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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
His Art, Her Agony

His Art, Her Agony

The relentless buzz of my phone announced another rejection, a common melody in the life of a struggling indie filmmaker. Then, my best friend' s panicked face flashed on screen: "Chloe, have you seen the news? It\'s Ethan. His new exhibition. It\'s everywhere." A cold dread washed over me-Ethan, my estranged artist-husband, whose art had always blurred the lines of our life. But what I saw on that major art blog wasn\'t art; it was a violation: intimate photos of me, twisted into a public spectacle, portraying me as his "tragic muse." The comments section exploded: #JusticeForChloe, #CancelEthanMiller, yet it felt like a new form of torment, a public stripping of my privacy. I stormed to his loft, demanding answers, only for him to shrug, "It\'s art, Chloe. It\'s supposed to tell the truth." He stood there, casually threatening to expose painful, private moments to my traditional grandmother if I didn\'t publicly apologize and collaborate in his twisted narrative. Before I could process his cruelty, the phone rang again-the nursing home. My grandmother had fallen. She died in the hospital, her last words a plea for me to be strong, to not let anyone make me feel small, as my humiliated face was plastered across the news. When I returned to the loft, Ethan was there with his new muse, Ava, who, feigning sympathy, accidentally revealed she knew about my grandmother' s death. Then, a charity gala, a public relations stunt, where Ethan unveiled a new sculpture-encasing my grandmother\'s stolen locket, pulled directly from her grave. Ava tearfully accused me, playing the perfect victim, implying I had desecrated her grave for art. Ethan, without hesitation, believed her, his eyes filled with a cold, performative fury, declaring me a monster and having me dragged away. Trapped, discarded, then brutally beaten by Ethan under Ava' s gleeful gaze, I realized the full depth of their monstrous betrayal. My world was shattered, my body broken, but in the ruins of my spirit, a cold, unwavering resolve began to form: Chloe Davis had to die, so Aria Sinclair could rise and burn his world to the ground.
Her Mate Is The Playboy Professor

Her Mate Is The Playboy Professor

"This is wrong, professor." She suddenly broke the intense kiss and took a step back from him, her lips swollen due to the intensity of the kiss. "And why is it wrong, beautiful Bella?" He took a step closer to her, covering the distance between them. "This, what we're engaging in, is totally wrong because of our student-teacher relationship," she replied, her voice tinged with anxiety. "And you seem to be forgetting the fact that I'm also your mate!" He said as he unexpectedly lifted her and placed her gently upon his desk. "So, my dear Bella, what were you saying?" he teased, his right hand subtly finding its way beneath her ebony gown. "Professor, what we are doing is totally wrong." She replied. "Are you sure we shouldn't be doing this?" He smirked as he shifted her wet panties and delicately introduced two fingers into her moist core. Rather than offering words, she emitted a soft, involuntary moan as he began to rhythmically move his fingers in and out of her in a deliberate, tantalizing manner. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop." he whispered seductively, his fingers intensifying their movements, causing her to throw her head back in pure ecstasy. "I.... I fucking want it!" she finally admitted. * * Bella, a university student and aspiring writer, had longed to find her soulmate since she turned eighteen. After years of waiting and believing she might never have one, her fate changed when the charming and attractive professor, Blake, arrived at her university. To her delight, she discovered that he was not only her professor but also her destined mate. This marked a turning point in her life, and soon, she found herself deeply in love with her Playboy mate who had a different objective in mind.
Betrayed Heart, Billionaire's Embrace

Betrayed Heart, Billionaire's Embrace

The antiseptic smell of the hospital room wasn't the only thing suffocating Olivia Reed. After a horrific car accident, she found herself trapped, not by her injuries, but by a chilling betrayal. Her fiancé, Ethan Miller, the man she' d loved for years, was having a secret affair with Tiffany Sterling, Olivia' s adoptive sister from the family who had taken her in, only to treat her as an inconvenience. The Sterlings, her birth family, who' d cast her out and now barely tolerated her, doted on Tiffany, their "real" daughter. As Olivia lay injured, Tiffany taunted her with messages and photos, culminating in the cruel reveal that Ethan and Tiffany were having a baby and getting married. The "love" Ethan had shown felt like a well-rehearsed performance, his every word a lie. From a named star he' d promised Olivia, now designated for Tiffany, to the custom-designed wedding bands Olivia herself had created, now gracing Tiffany' s finger. The crushing weight of betrayal, the realization that her entire life was built on a foundation of lies, was almost unbearable. Why had she been so blind? How could they all be so cruel? But just as despair threatened to consume her, a lifeline appeared. Liam Hayes, a tech mogul, offered a marriage of convenience, an escape, a clean break. Olivia wiped away her tears, detached herself from the suffocating past, and rose. She was done being a victim.
His Last Regret, My New Life

His Last Regret, My New Life

The grand hall of the Thompson estate. The scent of expensive flowers and a decade of my family' s fading name. Tonight, I, Sarah Miller, was the offering, a supposed "lucky charm" to merge our dying empire with the titans of the Thompson Corporation. But the truth was, I was just a broodmare, chosen to birth their legacy, just like in my first life. The memory wasn' t a dream; it was a brand etched into my soul. The cold concrete floor, the smell of dust and ozone. I was tied to a chair, my body weak from giving birth to my three children. Across the room, David, the man I was forced to marry, stood over three small, still forms on a steel table. "The offerings are ready," a scientist said, his voice flat. "The biological processors will give the AI an unparalleled learning curve." Biological processors. Offerings. No. I screamed, a ragged sound. "David, no! Please, not our children!" He grabbed my hair, back. "Our children? You manipulative witch! You tricked my mother into making me have these… abominations with you!" He gestured to a photo: Olivia Reed, "My Love." "You ruined everything! She was pregnant with my true heir! But you and your cursed luck forced my hand." He forced a bitter liquid down my throat. My world went black. And then, I woke up. Back in the Thompson' s grand hall, the scent of flowers choking me. Mrs. Thompson held my hand. David stood beside her, his eyes holding the same cold hatred. We were back. The day of our forced engagement. Before the nightmare could begin again, I pulled my hand from Mrs. Thompson' s grasp. My voice small, unsteady, I said, "Mrs. Thompson… I can' t accept." This time, he wanted Olivia. He believed her child was his key to power. I would hand him the shovel and watch him dig his own grave.