Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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The Midnight Iris of Betrayal
After fifteen years of marriage, my husband finally noticed my nail polish. The shade was 'Midnight Iris.' It was also the favorite shade of his new assistant, Cheri. When I confronted him, Brennan called me ridiculous. "Maybe you should get a job," he sneered. "Stop obsessing over meaningless things." But the deepest cut came from my son, Bird. "You don't even do anything all day," he said, his words a mirror of his father's. "And Cheri is picking me up today. She's way more fun than you." Later, he texted, asking me to buy a birthday present for Cheri. My own birthday had been the week before. He hadn't even mentioned it. He hadn't forgotten. He just didn't care. I had been replaced in my own home, in my own son's heart. Before the tears could blind me, I sent a text to my lawyer. "I want to give up custody. Completely. I can't be a mother to a child who doesn't see me."/1/114922/coverorgin.jpg?v=4a4c57bd7734bc81b46383803f021950&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Eighteen Broken Promises, One Way Out
He postponed putting my name on the deed 18 times. Each time, his mentee Ciera had an “emergency.” Each time, he ran to her. I watched him give her his prized Montblanc pen—the one he wouldn’t even let me borrow. I saw her post their late nights on Instagram. I ate anniversary dinners alone while he “mentored” her. Then he bought me a necklace—identical to the one she just flaunted online. That was when I stopped feeling anything. I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I simply packed two suitcases, resigned from our firm, and booked a one-way ticket to London. He thinks I’m coming back in a week. He has no idea I’m gone for good. Nineteen broken promises. One silent goodbye. And a new life waiting across the ocean./1/116330/coverorgin.jpg?v=0dcb677fe56c6703c1fb224628e8e2a3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Villainous Wife's Spectacular Comeback
For two years, Aria was a prisoner in her own body, forced to watch helplessly as a parasitic "System" hijacked her life. The nightmare shattered in a crowded neon club when the System forced her to slap New York's golden boy across the face, before abruptly detaching from her brain. Control slammed back into her limbs, but she was left to face a completely ruined reality. The System had turned her into a malicious, hysterical stalker. It had destroyed her reputation, alienated her best friend, and forced her into a loveless arranged marriage with Julian Carlisle, a ruthless billionaire. When she woke up in the hospital, the tabloids had already branded her a violent psycho. Her powerful mother-in-law threw the glossy tabloid photos at her feet with pure disgust. "If you cannot explain this right now, you will sign divorce papers and get out!" A suffocating wave of injustice and panic gripped Aria's chest. She had lost two whole years to a sick game she never agreed to play, taking the blame for horrific actions she couldn't stop. What exactly was that mechanical voice, and would it ever come back to finish her off? But Aria refused to just roll over and die. Wiping away the heavy makeup of the villainess she never was, she stared at her dangerous husband and made her first move. "I was drugged." With that single calculated lie, she began her counterattack to manipulate the Carlisle family, clear her name, and take her freedom back./1/115235/coverorgin.jpg?v=9efccfa5569d0b388b421d0c6aade868&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Reborn From Ashes: Divorcing The Billionaire
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me. Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice. "The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one." Alvie didn't even blink. He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit. He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement. The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor. A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity. In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames. Then, I violently jerked awake. I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin. I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering. The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both./1/106631/coverorgin.jpg?v=19abecb9b8b1a323ff070663d24cdaea&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Jilted By Prince, Claimed By King
It was the night of the Winter Chalet Gala, the most prestigious event of the year and the night my life was officially supposed to begin. I was the perfect socialite, a Senator’s golden daughter, and the fiancée of Prince Clement. Then my sister, Bailee, handed me a glass of champagne with a sweet, innocent smile. "Just a sip for luck, big sister." Within minutes, my blood turned into liquid fire. In my past life, I didn't realize that "luck" was a drug designed to strip me of my dignity. I had stumbled into a hallway where a planted stranger waited for the paparazzi to catch us. The scandal was the first nail in my coffin. My family disowned me, my fiancé abandoned me for my sister, and I eventually ended the nightmare by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. I died in the freezing bay, realizing too late that