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Young Adult Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Stuck With Mr. Popular

Stuck With Mr. Popular

It took everything in me not to kiss him back. His lips moved against mine in a perfect rhythm. "Soaf-Soaf please listen to me" He said while his blue eyes were gazing into mine. His breath fanned my face. We both were panting. My heart was thudding hard against my chest. "I-I have to go." I said shocked after what had just happened now. Fucking shit. Somehow I got myself out of his grip and took the file which fell on the floor when he pinned my hands on the wall and ran out of the classroom. I heard him mumbling a few curse words as I rushed to the door. "Soaf...Soaf" His voice faded as I ran out of the classroom. What has just happened? What the hell is wrong with him? He kissed me. Raymond Reynolds-The most popular boy of our school just kissed me. Why would he kiss me? No one even talks to me in at school. He didn't even know my name two weeks ago. Suddenly an image of light brown pair of eyes glaring at me pops up in my mind. Ellen Whitmore. She's going make my life a living hell. ************ Sophie Esinberg is your typical nerd with glasses, books clutched in her arms and face down while walking down the school hallway. She wasn't like this earlier. She used to be outspoken and confident. Then what changed her? Sophie faced a hell lot of bullying and had no one who could stand up for her. After her childhood best friend Daniel left her she accepted her life as a loner. Not until one day she is forced into a project with School's Famous Bad boy, also known as Mr. Popular- Raymond Reynolds. Everything comes crashing down when she finds that she is falling for cocky , super hot and irresistible Mr. Popular. But she knows she's a nobody in his world. She is incompetent. Will she fight against her instincts and let him break her heart?
When Friends Become Your Cruelest Foes

When Friends Become Your Cruelest Foes

"Lily, you should do it," Tiffany Hayes purred, her eyes fixed on me in the art academy' s lounge. As the scholarship student, managing our class' s two-million-dollar art fund seemed like a twisted honor, a responsibility the elite kids conveniently dodged. Three years later, at our graduation exhibition-the night my life' s work was finally displayed-my childhood friend, Mark Miller, seized the microphone. "Our class art fund has been mismanaged," he announced, his gaze piercing me. "One point eight million dollars is missing." The dreams I had meticulously built shattered. Every eye in the buzzing gallery turned to me, judging, accusing. Tiffany, Mark' s girlfriend, stood by his side, her feigned sympathy a cold knife twisting inside me. They stripped me bare, painting me a thief, a public spectacle. "I have records of everything," I insisted. "Every dollar is accounted for!" But the projection screen behind him flashed a balance of $1,250.34, sealing my fate. "Just tell us what you did with the money," Tiffany cooed, trying to lure out a confession. "We were friends." Friends? Their betrayal burned hotter than any accusation. They had done this. Set me up. Framed me. The rage and humiliation were suffocating, but a cold resolve began to crystallize within me. They thought they had broken me, but they had just ignited a fire. I walked out of the gallery that night, not in defeat, but with a fierce determination. I would find the truth. I would expose them. And they would pay.
Her Jealous Game: My Fight for Truth

Her Jealous Game: My Fight for Truth

My life was perfectly on track. A full scholarship to Yale, loving parents, and the SATs were just another stepping stone. I had my best friend Brittany and boyfriend Kyle by my side, seemingly there to support me through it all. Then, I died. And snapped awake, gasping. The horrifying memories of my past flooded back: a SAT cheating scandal that ruined my family and led to their deaths, and my own demise. I was back, exactly one day before the SATs, staring at the faces of those who would betray me. I desperately tried to change my fate, fleeing the hotel and establishing an alibi. Yet, the nightmare unfolded again. I was arrested, framed with planted evidence-a fake earpiece, forged transactions, a look-alike at the test center. My ironclad alibi vanished when the cafe's security cameras mysteriously 'fried.' My parents were shamed, my father physically attacked. How could this be happening? Every attempt to escape only tightened the net. My supposed best friend, my boyfriend-they were the architects of my ruin. The proof was overwhelming, irrefutable, yet entirely false. Was I truly powerless against this meticulously crafted conspiracy? But amidst the despair, a single, overlooked detail on the 'evidence' hoodie sparked a desperate hope: the absence of a tiny, silver thread I' d sewn into my unique raven patch. This time, I wouldn't be a victim. Feigning illness to buy critical time, I would unravel their monstrous lie and reclaim my future.