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Modern Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
After Divorce: Loved By The Secret Billionaire CEO

After Divorce: Loved By The Secret Billionaire CEO

After a devastating divorce with the man she had been married to for over three years, Rachel thought her life was over. Her family disowned her, they wanted nothing to do with her anymore and she couldn't blame them. She had just divorced David Hart, one of the top successful bachelors in the country and heir to the Hart industries. But they would never understand that she didn't divorce him, he divorced her after she caught him cheating on her with her god-damned best friend! Rachel was just about to end everything by jumping off a bridge when she was saved by the most unexpected person. The boy she once bullied severally in highschool because he always wore ugly glass and was from a poor background, how come that glass make him so hot now? Why was he helping her get revenge on ex-husband who is trying to make her life even more miserable? And most important how did he get so handsome? What exactly does he want from her? ... No, you must want something, anything. If you can really help me get revenge on David and Lana, I can't just let you do it for free". Ethan went quiet for a while. I held my breath waiting for what his request might be. If it was something money could buy, I'll try my best to get it for him even though I was somehow broke right now. "You're right I do want something". He said after thinking for few minutes "What?" I asked slowly. " Until you get your revenge on David, Lana and every other person you want, you will live here". Live here as in...?  " Wha... What are you saying? ". I stammered hoping he wasn't saying what I thought he was saying. I tried to step back but I missed a step and almost fell on the bed but Ethan caught me holding me in his muscular arms.  Ethan moved his face closer to mine be was so close, our nose almost touched. " I want you to be with me! ".
His Dead Lover In A New Body

His Dead Lover In A New Body

Imogen Montgomery was the perfect billionaire heiress, deeply in love and ready to marry her fiancé, Clark Ellis. That all ended the night her cousin Kathleen ripped the sapphire pendant from her neck and pushed her into a pool of toxic chemicals to die. Two years later, Imogen's eyes snapped open. But she didn't wake up in a hospital. She woke up tied to a stained mattress, trapped in the battered body of Briana, a teenage girl from the slums who had just been sold to a local trafficker. After violently fighting her way out of a cheap motel, she discovered the horrifying truth. Kathleen had taken over the Montgomery Group. She had locked Imogen's grieving parents away in a psychiatric facility as prisoners. And worst of all, Kathleen was now flaunting her stolen wealth online, preparing to marry Clark. A wave of pure, white-hot rage boiled in her blood. Kathleen had murdered her, stolen her family, and was playing the perfect grieving cousin. How was she supposed to fight back? She was just a runaway nobody now. If she tried to expose the truth, Kathleen's security would shoot her dead in the street. She needed a weapon. She needed a shield. She needed the one man Kathleen feared. Covered in mud and blood, Briana intercepted Clark's car in the freezing rain. She was going to infiltrate his home as his vulgar, unhinged fake mistress, and she would drag Kathleen straight down to hell.
The Mute Wife's Secret Genius Comeback

The Mute Wife's Secret Genius Comeback

For three years, I've played the role of the broken, mute trophy wife to the "Ice King" Heinrich Lloyd. While the world sees me as a fragile liability, I've been building a cage of silence to keep the monsters out, hiding my true identity as a high-level dark web hacker known as Ghost. The cage shattered when my mother-in-law cornered me at a private clinic and demanded I sign away my future. She didn't want my cooperation; she wanted my replacement. She introduced Aria, a ruthless socialite, as the "better vessel" who would carry my husband's child because my own womb was deemed "hostile." To ensure I wouldn't fight back, they shoved a fake psychiatric report across the table, threatening me with a permanent sanitarium stay and a forced conservatorship if I didn't relinquish my parental rights and my marriage. When I fled in a panic, Heinrich didn't offer comfort; he caught me at a bar, dragged me home like misbehaving property, and told me to stop being an embarrassment. Now, the nightmare has followed me to my secret day job. Aria walked into my office as a "consultant," leaning in to whisper that she could smell my fear through my cheap clothes and fake glasses. She thinks I'm a cornered rat, a woman so pathetic she can't even find the voice to scream for help. I stared at her, my fingers clutching the micro-recorder hidden in my pearls. They have no idea that the "mute" wife they despise has already mapped out every dirty transaction in their offshore accounts and discovered the massive gambling debts Aria is trying to hide. I felt a searing rage in my chest, a fire that had been smoldering for three years. They think they've trapped a bird, but they've actually locked themselves in with a ghost. I'm done hiding behind a tremor in my hands and a vacant stare. "Sign it," Gerri had commanded back at the clinic. "This is a notification, not a negotiation." She was right about one thing. It isn't a negotiation anymore. It's a declaration of war, and I'm going to burn their entire legacy to the ground.
Immune To The Billionaire's Toxic Regret

