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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
When Love Became A Lie

When Love Became A Lie

The wedding dress, a Parisian dream, hung ready. My guardian, Daniel Hayes, the man stepping into the role of my husband in three weeks, surveyed me with possessive eyes. Everything was perfect, almost too perfect for the girl who lost her parents and world in a fire, only to be taken in by a generous "uncle." Then, his phone buzzed. A name popped up: "Sarah." And beneath it, a picture of a smiling woman and a small boy grinning at the camera, with a message: "Kev and I are waiting. Don't be late." My perfectly constructed world began to crack. He admitted it-Sarah was his fiancée ten years ago, before she left him. I was merely a "substitute," a convenient look-alike to fill the void she left. His affection, his care, our shared love-all a calculated lie. Then, an anonymous email confirmed my worst fears: he was still seeing her, even now, on the eve of our wedding. "You're a monster," I told him, tears streaming down my face. He just stared, unmoved, his voice like ice: "The wedding will go on as planned, Olivia. You will not embarrass me." He wanted me to be a dutiful wife, a pawn in his twisted game. The pre-wedding gala was a public humiliation. Sarah appeared, triumphant, with her son. Daniel, caught between us, didn't defend me. He paraded me before the woman he truly desired. It wasn't just betrayal; it was torture. And then came the ultimate blow: he hit me, in front of them, leading to the devastating loss of our unborn child. Lying in the hospital, my heart hollow, I let him believe his feigned remorse. He wanted to "make it right," to "send them away." He thought he still had me, the forgiving, wounded woman. But the girl who loved him had died in that studio, with our child. A new plan, cold and sharp, began to form in the hollow space where my heart used to be.
His Obsession, My Betrayal

His Obsession, My Betrayal

One year with David Chen felt like paradise after Jake, but love, I learned, is a master illusionist. I thought I' d found solace in David' s arms, after my long-term boyfriend Jake unceremoniously dropped me for his high school sweetheart, Emily. Then, on our first anniversary, hunting for a rare comic, I stumbled upon David' s secret studio-not a creative haven, but a chilling shrine to Emily Carter, plastered floor to ceiling with her portraits. Hundreds of his letters lay scattered, each a meticulously dated testament to a seven-year obsession, detailing how he used my heartbreak, my trust, to orchestrate Jake and Emily' s reunion. I wasn' t a girlfriend; I was a pawn in his sick game, a means to an end for the woman he truly loved to get back with my ex. The betrayal was a violation, worse than Jake' s, a cold, calculated masterpiece of manipulation that turned my year of healing into a cruel deception. I had to escape, to sever this twisted knot of lies, and the only way out was to call my parents and accept the arranged marriage I' d always laughed at. Just as the decision formed, David' s cheerful voice echoed through the studio, followed by the shattering sound of groceries, and his fake smile dissolving as he saw the truth laid bare. He tried to smooth it over, playing the concerned lover, until I revealed my drastic plan: "I' m moving to New York. I'm getting married." His dismissive smirk was quickly replaced by panic as Emily Carter herself appeared, walking calmly into his web of lies, confirming his deception. Later, doubled over in agony, suffering from a ruptured appendix, I called him for help-the man I thought loved me. He hung up, choosing to tend to Emily' s "headache" over my very real, life-threatening pain, dismissing my screams as manipulative drama. The words "You're just trying to get my attention" echoed as my phone died, the realization slicing through me: he would rather let me die than displease her. Finally, face-to-face in the hospital, he saw me. He saw the IV, the monitors, the reality of my near-death while he' d coddled his fragile Emily just feet away, oblivious. Yet, his gaze hardened, turning from me back to her, and he walked away, promising to return, a promise I knew was as hollow as his love. I fled to New York, rebuilding my life, forging a new identity, finding unexpected peace with my arranged fiancé, Ethan. But the past wasn' t done. David found me.
Perhaps Meant To Be's Our Specialty.

Perhaps Meant To Be's Our Specialty.