my sister’s love was a death sentence and my parents had already replaced me. The betrayal felt like swallowing broken glass, a pain more suffocating than the salt water that eventually claimed my lungs. Why did the people I loved want me dismantled? Why was my suicide their only version of mercy? Opening my eyes again, I was back on that snowy balcony three years ago. The iridescent pearl manicure was back on my fingers, and the drug was already screaming in my veins. But I won't be the carcass for the vultures this time. I kicked off my heels and climbed the stone railing, looking toward the forbidden Royal Wing. I’m not going back to the trap. I’m going to the only man powerful enough to burn them all: King Ignatius Fisher./1/111637/coverorgin.jpg?v=100affe64c584261e8731610fd306ae5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Married to the Tyrant in a Wheelchair
My boyfriend and stepsister murdered me for my inheritance, their celebratory kiss a final insult above my broken body on the rain-slicked concrete of the port. As my soul floated inches from my own face, a tyrant the world knew only as a disfigured cripple, Charles Moses, arrived with a team of soldiers. He ignored my killers, who were now begging for their lives. Instead, he fell to his knees in the mud and blood. He cradled my lifeless head in his hands, and a gut-wrenching sob of pure agony tore from his throat before he carried my body into the black ocean. As the water closed over us, I didn't understand. Why did this monster, a man I had never met, weep for me as if I was his entire world? My eyes snapped open. I was five years in the past, coughing up water in a hospital bed. It was the night my family screamed at me for ruining my stepsister's dress after she'd tried to drown me. When they offered to marry me off to the "crippled monster" Charles Moses to save my perfect stepsister from that fate, I didn't fight them. I smiled and said yes. This time, I would walk straight into the lion's den myself./1/115548/coverorgin.jpg?v=aa3452c8649f954cfa489aa2601edb47&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Fiancé's Warning, Her Second Chance
My fiancé, Jadon, proposed on the Fourth of July. It was the perfect moment I had dreamed of since we were kids. That night, he called me on FaceTime. But the man on the screen wasn't him. It was a version of him from five years in the future, his face hollow with regret. He laid out a horrifying timeline of betrayal. He was sleeping with my best friend and business partner, Kimberly. She would use his venture capital to steal my architectural firm. She would sabotage my father' s life-saving kidney transplant, leaving him to die. And she would maliciously cause a future pregnancy to end in tragedy, murdering our unborn child. My entire world-my love, my friendship, my future-was a lie. The two people I trusted most were plotting my complete ruin. This broken man from the future, desperate to atone, gave me a roadmap to escape. So I drove my car off a cliff and faked my own death, determined to rewrite the story they had written for me./0/69712/coverorgin.jpg?v=6475b3521a702ba645e79895acd50271&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Doting CEO Wants To Go Public
In the eyes of the public, Elijah was ever the gentleman, always distant and reserved. But behind closed doors, he was an animal who relentlessly ensnared Ashley in a web of lust. No one knew of their secret relationship, yet at the same time, no one dared to bully her again. Then one day, she was hit with morning sickness right in front of everyone. To everyone's shock, the aloof and domineering Elijah quickly knelt in front of her and caressed her pregnant belly. "Babe," he crooned, "let's go public with our relationship. I will give you my everything."/1/114453/coverorgin.jpg?v=85a2a55858872914c43de281c61cbade&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Forgotten Love, Unleashed Cold Revenge
Sienna woke up in a hospital room, her body screaming from a severe car accident. Through the glass, a man paced with violent rage, a dark shadow she felt absolutely nothing for. Her friend Julia burst in, eyes bloodshot, dropping a bomb: "He didn't even try to help you." Dante, Sienna's fiancé, had protected another woman, Valeria, in the crash, leaving Sienna to burn alive. Her past life unspooled – seven years sacrificed, an architecture degree abandoned, all to serve Dante. Her phone was a shrine to him: his photos, his "taboos," and even "Valeria's preferences," with no trace of Sienna herself. But amnesia brought no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating fury. She felt disgust for the "idiot" she'd been, stripped of dignity. The memory loss was a release, a blank slate. With chilling resolve, Sienna deleted every trace of Dante. Ripping out her IV, she declared, "The wedding proceeds." Not for love, but as a weapon: "I need to take back everything that belongs to me before I disappear."/0/81132/coverorgin.jpg?v=bb6dc549e8f9b4283273d7fa769d501c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Bride Who Vanished: His Public Humiliation
