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Young Adult Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Video's Twisted Lie

The Video's Twisted Lie

I was nineteen, trapped in a nightmare, living in a house where my mother' s fists were a constant presence, leaving me bruised and broken. My father was my only hope, a beacon of normal in the chaos, though often conveniently absent. One day, my boyfriend Ethan, witnessing another brutal attack, finally called 911, but a mysterious video my mother showed him twisted his concern into chilling disgust in an instant. He walked out, abandoning me, branding me "sick" and "dangerous." Before him, my own grandparents, the very people who once hugged me tight, had turned their backs after seeing that same hidden footage. My father, who promised to protect me, also saw the video and joined the silent chorus of condemnation, leaving me utterly alone. The beatings continued, escalating, my world shrinking to a painful, isolated cell. What was on that damned video that could turn everyone I loved, every single person, against me, twisting their affection into hatred and judgment? The injustice burned, the confusion was a constant ache, an unbearable mystery that defined my monstrous new reality. Pushed to the brink of death in a final, savage assault, the truth finally surfaced: the horrifying secret the video held wasn't about me at all, but my own father' s unspeakable abuse of my sisters, and my mother' s twisted, monstrous attempt at protection. I was just a pawn in their dark game, but now, finally, I knew their secret, and this time, everything would change.
The Thorne Protocol: An Heiress's Master Plan

The Thorne Protocol: An Heiress's Master Plan

The screech of tires, the smell of burnt coffee, and then… I was back. Not in the mangled wreckage of my car, but in my college dorm room, sunshine streaming through the window. My roommate, Maya, stood by the mirror, a saccharine smile plastered on her face. She was wearing a flimsy, cheap imitation of my bespoke silk dress. A jolt of pure terror and disbelief shot through me. The date on my phone confirmed it: September 5th. I had somehow returned, almost a full year before the catastrophic "accident" that ended my life. That "accident" was caused by Maya, who loosened the brake lines on my convertible. In my first life, this moment unfolded in silence. I chose to hide my identity as Chloe Thorne, tech heiress, striving for normalcy. My quiet tolerance, my desperate wish to be liked, ultimately sealed my fate. Her voice, already dripping with poisoned honey, was the same one that would systematically dismantle my reputation. It was the same voice that ultimately led to my very existence being ended. The unfairness of it all, the knowledge of what was to come, made my heart pound like a trapped bird. How could I have been so blind, so foolishly kind, that it led to my own demise? The memory of her betrayal, her crocodile tears, fueled a cold, resolute fire within. I was no longer the girl who would silently endure her manipulations. I had been given a second chance, a rare, chilling gift. There was no room for niceties, no space for the old, naive Chloe. As Maya turned, expecting my usual placid response, I sat up, my gaze unwavering. "Take it off," I commanded, my voice entirely devoid of warmth. This time, I would write my own ending, on my own terms.
The Impostor Heiress

The Impostor Heiress

My eighteenth birthday was supposed to be the culmination of a perfect life, the grand debutante ball cementing my place in Dallas society. I was Gabrielle Johns, poised, confident, and ready to claim the life I' d meticulously prepared for, always mindful of the recurring nightmare of a girl screaming I was a fake. Then, just as my father was about to speak, the ballroom doors burst open. A girl, Maria Chavez, a wild, aggressive stranger, stood there. She pointed directly at me, yelling, "She' s a fraud! I am the real Blakely daughter!" The room plunged into shocked silence, all eyes on me as I registered her worn clothes against my designer gown. My heart pounded, but a single, calculated tear traced a path down my cheek as I whispered, "Daddy?" Maria lunged, splashing wine on my white dress, a violent stain shattering the perfect image. My own brother, Andrew, my closest confidant, then shockingly defended her, presenting a 'DNA report' from a shady lab and claiming her story was true. He chose her over me, leading this sobbing stranger further into my home, while my fiancé, Wesley, quickly abandoned me for her. How could my family, my brother, be so easily manipulated, so quick to doubt the daughter they raised, over a desperate plea and a flimsy lie? Even as the world tilted, a cold resolve settled in my bones. The dream wasn't a nightmare; it was a warning. They expected me to break, to crumble. But I was a strategist, and this was only the first battle. I would fight for my life, expose the impostor, and reclaim everything that was rightfully mine.
The Price of Jealousy: A College Nightmare