Immune To The Billionaire's Toxic Regret

Elmore Thomas rushed into the emergency room, clutching his feverish seven-year-old son, Buddy, tightly to his chest. When the privacy curtain was pulled back, the air in Elmore's lungs vanished. The attending physician standing under the harsh lights was his wife, Kendal-the woman everyone believed had burned to death eight years ago. But there was no tearful reunion. Kendal looked at him, and her eyes froze into impenetrable ice. She treated him like a biohazard, strictly referring to him as the family member. Worse, she didn't recognize Buddy. She comforted their crying son with the same gentle warmth she used to reserve for Elmore, completely unaware she was soothing the baby she thought had died. Days later, Elmore watched from the shadows as she picked up another boy outside a prep school, her left hand flashing a massive diamond engagement ring. When his butler accidentally recognized her, Kendal shielded her new stepson with pure disgust in her eyes. "Tell that psychopath to sign the divorce papers immediately. I have a new family now." The words 'new family' echoed in Elmore's skull, tearing him apart. For eight years, he had lived in a hell of guilt and madness, raising their son in the shadow of her ghost. How could she just erase their past? How could she give her tender smiles to a stranger and look at him with absolute revulsion? Standing in a luxury ballroom, Elmore squeezed his hand until his crystal champagne flute shattered, thick blood dripping onto the rug. The murderous obsession in his dark eyes returned as he called his lawyer. "Freeze her divorce application. Use every dirty trick in the book. She isn't leaving."
The Blind Billionaire's Scandalous Fake Wife

The Blind Billionaire's Scandalous Fake Wife

I woke up in a sterile hospital room with a throat like sandpaper and eyelids that felt sewn shut. I expected to see the water-stained ceiling of my tiny Queens apartment, but instead, I found myself tethered to expensive machines in a room smelling of funeral lilies. The nurse didn't call me Ainsley Bentley; she called me Mrs. Eaton, and she told me the year was 2024. Before I could process the four-year gap in my memory, the Eaton matriarch stormed in, calling me a "little actress" and throwing a newspaper at my legs. The headline screamed that I was a scandalous commoner wife who had just caused a DUI crash. Within hours, a ruthless lawyer named Preston was at my bedside, demanding I sign a separation agreement that stripped me of everything. He showed me grainy photos of me with another man, accusing me of infidelity and "endangering the family reputation." My so-called best friend, Kirstie, even tried to bribe me with fifty thousand dollars to flee to Paris, whispering that my husband was an unstable monster who would destroy me. When I finally confronted my husband Carson, the billionaire "Blind Prophet of Wall Street," he looked at me with chilling indifference through his dark glasses. He was convinced I had sold his location to the paparazzi for a tabloid payout, betraying him at his most vulnerable moment. I didn't understand any of it. I didn't remember the marriage, the scandals, or the luxury. But when I looked in the mirror, I found a jagged, violent scar running down my back—a "war wound" that didn't belong to a yoga instructor. I realized I knew how to cite matrimonial law by heart and how to neutralize a physical threat with a single move. "I'm staying," I told the family of sharks as I stood my ground in their massive estate. I refused to sign the papers. Instead, I found a micro SD card hidden in a hollowed-out lipstick and realized I wasn't just a victim of a crash. I was a variable they hadn't accounted for, and I was going to find out exactly who I was before they could finish what they started.
My Unwanted Husband Is A Lethal Boss

