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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
My Revenge to Make The Husband's Regret

My Revenge to Make The Husband's Regret

I woke up in a hospital bed, the lingering scent of antiseptic and the rhythmic beep of machines my first reality after a car crash. But the real shock wasn't the physical pain; it was the vivid nightmares, clearer than memories, of a future where I was dead, my husband Michael married my sister Jessica, and my entire identity was systematically erased. My own mother, Karen, greeted me not with relief, but with sharp impatience, blaming me for the "trouble" my coma caused, while Jessica, feigning concern, subtly tried to steal my dream journalism grant and clung possessively to Michael. Michael, my supposed husband, stood by, his weakness paving the way for their manipulations, even as I recalled divorce papers hidden in his desk, signed by him weeks before my accident. The town gossiped, portraying me as unstable, while Jessica was painted a saint, and my mother chillingly confessed I was "bad luck" from birth. How could my own family conspire to erase my existence, and why did they always favor my sister, wishing I hadn't woken up at all? This wasn't merely betrayal; it was an active plot to dismantle my life, and I was trapped, expected to silently accept my fate while they openly flaunt their wicked intentions. But the chilling clarity of those "premonitions" became my armor, showing me every deception, and as Michael stood there, oblivious, I knew the accommodating Sarah was gone; I would reclaim my life, sign those divorce papers, and secure my future, no apologies.
The Wife He Forgot

The Wife He Forgot

My marriage had been a cold, empty room for five years. I was reeling from a devastating loss, sitting in the ER breakroom, when a familiar voice shattered what little peace I had left. "Mark, are you really going to die for her? For Emily Davis?" David Chase's voice, raw with anger, cut through the hospital air outside my husband' s room. His next words felt like a physical blow: "All these years, every overtime shift, every missed holiday, every time you let Sarah and Lily down... wasn't it all just so you could hear her voice on the dispatch? Just to hear Emily say, 'Engine 32, you're cleared to return to base'?" My world tilted. It wasn' t about his job, not his heroism. It was about Emily Davis, his ex-girlfriend. He had covered for her when her family went bankrupt, joining the fire academy to be near her, while I, Sarah, picked up the pieces, paying his debts, loving him for 16 years, waiting for a new beginning. Then, Lily, our daughter, died. The fever spiked viciously, taking her life in my arms within hours. Mark never knew. He never answered my desperate calls. He was always on duty, always chasing the next emergency-which now I knew was always about Emily. Why was I just a placeholder? Why was our daughter a casualty of his obsession? I didn't understand. I couldn't understand how everything I believed was a lie. How could I have been so blind? Something inside me, something that had been dying for five years, finally broke. I pulled out my phone, not to call a lawyer, but my old professor. "Dr. Reed," I said, my voice shockingly steady. "You once told me about a flight nurse program. Is it too late to apply?"
The Art of Vengeance

The Art of Vengeance

The first thing I felt was pain-a searing acid burning my face-as voices outside my hospital room whispered low and urgent. My eyes were bandaged, but I knew the sterile scent of a private ward. This was Noah' s doing, my brilliant tech mogul fiancé, who' d promised me the world. We were the perfect couple, splashed across magazines, set to marry in a week. Then, a woman, twisted with adoration for Noah, threw acid at me. The police called it a jealous fan. My world dissolved into agony and darkness. I lay in that expensive bed, hopeful when I heard Liam, Noah' s manager, and Noah himself, my Noah, just outside. My heart fluttered. He was here for me. But then, Liam spoke, low and clear: "The wedding is next week, Noah. You can't marry her like this." A cold dread replaced the burning on my face. Noah' s voice, flat and devoid of warmth, sliced through any hope: "I'm not going to marry her." The words blurred until he continued, "More severe than I anticipated." He meant the acid. My breathing stopped. He had anticipated it? Liam' s choked whisper confirmed my terror: "You didn't…" "Of course I did," Noah snapped. "That crazy fan? I've had her on a private payroll for months... I just needed something to take Ava out of the public eye permanently. Something that would make her so broken, so grateful for my care, that she' d agree to anything." The world tilted. He wanted me disfigured, dependent, hidden away, his tragic reclusive artist, so he could be free to marry Chloe and bring their son, Ethan, "into the light." Every loving word, every tender touch, was a lie. He didn' t just leave me; he orchestrated my ruin to build his perfect life. The physical pain was nothing compared to the absolute shatter of my soul. But in that wreckage, a cold, hard rage bloomed. He thought he buried Ava. He just created a monster. And I wouldn't stop until he regretted every single thing he had done.
986 Nights of Betrayal

