Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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In Love With My Ex-Wife
In order to get her mother's medical fees, she sold herself and was pregnant with a stranger’s child. Moreover, she was forced to marry to marry a man whom her father set up for her. On the day of her marriage she found that her new husband was with another woman. She originally thought that she would not be affected by anything but as the time passed by she developed feelings for her husband. But just she was about to give birth, her husband threw divorce papers on her face: “I don’t want to be with a woman like you! Get the hell out of her life.” She took both her broken heart and marriage and despaired without any trace. Years later, she again came with a completely changed version. However, when she thought that she would never interact with that man again, the man went to the head over the heels to get her back. When she asked him why he was doing this, the man said with a smirk, "As my children's mother, shouldn't you stay with your husband?"/0/99116/coverorgin.jpg?v=298faa513c0803f70fe768fd7dcd8e03&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Divorce Following Pregnancy
In the third year of their marriage, Liam became infatuated with his new secretary, Lindsay Price. She was open and bold. Her personal motto was "Fortune favors the bold." In bed, she knew countless different positions, and outside of it, she accompanied Liam in various thrilling activities. While he went out with Lindsay, he maintained the facade of a devoted husband by fabricating where he had been to Lillian Walsh. "I'm not coming home tonight. I was drunk, so I'm sleeping at the office." Lindsay chuckled beside him. She said with a hint of teasing provocation, "When are you going to divorce that boring old woman?" The call ended abruptly. Unbeknownst to them, Lillian was sitting in the Obstetrics and Gynecology department and staring at the pregnancy report at her fingertips. She had been pregnant for six weeks. After she left the hospital, she called her brother, Ricky Walsh, who was a lawyer. "Ricky, I need you to make a divorce agreement for me." Ricky paused briefly and then asked, "Are you sure about this?" Lillian replied calmly, "Yes. I'm pregnant. I plan to keep the baby myself."/0/80500/coverorgin.jpg?v=206345136b4f6ac7358958d0f6f2ed0a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Unbowed: The Evelyn Hayes Story
Evelyn Hayes, a venture capitalist celebrating a milestone in her impressive career, just wanted a quiet moment at a campus Starbucks, dressed comfortably after a long panel. But a simple outfit choice unexpectedly ignites a firestorm: anonymous messages turn into public online attacks, spearheaded by Mark Jenkins, an aspiring entrepreneur she's about to judge. He demonizes her, painting her first as "distracting," then as a "corrupt elite" actively sabotaging his dreams. When he realizes she's the lead investor for the prestigious "Pioneer" Accelerator, he unleashes a venomous social media campaign, exploiting his family for sympathy and turning the internet into a mob crying "#CancelEvieHayes" and accusing her of being everything wrong with Silicon Valley. How did a casual tank top become an excuse for such a calculated, personal vendetta? How can one man’s bitter entitlement twist reality and orchestrate a public shaming campaign against a professional woman? Refusing to be silenced, Evelyn knows she must fight back, not just for her reputation, but for every woman targeted by online hate. But as she prepares to expose Mark’s dark past, a terrifying truth emerges: his desperation could turn vicious. Will she overcome the digital mob and a dangerous real-life threat, or will his false narrative destroy everything she’s built?/1/106625/coverorgin.jpg?v=4352524ea5a2cabaaf660075cd212658&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Sold To The Devil I Ruined
Fitzgerald Woodard was the "stray" I used to torment in prep school, a boy I once paid to kneel in the mud for my amusement. Now, the tables have turned, and he’s the billionaire who bought my father’s debt, dragging me into his mansion as a "personal asset" listed in a contract I never read. He didn't just want the money back; he wanted to see me break. He stood over me in the rain and told me he owned the very machines keeping my father alive, and with one flick of his thumb, he could stop his breathing forever. The nightmare escalated until I didn't recognize myself. He forced me to eat cold soup off the floor like an animal and gripped my hand over a heavy hammer, forcing me to crush a young guard's bones just to prove I was as much of a monster as he was. His childhood sweetheart, a nurse I once humiliated, stood in the shadows, whispering that I was nothing more than a used-up toy he was already bored of. I lay on the cold marble, shivering from a fever he refused to treat, realizing that the curse he placed on me years ago had finally come true. Every act of cruelty I had ever committed was being repaid with interest, and the man I once looked down on was now the only god I had left to pray to. Suddenly, he threw me out into the freezing night with nothing but rags on my back and a shattered phone. The hospital called with an ultimatum: fifty thousand dollars by noon, or they pull the plug on my father’s life support. Standing barefoot on the biting asphalt, I watched his black SUV disappear into the dark. I have nine hours to save the only person I love, and only one way to get the money. I have to go back and kneel before the devil I created./0/81908/coverorgin.jpg?v=c974e759c3df675ae9c05d471895f926&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Erased: My Music, My Legacy