My Unwanted Husband Is A Lethal Boss

To survive a lethal genetic breakdown, Holden, a legendary mercenary known as "Ghost," was forced into an arranged marriage with the wealthy heiress Julia Ramsey. But the moment he stepped into the lavish estate wearing an oil-stained jacket, he was treated like absolute garbage. Julia accused him of being a perverted stalker, pulling a gun on him and demanding he be thrown out. Even after Holden used a forbidden kinetic strike to save her grandfather from a fatal heart attack, the family still looked at him with pure disgust. Julia confined him to a cramped guest room, warning him to stay out of her life. To make matters worse, his other estranged fiancée, an elite military commander, barged into the penthouse just to throw an annulment in his face. "You are a pathetic, bottom-feeding parasite! You have no ambition. You hide in this woman's apartment like a stray dog. You are entirely beneath me." She mocked him in front of Julia, completely blind to the fact that Holden had just effortlessly incapacitated her Tier-1 operative with a single strike. They all thought he was just a greedy, low-class thug clinging to their wealth. They had no idea they were mocking an apex predator who commanded the city's underground and hunted mutant monsters for sport. When Julia forced him to attend a high-society yacht party as part of a trap to publicly humiliate him, Holden just smirked and took a sip of his cheap beer. He was more than happy to play along, already calculating exactly how he was going to tear their arrogant little world apart.
Ashes of Love, Flames of Justice

Ashes of Love, Flames of Justice

My phone buzzed on the counter of the vet clinic, a harsh sound, demanding my attention from a complicated case. It was Mark, my husband, sharp and impatient. "Chloe, drop whatever you' re doing. I need you." He needed his backup drive, for the biggest night of his career, a speech about 'sacrifice' and 'unwavering support', to impress his investors. I, his vet-tech wife, was racing home to fetch it, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. When I arrived, he was radiant on stage, spouting platitudes about family while I clutched the hard drive in the shadows, my stomach twisting. My phone vibrated: Dr. Reed, our son Leo' s specialist. "Chloe, the new treatment protocol is our best option, but we need to start immediately. The hospital requires a significant deposit." It was an unimaginable sum. I looked through the glass at Mark, laughing with investors, the hard drive forgotten. Leo and I were not in his world. In that moment, something inside me shifted. The long, slow burn of resentment ignited into cold, clear purpose. I wasn't going to wait for him. I wasn't going to ask him. I drove directly to sell my father' s classic Mustang – my most prized possession – for the cash. Returning home, a bright orange notice was slapped on our front door: NOTICE OF FORECLOSURE. My key wouldn' t work. My credit card was declined. I called Mark, his voice laced with fury. "Where the hell did you go? You embarrassed me, Chloe!" "The house, Mark," I whispered, trembling. "There' s a foreclosure notice. My keys don' t work." "I mortgaged it. Months ago. The startup needed a cash infusion," he sneered. "It' s gone, Chloe. My last-ditch funding failed because I was too damn distracted by all this drama with Leo. Your drama." Rain plastering my hair to my face, I sank to my knees. "We' re done," he said. "I told the bank to change the locks. You can get your things tomorrow." He hung up. Just then, Leo, pale and frail, opened the door. "Mommy? Why is Daddy yelling? Are we leaving our house?" His simple words cut through my shock. I pulled him close, whispering, "What if it was just you and me from now on? A new life. Would that be okay?" He nodded, trusting. That was all I needed.
His Shadow, Her Betrayal, His Rise

His Shadow, Her Betrayal, His Rise

The blinding white of the hospital ceiling. My ears registered the monotonous beep of a machine, my body a dull ache radiating from my chest, but my mind was replaying a lifetime. A lifetime I didn't swerve, didn't fight, a life where I gave everything for her, for Sarah Miller. I saw myself hollowed out, unfulfilled, alone, a footnote in her brilliant biography, my own child a ghost. Then the blinding clarity: this wasn't just a brush with death, it was a preview of the life I was about to lose myself in. My gaze drifted-Sarah, impeccable as always, on her phone, brow furrowed. And next to her, Alex, murmuring, his hand on her arm, a gesture far too familiar. They were a perfect, closed circuit. I was the outsider. A cold certainty settled in my chest, more real than the pain from my injuries: I would not let that life happen. My hands trembled, not from weakness, but from a newfound resolve. I called my boss. "Mike! I heard about the accident. Are you okay? Do you need anything?" "I'm okay, Mark," I said, my voice raspy. "But I'm calling to resign." "Resign? Mike, what are you talking about? You're our top young talent. We were just about to put you on the downtown high-rise project." "I don't want the high-rise," I said, with surprising strength. "I want the sustainable community project. The one in Oak Creek. I know it's a pay cut. I know it's in the middle of nowhere. I'll take it. I need to do it." A weight I hadn't realized I was carrying lifted from my shoulders. It felt incredible. This was my second chance. My life wasn't going to be a footnote in Sarah Miller's biography. It was going to be my own story. Starting now.
She Walked Away, He Went Mad

