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Young Adult Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Pop-Up Truth

The Pop-Up Truth

My phone screen lit up, not with a text, but a stark, black-and-white pop-up. "Ethan' s SAT scores: 1580. Stanford bound with Tiffany. You' re the 'just in case' girl." Just moments earlier, my childhood crush Ethan, whose father my own dad died saving, feigned despair over "disastrous" SAT scores. He'd gently coerced me, the valedictorian, to give up my dream school for State College, all for "us." These mysterious pop-ups, visible only to me, had always been unsettlingly, terrifyingly right. This one revealed his calculated deception: he'd aced his SATs and was going to Stanford with his new girlfriend, Tiffany. My heart turned to ice. I was his backup plan, a discarded pawn. The betrayal escalated at his lavish graduation party where he publicly humiliated me, painting my sacrifice as my idea. Then, with Tiffany's cruel suggestion, he trapped and locked me in a dark utility closet. The final blow: he brazenly showed my ailing mom a faked State acceptance letter, causing her to suffer a heart attack. As I sat by her hospital bed, watching her struggle for breath, a cold rage ignited. How could the boy whose family owed us everything be capable of such cruel manipulation? My dad died for his. Why was I his pawn? What were these pop-ups? But in that sterile room, watching his continued charade, something inside me snapped. I slapped him, hard. No longer a confused victim, I saw him for what he was: a manipulative abuser. This wasn't the end of my story. This was the beginning of my fight to reclaim it.
Living for the Best

Living for the Best

Excerpt: ... because in his words and attitude he stood alone. He had no following among priests or prophets to back him. With one consent they affirmed that he was wrong and that a lie was on his lips when he predicted desolation if present practices were continued. It is a great hour in any man's life when he is obliged to stand up alone and state his case or defend his cause. What an hour that was in Paul's history when before the Roman officials \"no man stood with him,\" but, dependent as he was on sympathy and fellowship, 94 he stood alone! It is when a man is absolutely left alone, in danger or disgrace, that the deepest test of his character is reached. That is the reason why the night-time, which seems to say to us \"You are alone with God,\" has its impressiveness, and why the death hour has a similar impressiveness. Jeremiah felt his loneliness. There was nothing of the stoic in him. He could not school himself to be brazen-hearted. He was so human, so like the great majority of people, that every now and then some cry of weariness would escape his lips. \"Woe is me, my mother, that thou hast borne me, a man of strife and a man of contention to the whole earth. I have neither lent on usury, nor men have lent me on usury; yet every one of them doth curse me.\" Sometimes his outbursts of mental agony make us feel that the man has almost lost his bravery. \"Cursed be the day wherein I was born! Wherefore came I forth out of the womb to see labor and sorrow, that my days should be consumed with shame?\" But glad as he would have been to escape the responsibility of rebuking people, and glad as he would have been to hold the affection and regard of his companions, he never 95 for a moment kept back the truth, nor for a moment did he distrust God's blessing on his life. \"All my familiars watched for my halting, saying, Peradventure he will be enticed, and we shall prevail against him, and we shall take our revenge on him.\" \"But the Lord is with me,\" he declared,...
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.