I watched the screen, my knuckles white, as two viral videos ripped my world apart. One was old, grainy, showing a younger me, working two jobs, sharing cheap pizza with Lucas, eyes full of hope for his music, our future. "We're gonna make it, Lucas," I'd whispered, believing every word. The second video was slick, from last night's awards, Lucas on stage, award in hand. "This is for you, Sophie," he declared, beaming at the pop starlet who sat in the front row. "With you, Sophie, I finally see clearly, no longer mistaking shadows for the sun." Shadows for the sun. That was me. The internet comments were a dumpster fire: "Lucas finally upgraded!", "Good riddance to that clingy ex!" My chest tightened. This wasn't just a breakup; it was a public execution of my past, my love, my countless hours pouring the legacy of Mateo-my deceased love, our songs-into Lucas. He was the man I' d spent years building up, only for him to erase me. A fraudulent document surfaced, a backdated "songwriting assignment" giving Sophie credit for our song. Even my own Aunt Maria went on record, calling me an opportunist. The world saw me as a villain, a user, a bitter ex. The truth? No one knew about Mateo, his raw talent, his tragic death, or how I' d desperately tried to keep his dream alive through his twin brother. No one knew the songs were always his and mine. I was drowning in an avalanche of lies. Then, an unexpected email landed in my inbox: "Ava, I saw the news. It' s BS. All of it." It was from Jay. He had Mateo's footage. And he was making a documentary. My whole story was about to change./1/101932/coverorgin.jpg?v=5bf7ce9b2f73dce0e48d34b01ae25e1e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Queen Of His Twisted Betrayal
My husband, Cameron, cheated on me with his intern, Cara. After months of begging, I gave my childhood sweetheart a second chance, but the trust was gone. One night, after a fight, he stormed out. I watched on a hidden dashcam as he drove straight to her apartment, the sounds of their passion echoing through the car's speakers, a soundtrack to my despair. The next day, I found them kissing in our foyer. In a blind rage, I attacked Cara. Cameron shoved me to protect her, and my head slammed against the wall, splitting open. As blood streamed down my face, he cradled Cara, murmuring, "Are you okay?" At the hospital, his mother arrived, horrified. "She's pregnant with another man's child, and she's trying to trap you!" she screamed at Cameron. But he only had eyes for his mistress. He pushed past me, sending me sprawling to the floor, and rushed to Cara's side after she faked a medical emergency. He didn't even look back. Later, he returned, his eyes cold. "I can't let Cara go," he said. "You'll still be my wife. My queen. Just... allow me this one small indulgence." The audacity was breathtaking. He wanted me, his wife, to accept his mistress. But his arrogance didn't stop there. When Cara went missing, he accused me of harming her. He dragged me from my hospital bed, held a knife to my arm, and sliced my skin. "Tell me where she is," he hissed, his face twisted with madness, "or I'll make you."/1/116950/coverorgin.jpg?v=2d099f1b247870d992154945ddd7dab0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Flash Marriage To The Ruthless Predator
For four years, Isolde Navarro played the part of a broken, mindless doll, trapped in a severe trauma-induced haze after being brutally framed. The charade reached its climax the night she caught her perfect sister, Angele, and her fiancé, Julian, having sex in the estate's guest room. Instead of showing guilt, Angele violently shoved Isolde into a marble wall, laughing as blood poured down her face. "Get her out of my sight and clean her up," Angele sneered, disgusted by her own sister. Worse, Isolde overheard their ultimate plan through a hidden microphone: once the trust's protection clause expired tomorrow, they would declare her permanently incompetent and steal the massive fortune her mother had left her. Her own father was fully on board, eager to lock his "embarrassing" daughter in a padded cell and freeze every cent she owned. How could her own flesh and blood be so utterly ruthless? They thought she was just a drooling idiot, completely defenseless against their greed and cruelty. But they didn't know the lethal operative known as 'The Rose' had never been asleep; she was just waiting in the shadows. With a micro-camera recording their every dirty secret, Isolde calmly wiped the blood from her face and walked out the door. She had twenty-four hours to hijack a billionaire into marriage, trigger the trust's emergency clause, and burn her family's entire world to the ground./0/80031/coverorgin.jpg?v=605027eb00eea4ae0cb78c23a5fa622d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Weeks After the Funeral, My Wife Was Hers