She Walked Away, He Went Mad

Three years of secret marriage. A Stage 3 cancer diagnosis on our anniversary. And a $20 million firework show across Boston Harbor—for another woman. On the day I was told I was dying, I stood in the cold hospital lobby and watched the breaking news. Courtney Trevino—the ruthless NHL captain, billionaire heir, and the husband who hadn't looked at me in years—was wrapping his coat around his dazzling “soulmate,” Blair, kissing her under a sky lit with her initials. He came home at 1:00 AM with red lipstick smeared on his collar. He didn't ask why I was awake. He just pinned me to the chair with cold, arrogant eyes: “It's your ovulation window. Lie down and do your job. You wanted to be Mrs. Trevino—now give my family an heir.” When I refused, he ordered me to do the unthinkable: as his PR manager, I had to draft the official press release declaring him single—personally washing his mistress clean of homewrecker rumors. Everyone treated me like a pathetic, clingy nobody who trapped a god into marriage. Courtney smirked when I whispered the word divorce. “Stop throwing tantrums, Camille. You have nowhere else to go. You'll come crawling back.” He was dead wrong. I left my wedding band on the counter, signed away every penny of his fortune, and walked out the door with a single suitcase. What Courtney and high society forgot was who I was before this toxic cage: the premier mind in aerospace biomechanics, the classified legend behind military combat drones, and an untouchable tech pioneer. The “genius” mistress he worshipped wasn't even fit to read my discarded drafts. I have months left to live. I won't waste another second begging for scraps of love. Courtney thought I was bluffing. Until he found the bloody medical reports in the trash, the divorce papers in his archive, and the entire world falling to its knees for the genius he threw away…
Too Late For Regret: My Hidden Billionaire

Too Late For Regret: My Hidden Billionaire

For five years, Daryl suppressed his terrifying Draconian bloodline to be a devoted, stay-at-home husband to his ambitious wife, Blaire. But on his mother's birthday, Blaire stormed in with a billionaire heir by her side, slamming a divorce agreement directly into the birthday cake. "This marriage is a liability to my entry into high society," she declared coldly. Her new partner mocked Daryl's mother with eviction threats, triggering a severe heart attack that sent the frail woman collapsing to the floor. At the hospital, Blaire refused to pay the life-saving medical deposit unless Daryl gave up full custody of their five-year-old daughter. Through the ICU intercom, she ruthlessly told his dying mother that Daryl was a worthless failure, causing the heart monitor to violently flatline. Daryl's sanity finally snapped. He had protected Blaire from the shadows, hiding his god-like power just to give her a normal life. How could she treat human lives like disposable assets on a balance sheet? The dormant volcano in his chest erupted. He signed the divorce papers and shredded her five-million-dollar pity check right into her face. "Within one year, your empire will crumble, and you will be on your knees begging," Daryl vowed. Then, he dialed a heavily encrypted number, summoning a fleet of black-ops helicopters and the city's most dangerous underground queen to bow at his feet, leaving his ex-wife trembling in the dust.
The Substitute Heiress Leaves For Good

The Substitute Heiress Leaves For Good

For three years, Eleonore was the perfect, understanding girlfriend to Preston Sterling, supporting the wealthy finance heir through every family crisis and business deal. But at a glamorous rooftop party, she accidentally overheard a conversation that shattered her world. Preston casually confessed to his best friend that he was only using Eleonore as a convenient, comfortable substitute because she looked a bit like his ex-girlfriend, Vanessa, who had just returned to the city. When Vanessa officially appeared, Preston's friends publicly humiliated Eleonore, mocking her as a cheap imitation and a pathetic social climber. Instead of defending the woman who had stood by him, Preston fiercely protected his ex, holding her close while demanding Eleonore apologize to his friends to make the scene go away. Worse still, he later tracked Eleonore down and arrogantly offered to keep her as a secret mistress. He claimed he couldn't abandon his fragile ex right now, but promised to buy Eleonore a new place and whatever she wanted. Three years of quiet devotion were treated as a sordid transaction. She watched him play the noble hero to his ex while treating her like a disposable prop, and felt a chilling, desolate calm replace her heartbreak. Without shedding a single tear, she packed her bags, walked out of their shared apartment forever, and pulled out a long-forgotten marriage alliance proposal. She calmly sent a text to Ford Trevino, the ruthless CEO of a rival billionaire family. "Mr. Trevino, I agree to the engagement."