the invisible glue holding Damien Crawford together. I was the one who pulled him from a burning car until the skin melted off my back, and I was the one who donated bone marrow when he was on death's door. I even gave up a full-ride scholarship to MIT just to be his nurse. Yet, he believed his mistress, Hadley, was his savior. To him, I was just the maid's daughter who changed his bedpans—a piece of furniture he could abuse while he planned his wedding to another woman. But his cruelty didn't stop at verbal abuse. When my father suffered a massive heart attack, Damien refused to let me use the car, choosing to comfort Hadley over a fake panic attack instead. His mother even slashed the tires to ensure I couldn't leave. While my father died cold and alone, Damien stabbed a needle into my hand just to teach me a lesson about "respect," oblivious to the fact that the scars on my skin were the receipt for his life. He didn't know he was torturing the only person who had ever truly loved him. But the girl who begged for crumbs of affection died along with her father that day. I picked up my phone and dialed the number saved simply as a dot. "He's dead," I whispered to the man on the other end—Anderson Morrison, the city's most feared Don and my sworn protector. "I'm coming," he replied, his voice lethal. "And I'm bringing the army." It was time to show Damien that he hadn't just mistreated a maid; he had declared war on a Queen./0/83109/coverorgin.jpg?v=b345c57ecbd55de168ff9f8c7d8691d3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Daughter I Lost to Greed
I'd built my catering business from scratch, pouring every dollar into my daughter Emily's future, envisioning a modest, joyful wedding. But then Kevin's mother, Brenda, dropped a bombshell: Emily was pregnant, and they demanded a $50,000 wedding plus another $50,000 for a house – my "responsibility." My own daughter, manipulated by Brenda, sided against me, echoing their absurd demands and cutting me off. They married without me, then Emily even tried to set me up with a strange man, and Brenda openly demanded my house. How could my sweet, cherished Emily become so unrecognizable, so deeply brainwashed by this monstrous greed? The absolute betrayal tore my heart apart, leaving me shattered and utterly bewildered. Desperate, I listed my house, planning to escape to Oregon. But Emily's final call, a plea for reconciliation over dinner, was a trap. Drugged and helpless, I overheard Brenda order Kevin to murder me and inherit everything. This wasn't just about money anymore; it was about survival./1/121394/coverorgin.jpg?v=3446120d70795db5e64698000c8c01ea&imageMogr2/format/webp)