As a Chicago firefighter, my world was built on duty, courage, and the unwavering love for my wife, Clara, another hero on the force. Then the call came: a warehouse collapse, my sister-in-law Ava’s unit, no survivors, and later, Clara’s gear found near a burned body, presumed dead, annihilating my soul. But weeks later, reeling from grief, I stumbled upon a horrific truth: Clara, undeniably alive, was meticulously impersonating her deceased twin, living with Ava’s husband, Mark, in a sickening charade. My world didn't just tilt; it shattered, as I watched my presumed-dead wife publicly embrace her new life, even carrying another man's baby, all while casting me as the unstable widower. Every interaction was a fresh wound: her choice to save Mark instead of me during my anaphylaxis, her vile accusation that I’d supplied Mark’s overdose, and her constant, suffocating attempts to maintain control. I became a ghost haunting their stolen domestic bliss, an unwilling audience to the monstrous lie built on my shattered life. How could the woman who vowed 'til death do us part, betray me with such calculating cruelty, erasing our shared history to live as another woman’s wife, with another man? The clean grief I once felt transformed into a venomous, all-consuming rage, a betrayal so profound it stole my sanity. Was every laugh, every tender moment, a lie? With every piece of my soul screaming for escape, I decided then: I would leave Chicago, abandoning the ashes of my old life to seek a new beginning, far away from this living hell disguised as a family./0/83942/coverorgin.jpg?v=07b779603f7b0f8f07b7b710d69bead1&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./1/116481/coverorgin.jpg?v=8c7a866619d0cdcbdb5c8a59da5d1232&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Substitute Bride's Lethal Secret
I was dragged back to the wealthy Hayes family years after they threw me out like garbage. The matriarch ordered me to take my sister's place and marry Alaric Montgomery, a ruthless CEO rumored to be on his deathbed. "If you refuse, I will have your mother's grave dug up by tomorrow morning." They wanted to use me as a superstitious blood sacrifice so their precious golden child wouldn't have to become a young widow. My stepmother and sister mocked my cheap clothes and sprayed toxic chemicals in my face, treating me like a disposable pawn meant to die quietly in the Montgomery estate. But while they were laughing, I hacked into the top-tier medical network and discovered the truth. Alaric wasn't dying of a terminal illness; he was suffering from a highly lethal neurotoxin. Worse, I found out the Montgomery family was deeply involved in the orchestrated car crash that murdered my mother, and they were currently hunting down her sacred healing pendant. My family thinks I am just a weak, illiterate country bumpkin who will cry and accept her miserable fate. They have no idea that I am actually "The Surgeon," the legendary underground doctor that Alaric is burning billions of dollars to find. Wearing my faded hoodie and worn combat boots, I calmly stepped into the Montgomery family's fleet of Rolls-Royces. They think they are sending a helpless lamb to the slaughter. They don't realize they just invited an apex predator into the lion's den./1/102871/coverorgin.jpg?v=506921a5ae9552fcdfadff7d3234cd13&imageMogr2/format/webp)
A Marriage Built on Lies
To save her family's empire, CEO Eliana King, known as the "Ice Queen," entered an arranged marriage with the rebellious artist Garrett Wolf. She saw him as a chaotic variable to be managed, a business deal. She never expected to be a pawn in his game of love. The devastating truth was that her husband was desperately in love with his childhood friend and muse, Serena Vance. Their entire marriage was a sham, a shield to protect Serena from his family's judgment, and a tool to make her jealous. When Eliana tried to divorce him, her own family, who knew the secret all along, had her brutally punished. Later, Garrett publicly forced a kiss on Eliana to provoke his lover, an act that ended with Serena attacking Eliana in a fit of jealous rage. In the hospital, Garrett's only concern was protecting Serena, proving Eliana's pain meant nothing next to his obsession. She was a tool, utterly disposable. This final betrayal ignited a fire in the ice. After a violent retaliation, she cut ties with her past and began celebrating her freedom. But the party came to a dead stop when Garrett appeared, his eyes burning with a rage meant only for her./0/84255/coverorgin.jpg?v=67f44d7e82b007fb82d7bd44c0a7cdd7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Mother's War