Love is citrusy. It can be sweet as it is sour... Medical school. Check. Wonderful grades. Check. Famous parents. Check. Great love life. Skip. There's nothing Abigail Espérer wants more than to flee her parents suffocating shadows and save lives, so internship is a cape day for her. Graceland hospital seems to be the perfect place to make friends and live freely without the pressure of being offered a couple of bucks in exchange for a picture with her parents. Everything is perfect... Until she runs into Jack, her freakishly handsome supervisor which happens to be her first love. Her only love infact... And no matter how hard she tries or how much she would give to have him talk to her like he once did when they laid under the stars, but perhaps some wounds take time to heal and some won't just heal...   Jackson Heartland has always wanted to be a doctor. He had never been so sure about anything else before. He'd also wanted a big house, a large bookshelf, a dog to go to country games with and a wife to love. Without a doubt he knew Abigail was it for him right from the very first sticky handshake, her quirky spirit was just as magnetic as her beauty... But if wishes were horses then his seven-year old self would ride all day. He may not have gotten everything he thought he couldn't live without, but his life at Graceland was good and coffee made it greater, so when he bumps into twenty eight year old Abigail at the elevator he wants nothing more than his life to go back to the way it was_just coffee and routine_but love just doesn't work that way... It never has.

His Cruelest Game

His Cruelest Game

For three torturous years, I lived as a ghost in my own life. Haunted by the car crash I believed killed my sister, Savannah, and crippled her boyfriend, Ethan, I dedicated myself to his care. He was my tormentor, using my guilt as his chain. Then, one stormy night, I walked into a honky-tonk bar and heard the laughter. It was Ethan, boasting to his friends: "Three whole years she's bought it. Wiping my ass, feeding me like a baby, all because she thinks she crippled me." My world didn't just crack; it shattered when I saw him stand and dance. His paralysis was a lie. My three years of devotion, his meticulous act of revenge. He didn't stop there. He moved me to a dusty tack room, forced me to watch him replace my sister, and then, in a sadistic climax, lured me to a hunting cabin. There, he and his friends humiliated me, filming my terror. Broken, I faked my own death, escaping to Oregon, shedding my identity to become Anna. I found love and a future, finally breathing again. But fate has a cruel sense of irony. Ethan, now truly paralyzed by psychosomatic trauma triggered by my "death," was sent to a clinic in my new city. Our eyes met across a busy street, and his desperate cry, "Sarah!" tore through my new life. He tried to control me again, but I was no longer the girl he broke. Standing tall with the man I loved, I unleashed three years of silenced truth. "You killed Savannah," I declared, exposing his role in her desperation. "And the hunting cabin? You filmed that for amusement!" He stared, utterly defeated, as the truth of his monstrous acts finally consumed him. This time, I didn't run. I stood defiant, free, ready to marry the man who showed me what true love was. My past was behind me, and my own future, filled with quiet happiness, had just begun.
Contract Marriage With The Ruthless Mafia King

Contract Marriage With The Ruthless Mafia King

I woke up gasping, the phantom smell of smoke and my family's dying screams still burning in my throat. But there was no fire. I was twenty-two again, back on the exact day my father was to announce our arranged marriages. My sister, Janeen, burst into my room with a triumphant smile. "Worrying about marrying that cold-blooded Underboss?" she mocked. "They say he's a monster. Plus, he'll be a cripple in two years anyway." My blood turned to ice. She knew about Eliga Russo's future accident. Janeen was reborn, too. She eagerly told our father she wanted the "better" match with the prominent Whitney family, dumping the terrifying Russo marriage on me. She thought she was brilliant, leaving me with a doomed mafia boss and his three feral adopted sons. But she didn't know the Whitneys' political scandal was exactly what caused our enemies to burn our entire family alive in my past life. She laughed at my "misfortune," truly believing she had secured a life of high-society power while I was being sent to hell. What she didn't realize was that she wasn't the only one holding a map to the future. She thought she was playing chess, but I was the one who designed the board. I lowered my head and pretended to cry, gladly accepting the marriage to the monster. This time, I wouldn't be a pawn. I would save Eliga, tame his sons, and become the queen of the Russo empire.