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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
My Wife's Secret Baby Wasn't Mine

My Wife's Secret Baby Wasn't Mine

I was New Orleans' Golden Boy. My architectural firm thrived, and I was married to the charming Izzy. We were expecting our first child, a dream come true. My mother, Eleanor, and Izzy were my biggest cheerleaders, always at my side. Then, on the day of my biggest career presentation, they vanished. My calls went to voicemail. Rushing home, I found an anonymous video: my mother, Eleanor, marrying Richard Thorne-the man who ruined my father. Beside them, Marcus Thorne, his son, holding my pregnant wife, Izzy. "How will you explain whose child it is? After that sham ceremony with Ethan?" Izzy's voice, sweet as poison. My baby wasn't mine. My marriage, a fraud. My dream crumbled. My name was dragged through the mud. While my firm collapsed, Izzy sobbed on TV, portraying me as unhinged. My bank accounts were frozen. Alone, broken, my father's cherished watch shattered by Marcus, every moment felt like a twisting knife. Even the media turned on me, calling me "the crazy one." How could they? My own mother. My wife. The life I' d built, a meticulously crafted lie. I was cornered, stripped of everything, facing public humiliation. The betrayal was absolute, the pain, agonizing. Was this truly the end? Just as darkness threatened, a lifeline emerged. A mysterious text from Ava Chen, a reclusive tech billionaire. Then, she appeared, like a force of nature, stepping into the clinic where I lay beaten and accused. "Mr. Ethan Moreau," she declared, silencing the room, "is the esteemed future partner of Ms. Ava Chen. We will be escorting him." My fight wasn't over. It had just begun.
My Half-Vampire Mate

My Half-Vampire Mate

His eyes traveled all over my body, from head to toe. It made me self-conscious for some reason. "The dress fits you well,” then he paused and murmured, looking at the floor. "I was wondering if you'd like it or not." "Huh?" His head turned to me again as if he was freed from a trance. "So now will you tell me what I have to do for you, sir?" I said sarcastically. "What?" He looked at me with surprise. "What? You have to have some purpose for keeping me here by force," I said, pressing on the last two words. He paused for a few seconds and then the lamest thing I could have ever imagined came out of his mouth. "Yes, you are here to serve me," he stated blankly. "What? Did I hear you right? You knocked me out, kidnapped my sister, and blackmailed me into coming here just to be your servant?" I cried out in disbelief. A smirk began to settle on his face as he took in my reaction. He was enjoying this absurdity even more! "Yes, dear. You are here to serve me. From now on, you will be with me 24 hours. All matters regarding me are your responsibility from now on." This is insane! Is he really a pervert? What is he trying to pull? "But you already have a lot of servants!” I protested. “And they're always at your beck and call too! Why the hell would you have me kidnapped for this? And who gives new clothes and breakfast in bed to a servant?” This was driving me crazy. Was he playing with me? Probably, a rotten rich vampire prince playing for fun. But I was not going to play hooky with him. No way! *~*~*~*~*~*~* He kidnapped her sister and forced her to be with him. She waited for the right time to get herself and her sister free. But when the time will come, will she want to get away from him?
Consumed by His Cruelty

Consumed by His Cruelty

The half-finished frame of the house stood against the gray sky, a monument to Sophia White' s dreams and my personal hell. As Olivia Reed, a licensed architect, I was forced by my husband, Ethan Blackwood, to build it for the woman he truly loved, while he chipped away at my spirit, piece by painful piece. He despised me, believing I was the reason his mother was dead. My world shattered when Ethan, fueled by Sophia's venomous whispers, forced me to give my blood to Sophia after I physically retaliated against her years of psychological torture and discovered her pregnancy by him. He held me down, his loyal doctor drained my life force, and the woman who had already taken my home, my husband, and even my beloved dog, Shadow, now literally consumed me. The forced transfusion was the climax of three years of escalating torment. He had made me eat a stew cooked from my own murdered dog-the only creature in that desolate mansion who offered me unconditional love-after Sophia orchestrated his death, claiming he triggered her fabricated allergies. I had endured his public cruelty and private neglect, sacrificing my ambitions, all while Sophia systematically undermined me, framing me for professional incompetence and destroying my reputation. Every accusation, every humiliation, every act of betrayal was a calculated blow. He was the brute force, Sophia the venom wrapped in fake sympathy. I was his scapegoat, his punching bag, the living embodiment of a mistake he was forced to make. He saw a victim where there was a viper, and in his eyes, I would always be the villain. The love I once foolishly held for him was gone, replaced by a deep, hollow ache that cemented into ice-cold rage. Laying in that hospital bed, utterly empty, a new, hard ember began to glow: rage. I had to get out. For good this time. I scribbled 'I quit' on hospital stationery, signed my own divorce papers, and with newfound resolve, walked out of the hospital and straight to the one man who had loved me all along: Daniel Clark.
The Unchosen Bride's Vengeance