My son, Caleb, lived for music. Every strum, every hum, filled our small Rust Belt home with joy. When legendary producer Anthony Lester swooped him off to Nashville, it felt like his dream was finally coming true. Then the music stopped. For two months, all I got were slick, pre-recorded messages and B-roll videos, until a shaky clip revealed a raw, red burn on his hand, and a terrified flicker in his eyes before he yanked it away. I flew to Nashville, only to be branded a crazy mother and turned away from the studio by a condescending assistant. Then, a new music video teaser dropped, supposedly showcasing "authentic art," but it was my son, Caleb, being brutally beaten on camera, his genuine terror dismissed as "method acting." The local sheriff, bought and paid for by the studio, merely smirked, telling me to take the "signing bonus" money and go home. How could this be happening? How could a mother watch her child being tortured and find every door slammed in her face, the world calling his torment "art"? Watching his gaunt face on a live stream, pumped full of drugs, unable to remember the name of his own childhood dog, I knew the system had failed him. But they forgot one thing: I wasn' t just a cleaning lady from a forgotten town. I was the widow of Sergeant David Johns, a Medal of Honor recipient, and the Army does not forget its own./1/103497/coverorgin.jpg?v=2eba2cfc6b866896b99e5a09d2e314f9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Broken Vows, A Scientist's Revenge
My husband, a powerful tech mogul, stole my sister' s posthumous research award. He gave it to his young protégé. The same woman who killed my sister. He didn't just steal her legacy. He threatened to destroy my lab and my life's work-the cure for the very cancer that took our family-if I didn't publicly endorse his mistress. When I confronted him, he let her destroy my irreplaceable samples. Then, he had my hands, the hands of a neuroscientist, systematically broken to ensure I could never work again. He imprisoned me, forcing me to sign away my entire career and publicly apologize for crimes I didn't commit. He called it "discipline," a lesson I needed to learn. How could the man who swore to protect me become my personal tormentor? But as I lay in a hospital bed, broken and alone, a text message lit up my screen: "Need help? I owe your family a debt." He thought he had erased me. He had only forged me into a weapon./1/116012/coverorgin.jpg?v=14f00f8a7bb0af9c6b65e33061156b3e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rising From Ashes: My Reincarnated Love
Cora Foster was a brilliant archaeologist, but a jagged burn scar across her face made the world treat her like a contagious monster. During an elite excavation of a Gilded Age crypt, touching an ancient artifact triggered a terrifying memory. She remembered being Seraphina Beaumont, a socialite brutally buried alive by her vain, cruel sister, Isolde. When the team pried open the crypt's pristine mahogany casket, they cheered, believing the mummified corpse inside was Seraphina. But Cora recognized the onyx hairpin and the angular jawline. It was Isolde. The sister who had stolen her life, mocked her agony, and left her to suffocate in the dark. Her colleagues scoffed at her forensic proof, dismissing her as a scarred, delusional liability. Worse, the ruthless billionaire funding the expedition, Julian Montgomery, was the spitting image of Alistair—the man Seraphina had deeply loved. Why was Julian staring at her ruined face with such intense, inexplicable recognition? And why did Isolde take Seraphina's most precious silver ring to the grave? Driven by a century of agonizing grief, Cora secretly pried the tarnished ring from the mummy's stiff, dead fingers and dropped it into her pocket. "What are you looking at, Foster?" Julian's deep voice vibrated inches from her ear, his cold, predatory eyes locked directly onto her half-open pocket./1/106313/coverorgin.jpg?v=b685c9f02376b2d0d33fae3178a69ce1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
BLACK CARD, SOFT HEART.
Leila Jones was never meant to be seen, only used. In a family that worships perfection, she is the invisible daughter. Ignored by her father. Humiliated by her stepmother. Outshined by a sister who smiles sweetly while sharpening knives behind her back. When Leila is framed for a crime she didn't commit and betrayed by the one man she trusted, her life collapses overnight. Cast out. Disgraced. Silenced. But what her enemies don't know is this: A soft heart can still learn to be ruthless. As secrets unravel and power shifts hands, Leila must decide whether to remain the scapegoat she was raised to be, or rewrite her fate with blood, strategy, and a black card that opens doors no apology ever could. Because forgiveness is optional. And revenge is intentional. What kind of book is this? Well black card soft heart is a contemporary power rise revenge story focused on betrayal, elite family dynamics, and a woman's strategic transformation. Romance exist but it didn't save her. POWER did/1/107721/coverorgin.jpg?v=f6f0b22afcd29eb9575341b501ee06bc&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Jilted Wife, Billionaire's Daughter Rises
My husband, Dalton, publicly humiliated me for the tenth time, flaunting his pregnant mistress, Justine, at a conference for the company I built. I was trapped, paying for my mother' s endless medical bills. But then Justine took it a step further. She went to my mother' s hospital and cruelly told her everything-all the affairs, all my sacrifices. My mother, in her despair, jumped from the rooftop. At the funeral, Justine crashed the service with a brass band, showering my mother' s casket with confetti. "She's just trying to be thoughtful!" Dalton yelled, shielding her as I lunged forward in a blind rage. He shoved me back, his eyes blazing. "Don't you dare touch her! She's carrying my child!" He raised his hand to strike me, and I braced for the impact, my world completely shattered. But the blow never landed. A chillingly calm, powerful voice cut through the chaos. "I wouldn't advise that, Dalton." My estranged, billionaire father had just arrived./1/108034/coverorgin.jpg?v=f7add1a8e5a6a29def14bb1314f8a9a2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Silent Bride's Billion Dollar Contract