I woke up to the acrid smell of smoke and the piercing screams from the university's burning arts building. My twin sister, Chloe, was trapped inside. My boyfriend, Ryan Ashton, stood poised to run, a heroic silhouette against the licking flames. But a memory, sharp and cold, sliced through me – my first life, a nightmare I' d lived and died. I remembered him shoving me, my hand smashing against debris, crushing the bones and ending my promising violin career. Chloe died anyway, yet he blamed me, publicly shaming me. He then married me. Not for love, but for a twisted, prolonged revenge. He systematically broke me down, convinced everyone I was a monster, even my own parents who coldly agreed, calling me selfish. My existence became a quiet, constant hell until he locked me in a suffocating room, leaving me to die. Now, it was happening again: the fire, the screams, Ryan ready to play the savior. Every agonizing moment, every betrayal, every whispered accusation from my family hammered in my mind. The sheer, burning injustice of my first life fueled a new, chilling resolve. But this time, I knew. This time, I would break the cycle. I stepped aside. He charged headlong into the inferno, screaming Chloe' s name, never once looking back at me. My hands remained perfect, unscathed. My future was mine alone. This time, destiny would be rewritten. This time, my revenge would be a symphony./1/104754/coverorgin.jpg?v=bc44c0bffe6759bde448d88230775b9e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Ex-husband Regretted it after Divorce
On my birthday, my husband, Colton Thomas, told me to take a trip to a top tourist destination with me. Just as we were about to board the plane, he suddenly received a call. Then he said, "Sorry, honey, but my mom has suddenly been sent to the ICU. I have to rush back." In a rush, he got off the plane, leaving me to fulfill the promise we made to each other ten years ago. I slowly stood up and said to the flight attendant, "I'm not flying." Watching his eager departure, I couldn't help but let out a cold laugh. I was genuinely curious to see how my supposedly deceased mother-in-law could have come back to life./0/58918/coverorgin.jpg?v=4f9eeb5727e119fc4ea6027415bb7218&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Toxic Love: Falling For My Cruel Lover
"What, worried people would find out you're practically a whore?" "You asshole!" Brynn was a slave to Lawrence's whims as he switched between humiliating her and doting on her. Then one day, he dropped the bomb on her. "I'm getting married." But Brynn was relieved. She took it as closure and moved on. However, while on a blind date with her ideal man, she received nothing but insults from his family. She was losing her self-esteem when Lawrence stormed into the room and pulled her into his embrace. "Apologize to my woman!" Everyone was stunned, including Brynn. Wasn't he supposed to get married that day?/1/102564/coverorgin.jpg?v=b2af4a893266111e27d9e50e3d2085cb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Finding Freedom In A Small Town
I was a billionaire's trophy wife, but when I fell ill, I had to beg my husband, Adam, for fifty dollars just to buy tampons. He refused, humiliating me for mismanaging my meager allowance. Minutes later, my phone lit up with photos of him on a yacht, gifting his ex-girlfriend a five-million-dollar necklace. The messages from other wives were brutal: "Poor Aubrey. Always second best." He had forbidden me from working, from having any independence, calling me an "ornament." I was a possession he'd bought, worth less than the jewelry he gave another woman. The humiliation burned hotter than any fever. He controlled my life, but he wouldn't control my escape. Standing drenched in the rain, I made a decision. If money was freedom, I would earn it myself. I pushed open the heavy door to The Velvet Lounge, a high-end club where secrets were sold and fortunes were made. My new life was about to begin./0/27318/coverorgin.jpg?v=ef938047728590e17a01319fb76c2e4a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Welcome Home, Baby
Kome became pregnant for her university sweetheart after their first sexual encounter. It happened just at the end of her four year program. Once her father heard news of pregnancy, he was disappointed and sent her away. She took the news to her boyfriend who decided against assuming responsibility for the baby. This left her in a limbo and she scrambled for survival until she gave birth to a baby girl. She tried bringing up the baby but once she thought of her poor state and her lack of progress, she decided to do something drastic. She abandoned the baby in front of an orphanage and went off to serve the nation for a year. She got lucky and got a good job which enabled her to start living a good life. She was swimming along in this beautiful tide when a reminder from her past appeared. One that would bring her to examine the wrong step she had taken. She is forced to confront her past misdeed./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./1/102095/coverorgin.jpg?v=7755c3e3e0eb3ff262c4e8953de224ff&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Success Is The Best Revenge, Darling