The Unchosen Bride's Vengeance

The ballroom glittered, a dazzling spectacle where tech mogul Ethan Vanderbilt was about to pick his bride. I was just Sarah Jenkins, one of 99 hopefuls, a nobody from a modest background. But I’d lived this night before. In that life, I was chosen, a pawn manipulated by his stepmother Eleanor, which eventually led to the cold, cruel death of my beloved grandfather. This time, I hacked the lottery system to avoid being selected. Yet, Ethan still picked the manipulative Lily, igniting a familiar dread as their lies began to twist my reality. When Lily feigned an allergic reaction to roses, and Ethan, fueled by his stepsister’s vicious charade, threatened my grandfather’s cherished garden and the sentimental old gazebo, my heart pounded with a desperate fear for my last remaining connection to home. The ultimate horror struck during my hospital visit, as Lily's fabricated attack led Ethan, blinded by rage, to wrench the life-sustaining ventilator tube from my grandfather’s machine. He called to disable the backup power, leaving my frail, elderly grandfather to suffocate in the silence, a deliberate act of cruelty to punish me. I stood there, utterly helpless, forced to watch my world disintegrate as the last breath left his body, his life stolen by a man I once believed in. How could Ethan, the face of innovation and charity, commit such a monstrous act, discarding an innocent life based on a shallow girl's lies? The injustice burned through me, a searing wound that far outstripped the physical pain he inflicted; how could anyone be so effortlessly cruel, so easily fooled into becoming a murderer? My grief was absolute, but within it, a cold, hard resolve began to crystallize, transforming my shattered heart into a weapon. As I knelt, broken, beside my grandfather’s lifeless form, Marcus Thorne, a reclusive and powerful financier, appeared in the doorway, an unexpected anchor in my storm of despair. In that moment, a desperate, dangerous idea took root: I would marry Marcus, step into his world of power and influence, and from that unassailable position, I would rise from the ashes of my ruined life to exact a precise, calculated revenge on every single person who conspired in my downfall. This was not the end; it was the ruthless beginning of my second act.
His Wedding, Her Secret Grave

His Wedding, Her Secret Grave

I lived in a gilded cage, Liam Donovan's opulent penthouse, a testament to his success and my inescapable prison. My real life, a fierce purpose to find justice for my mother, burned deep within me, a silent ember waiting to ignite. But tonight, his return, and the sickly sweet voice of Sarah Chen, echoed through the vast space like a calculated torment. He called it marriage. I called it revenge. He brought women home, but Sarah became a constant fixture, his confidante. He paraded her, commanded me to serve them champagne, and paid me for "services rendered"—a crude hundred-dollar bill for my "trouble." Each interaction was a fresh humiliation, yet my practiced coldness, my emotionless facade, only seemed to fuel his blistering rage and Sarah's smug triumph. He saw me as a mercenary, a heartless woman who abandoned him for money. He never knew I'd secretly funneled my entire inheritance to save his failing company, anonymously donated bone marrow to save his life when he was desperately ill, or trekked alone through a blizzard to rescue him from a crashed car. Every truth, every selfless act, was twisted into a lie by Sarah, perfectly weaponized against me in his eyes. How could he be so utterly blind? How could my deep sacrifices, my desperate, enduring love, be warped into such consuming hatred? The agonizing injustice was a constant ache, a wound that never healed. I bore his cruelty silently, believing it was the only way to shield him from an unseen enemy. But the torment became unbearable, unsustainable. So I tore out my own heart, performing the ultimate act to protect him: I faked my own death. I erased Maya Rodriguez from existence, hoping he could finally be safe and truly free. But freedom, I learned, comes with a brutal price, and the path he walks now, fueled by his grief and her lies, is more dangerous than ever.