The Price of Jealousy: A College Nightmare

My parents dropped me off at college like a princess, with a platinum card and no worries. My new life, full of independence and excitement, was just beginning. My roommate, Sarah, seemed sweet at first, a quiet girl with kind eyes. But her sweetness quickly turned sour, poisoned by resentment over my privilege. She' d sneer at my new laptop, comparing it to her brother' s grueling factory job. Then, the unthinkable happened: my emergency debit card, with over a hundred thousand dollars, vanished. A bank alert confirmed my worst fear: a $5,000 withdrawal attempt blocked. I knew, with a sickening certainty, who the thief was-the quiet girl consumed by jealousy. The betrayal shattered my idyllic college dream, leaving a bitter taste. I called the campus police, my hands shaking with fury. Sarah was arrested, my card found in her bag, and my sense of home was destroyed. I moved into a new apartment, seeking peace, but my mom' s well-meaning housekeeper, Mrs. Davis, brought a new kind of terror. She started with subtle criticisms, then tried to turn me into her domestic servant. Her demands escalated, culminating in an outrageous proposal: she wanted to control my finances and marry me off to her unemployed son, Kevin. The audacity of her plan, the sheer delusion, made my blood run cold. When I fired her, she called my mom, trying to slander me, but my mom shut her down cold. As she stormed out, my grandmother's silk scarf, a cherished gift, was found crumpled in her bag. Just like her daughter, she was a thief and a liar. I thought the nightmare was over when Kevin, her "good, strong boy," was leaning against my apartment door. His sneer, his entitlement, and the reek of stale cigarettes chilled me to the bone. He raged about his family, about how they were entitled to my money, our money. The fear was sharp, but my own anger surged. Then, I came home to a ransacked apartment, my belongings destroyed, and Kevin sitting in my armchair, drinking my dad's scotch. Mrs. Davis was there too, silently watching, complicit. My phone was shattered. They laid out their plan: I would empty my accounts, sign over my car, give them everything. Then, maybe, they' d let me go. Trapped, I feigned submission, my mind racing for an escape. In a desperate, reckless moment, I grabbed my heavy coffee pot from the kitchen. With a surge of pure, unadulterated rage, I swung.
The Sweet Friend's Deadly Secret

The Sweet Friend's Deadly Secret

I was a driven high school student, about to embark on the biggest national scholarship competition of my life in Washington D.C. It was a life-changing opportunity for everyone on our team, especially my boyfriend, Mark Olsen, and my seemingly sweet best friend, Jessie Evans. But that life ended in betrayal. A drink spiked with my fatal allergen, followed by swift anaphylactic shock. Mark and the others testified I drank it knowingly, painting me as a distraught villain. Jessie, playing the grieving friend, became a national sensation, a "survivor" online, while my Pulitzer-winning investigative journalist mother fought for justice. Jessie's powerful family allies launched a merciless smear campaign, shattering my mom's reputation, costing her job, and ultimately, her life to a stress-induced heart attack. After I died, the chilling truth unfurled: Jessie orchestrated my demise and my mother's ruin. Her motive? Pure, unadulterated revenge. My mother had exposed her CEO father's massive corporate fraud, sending him to prison, and Jessie wanted us both to pay. The injustice burned through me, leaving an icy trail of hate. Then, I woke up. The familiar lurch of the bus, Mark's voice arguing with the driver, demanding we wait for Jessie's "lucky locket"-the exact same words, the exact same moment. I was back, armed with the horrifying knowledge of what was to come, and a powerful secret: a full-ride Stanford scholarship I already secured. This competition was meaningless to me. This time, things would be different.
The Decoration of Houses

The Decoration of Houses

The Historical Tradition Rooms in General Walls Doors Windows Fireplaces Ceilings and Floors Entrance and Vestibule Hall and Stairs The Drawing-room, Boudoir, and Morning-room Gala Rooms: Ball-room, Saloon, Music-room, Gallery The Library, Smoking-room, and "Den" The Dining-room Bedrooms The School-room and Nurseries Bric-à-Bracooms may be decorated in two ways: by a superficial application of ornament totally independent of structure, or by means of those architectural features which are part of the organism of every house, inside as well as out. In the middle ages, when warfare and brigandage shaped the conditions of life, and men camped in their castles much as they did in their tents, it was natural that decorations should be portable, and that the naked walls of the mediæval chamber should be hung with arras, while a ciel, or ceiling, of cloth stretched across the open timbers of its roof. When life became more secure, and when the Italian conquests of the Valois had acquainted men north of the Alps with the spirit of classic tradition, proportion and the relation of voids to masses gradually came to be regarded as the chief decorative values of the interior. Portable hangings were in consequence replaced by architectural ornament: in other words, the architecture of the room became its decoration. This architectural treatment held its own through every change of taste until the second quarter of the present century; but since then various influences have combined to sever the natural connection between the outside of the modern house and its interior. In the average house the architect's task seems virtually confined xx to the elevations and floor-plan. The designing of what are to-day regarded as insignificant details, such as mouldings, architraves, and cornices, has become a perfunctory work, hurried over and unregarded; and when this work is done, the upholsterer is called in to "decorate" and furnish the rooms.