It took seven years for Ethan to convince me I was the center of his universe, and exactly seven weeks for his "business partner," Chloe, to prove I was just a placeholder. I was the woman who ironed his shirts and managed his schedule, yet she was the one he comforted at 2 AM. But the real end didn't come with a fight. It came with an explosion. At a family gathering, a gas heater malfunctioned. Glass shattered, and fire erupted. In that split second of life or death, Ethan didn't look for me. He threw his body over Chloe. He shielded her from the flames, cocooning her in his arms, whispering frantically to her while I stood twenty feet away, watching my boyfriend of seven years act like I didn't exist. When I confronted him later, he didn't apologize. Instead, he let Chloe carve her initials over ours on our anniversary tree. When I tried to stop them, he shoved me into the dirt to comfort her over a broken nail. "You are dead to me, Ava," he screamed. "Jealousy makes you ugly." He thought I would beg. He thought I was an appliance he could unplug and plug back in whenever he wanted. He was arrogant enough to believe I would always be there, waiting for his scraps. He was wrong. While he was playing hero to his mistress, I didn't cry. I booked a one-way ticket to Portland, snapped my SIM card in half, and vanished. By the time he realized the silence in his apartment wasn't peace, but abandonment, I was already gone./1/102408/coverorgin.jpg?v=27d0ec662e7b6558836aebee1080f3f5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Surgeon's Hands to Avenging Fire
The world knew me as Dr. Brenna Mann, the neurosurgeon with hands insured for millions. My husband, Davis, was a powerful lawyer, and our life was perfect-until he shattered it. He protected his secret lover, Kiley, after she killed my mother in a hit-and-run. Then, to silence me, he had his family' s dogs maul my hand, ending my career forever. He didn't stop there. He fabricated a video that drove my innocent sister to suicide, then held her fate over my head to force me to save his lover's mother. He took everything-my mother, my hand, my career, and my sister. The man I had vowed to love was a monster wearing my husband's skin. He thought he had broken me, leaving me kneeling in public humiliation. He was wrong. He had only created a monster of his own, one with a brilliant mind and a billionaire's backing, ready to burn his world to the ground./0/82697/coverorgin.jpg?v=31d9d4ff59dbdac01eceb2cf6d4272e8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Secrets of the Hamptons Elite
The lawyer, Mr. Henderson, pushed the document across the polished mahogany table. "Sign here, Sarah, and Ethan Vance will be legally declared deceased." My husband, Ethan, was gone, lost in a sailing accident off the Hamptons. But the grief I displayed was a carefully constructed facade for the world. His body was mostly unrecoverable, they said, trying to save his influencer girlfriend, Chloe Bellweather. Unbeknownst to them, divorce papers rested on Ethan' s desk, untouched by my hand, clear evidence of his intent to leave me for Chloe. Now, there would be no divorce. The bulk of Ethan' s immense estate, a fortune beyond any settlement, was irrevocably mine. A small, cold smile touched my lips, one Mr. Henderson thankfully missed. This wasn't about newfound wealth; it was about vengeance. Years ago, my mother, Linda, died in a hit-and-run, unsolved, on a remote highway. The powerful Vance family, Ethan' s family, I knew, were inextricably connected to that night, to its cover-up, and to the decades of injustice. A simmering rage had slowly transformed into a cold, meticulously calculated plan for payback. This inherited fortune was not a comfort; it was potent fuel for a lifelong quest. My sister and I had waited long enough for justice. As I left the lawyer' s office, stepping into the city' s noise, I felt a chilling satisfaction. Phase one was complete. The Vances had no idea their meticulously planned downfall had just begun./1/106632/coverorgin.jpg?v=207e5317f41477a75abdc79b3ce13cfd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Neglected Wife's Secret: Genius Designer Aria
I sat in the sterile silence of a VIP fertility clinic, clutching my Chanel purse and praying for good news after three years of trying for a baby. But as the doctor told me my body was "pristine," my phone lit up with a Page Six headline: "Garold Chandler Spotted with Mystery Woman at OB-GYN—Heir on the Way?" The "mystery woman" was Jenilee Shaw, and the man in the charcoal suit was my husband. That night, I waited up to show him the news, but he didn't even offer an apology. When I asked if he ever wanted children, he pried my hands off him and looked at me with cold, dead eyes. "Not with you," he said, before walking away to take a shower. I packed my bags and left a divorce agreement on his nightstand, but Garold wasn't about to let his "perfect" wife go that easily. He shredded the papers and froze every one of my credit cards, leaving me stranded with forty dollars and a crumbling family estate. He even mocked me when I accidentally texted him for a loan, telling me to come home and beg for my allowance like a child. He thought he had me cornered, but he forgot one thing: I wasn't just his trophy wife. Years ago, I was "Aria," the anonymous design genius the fashion world had been hunting for. I didn't need his money—I had a secret offshore account and a lead designer job at his biggest rival. As I walked into Twelve Bridges for my first day, I ran into his mistress and smiled. "Keep him," I told her. "I'm bored of the three-minute disappointments."/1/114141/coverorgin.jpg?v=88d66b09a62ab0c7cf5b1b5e34d1ca39&imageMogr2/format/webp)