My bank account showed exactly $42.18, and my student loan notifications were flashing red. I lived in a sweltering Queens apartment with my Aunt Lydia, where the air was thick with the smell of stale frying oil and the constant threat of being homeless. Lydia handed me a grainy photo of a man twice my age and told me she had already "sold" me to him. He was a dry cleaner looking for a wife, and in exchange for my hand, he would pay off her credit cards and my debt. If I didn't show up for the date that night, my boxes would be on the curb by midnight. I arrived at the cafe in a state of panic, my selective mutism making it impossible to even breathe. In the crowded room, I accidentally sat at the wrong table. Instead of the man from the photo, I found myself facing Gerhard Holcomb—the cold, terrifyingly handsome billionaire whose family owned the very museum where I worked. He didn't send me away; instead, he studied my trembling hands and offered me a different deal: a two-year contract marriage, a two-million-dollar payout, and a strict clause forbidding any children. I signed the papers and moved into his Park Avenue penthouse, thinking I was finally safe. But when I went back to the old apartment to retrieve the only memento of my dead parents, Lydia lashed out, leaving me bleeding from a head wound. Gerhard’s retaliation was absolute—he had her arrested and her building foreclosed on within hours, claiming he was simply "protecting his assets." As I recovered in his silent, glass-walled home, I saw a call from a famous socialite flash on his phone, and a cold truth settled in my gut. I wasn't just a wife; I was a placeholder, a silent shield used to fend off the women from his past. I looked at the massive pink diamond on my finger and realized the silence I had lived in my whole life was about to become my most expensive prison. I had traded a life of poverty for a high-stakes game of shadows, and now I had to survive the man who claimed to own me./0/89418/coverorgin.jpg?v=c8a284b804b29a679b1f71c65d4775df&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Drove Me Away, Now He's Hunting Me Down
My husband, Liam Goldstein, was publicly the perfect man. He donated a kidney to save my life and named the new tower of his corporate headquarters after me. The world saw us as the ultimate power couple, a love story for the ages. But in private, he was cheating on me with an influencer. He arranged a "romantic evening" with private fireworks, only for me to discover it was a birthday party for his mistress, Ava. I overheard him promise her my "Maya's Horizon" necklace, the one he gave me after the transplant. His friends were all in on it, laughing behind my back and calling me "the main course." After a car accident, I found them together at the hospital. She was pregnant with his child. When I lunged at her, he grabbed my wrist and snarled at me to apologize to his pregnant mistress. Then came the final blow. A text from Ava with a picture of the sonogram. "Our baby, Maya." Underneath it, a photo of her wearing my necklace. "He says it looks better on me." On our anniversary, I had his prized rose garden bulldozed. Then I had the divorce papers delivered to his office, along with every single taunting message Ava had ever sent me. By the time he read them, Maya Goldstein was already a ghost./1/101933/coverorgin.jpg?v=ef3ee342e86f0746fbb73a197830f548&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Unfortunate Card of Lies
For ten years, I waited for my childhood sweetheart, Adonis, to marry me. But every year, our future was delayed by a ridiculous family ritual where he had to draw a "Fortunate" tarot card. For three years, he drew the "Unfortunate" card, enduring brutal penance that left him scarred and broken. I believed it was fate. Then, on the fourth year, I saw him draw the Fortunate card. My heart soared. We were finally free. But in a swift, practiced move, he swapped it for an Unfortunate one, choosing more suffering. I was frozen in shock. Later, I overheard him confess to his cousin. He' d been swapping the cards for four years. He couldn't marry me yet because of his assistant, Ariel. She' d threatened to do something drastic if he left her. He said he owed her. My world shattered. Every lash he took, every moment of pain I shared, was a lie. A charade performed for another woman. He had chosen his guilt for her over his love for me. He even accused me of monstrous cruelty based on her lies, shouting, "I can't believe I wasted ten years on someone so vindictive. Apologize to Ariel. Now." That was the moment I knew the man I loved was gone. So, I left. I flew to Hong Kong and married another man. But just as I found my new beginning, Adonis burst in, his eyes wild with regret, begging me to come back. And right behind him was Ariel, her face twisted with madness, a gleaming knife in her hand./1/113353/coverorgin.jpg?v=96e6802ae444cce78c3c1eaab3ad747a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