986 Nights of Betrayal

For 986 nights, my marriage bed had not been my own. My husband, Corbett Ewing, heir to a New York real estate empire, was haunted by a ghost, and that ghost' s sister, Ivana, was my tormentor. Every night, she' d scratch at our door, claiming nightmares, and Corbett would let her in, laying a spare duvet for her in our master bedroom. One night, Ivana shrieked, pointing at me, "She tried to kill me! She snuck in while I was sleeping and choked me!" Corbett, without a second thought, yelled at me, "Jenna! What did you do?" He didn' t even look at me for my side of the story. Later, he tried to apologize with a macaron, my favorite pistachio. But it was filled with almond paste, to which I was deathly allergic. As my throat closed up and my vision tunneled, Ivana shrieked again, claiming a panic attack over online comments. Corbett, faced with my dying gasps and her fake hysterics, chose her. He carried her away, leaving me alone to save myself. He never came back to the hospital. He sent his assistant to discharge me. When I returned home, he tried to appease me, but then asked me to give my father' s last gift, my perfume organ, to Ivana for her "design studio." I refused, but he took it anyway. The next morning, Ivana "accidentally" shattered a bottle of my father' s custom scent, the last physical piece of him I had. I looked at Corbett, my hands bleeding, my heart shattered. He pulled Ivana behind him, shielding her from me, his voice cold, "That' s enough, Jenna. You' re hysterical. You' re upsetting Ivana." In that moment, the last shred of hope died. I was done. I accepted an offer to be a head perfumer in France, renewed my passport, and planned my escape.
The Ex I Forgot: A Lover Turned Enemy

The Ex I Forgot: A Lover Turned Enemy

After a terrifying rock-climbing fall, I woke up in a hospital, my past a blank slate thanks to selective amnesia. My best friend, Chloe, gently informed me I’d lost all memory of my long-term, now ex-boyfriend, Ethan Cole. Though I felt nothing for this forgotten man, he and his glamorous, vindictive girlfriend, Bella Rossi, swiftly re-entered my life, each encounter proving more unsettling than the last. Their malicious disdain for me was palpable. From Bella staging a fall and Ethan’s shocking physical assault that broke my hand, to his public humiliation of me and Bella’s brazen plagiarism of my baking designs—which Ethan shockingly validated as a judge—it felt like a relentless campaign to destroy me. Bella even tried to burn me alive at his parents' house, and Ethan left me in the flames. How could this man, whom I supposedly loved, be so utterly cruel, even after my amnesia wiped him from my mind? His continuous betrayal, culminating in the public destruction of my career and Bella's desperate attempt to run me over, deepened my bewilderment and pain, leaving me questioning everything. But in the chaos, a kind, genuine baker named Noah Evans emerged, shielding me, showing me what true love felt like. And when a final, devastating trauma jolted my memories back, I faced a choice: succumb to the past or embrace the peaceful, loving future Noah offered, cementing my new life far from Ethan's toxic shadow.
The Billionaire's Stand-In Wife Is A Genius

The Billionaire's Stand-In Wife Is A Genius

I woke up in a silk-sheeted penthouse, the lingering warmth of my husband’s body still on the bed. But by the time the sun hit the floor-to-ceiling windows, Chadwick Dyer had already transitioned from the passionate lover of the night before into a cold corporate executioner. He didn't say "good morning." He placed a blue folder from his family’s elite legal counsel on the nightstand and told me his childhood sweetheart, Ansley, was back in town. Our three-year marriage was being terminated as a "strategic move" to ensure the stability of his family’s multi-billion dollar trust. He shoved a settlement check for millions into my bag, sneering that it was enough for me to live "happily ever after" with the man named Jay I supposedly called for in my sleep. I walked out with nothing but my old suitcase, returning to my hidden life as a master art conservator, only to be blackmailed back into his world forty-eight hours later. His grandfather threatened to ruin my career and my mother’s home unless I played the devoted wife for the cameras while Ansley staged a fake suicide attempt to reel Chadwick back in. Standing in a VIP hospital wing, I realized the sickening truth: I was never the lead in my own marriage. I was just the understudy, a working-class girl picked because I was a dead ringer for the blonde socialite he truly desired. I was a placeholder for a ghost, a cheap replica used to fill a void until the "real" version returned. "You can have him," I told her, finally seeing through the high-society rot. "He's hollow anyway." I walked away from the hospital and the Dyer legacy, ready to disappear for good. But as I sat in a taxi, a notification on my phone stopped my heart. The man I thought had drowned three years ago—the Jay who haunted my dreams and the only man I ever truly loved—wasn't a ghost at the bottom of the Atlantic. He was the heir to a rival empire, he was back in New York, and he was the only one powerful enough to burn the Dyer family to the ground.