icon 0
icon TOP UP
rightIcon
icon Reading History
rightIcon
icon Sign out
rightIcon
icon Get the APP
rightIcon
closeIcon

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

Fantasy Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
THE FORGOTTEN HEIRESS OF THE MOON KINGDOM

THE FORGOTTEN HEIRESS OF THE MOON KINGDOM

THEY KILLED HER FAMILY. THEY ERASED HER NAME. BUT THEY FORGOT ONE THING SHE SURVIVED. For eighteen years, Elara Vale has believed she is nothing more than an ordinary servant girl. She has no memories of her childhood. No knowledge of her true parents. And no idea why strange things happen whenever the moon is full. Then one night, everything changes. When Prince Kael Draven the cold and feared heir to the throne finds her, his first commandy is simple: "Kill her." But the moment Elara is wounded, Kael feels her pain as if it were his own. A mysterious silver mark appears on both their bodies, and Elara's forbidden magic begins to awaken. Soon, assassins are hunting her, ancient magic is calling her name, and secrets buried for eighteen years begin to surface. Then Elara discovers a portrait of a dead princess who looks exactly like her. Princess Elara Lunaris. The last heir of the fallen Moon Kingdom. The girl who was supposedly murdered eighteen years ago. But there is one problem... The man she has been taught to hate may be the only person capable of protecting her. And the more Elara discovers about Kael, the more dangerous their connection becomes. Because they aren't merely enemies. They are fated mates. Now Elara must uncover who destroyed her family, why her existence was erased, and why the kingdom is terrified of her awakening power. But the deepest secret is still waiting in the shadows Someone who was there the night her parents died knows that Elara survived. And they will do anything to make sure the forgotten princess never takes her throne.
My Grave, His Madness

My Grave, His Madness

My funeral was just weeks ago, but as a ghost, I, Elara, the Governor's wife, was forced to watch the wake from the corner of my own grand ballroom. My husband, Governor Marcus Thorne, a man whose entire career was built on my family's name and money, wasn't grieving; he was seething, convinced I had faked my death. He believed I was hiding somewhere in our sprawling estate, playing a cruel game to deny his trusted chief of staff, Izzy, a life-saving bone marrow transplant. But Izzy, a woman I had once taken under my wing, was lying. Her supposed illness was a meticulously orchestrated ruse designed to deceive Marcus, fueling his obsession to find me. As an invisible spirit, I agonizingly witnessed Marcus' s escalating madness: he systematically destroyed my family' s legacy, fired loyal staff, and brutally tormented my ten-year-old brother, Leo, all to force me out of a hiding place that didn't exist. His depravity culminated in the desecration of my grave, only for my true, decomposing body to be dismissed by his paid medical examiner as a "random corpse." How could my brilliant, ambitious husband be so utterly blind, a puppet in a macabre performance designed to destroy everything I held dear? What sinister motive drove Izzy to such extreme lengths, and why was I, even in death, still the target of this malicious charade? It wasn't until Leo, with a final, heartbreaking act of defiance, revealed the unique surgical pin embedded in my desecrated remains that Marcus's world shattered, finally exposing the horrifying truth of his own monstrous actions and setting the stage for Izzy' s chilling, triumphant reveal of her decades-long revenge and the complete collapse of his empire.
Beyond The 99 Percent

Beyond The 99 Percent

The music vibrated through the floor at Vance Architecture's biggest project win in a decade. My husband, Ethan Vance, CEO, stood in the center, smiling, but his gaze was fixed on Sophia Miller, so close they were almost touching. She was back, and I felt like the invisible woman in my own life. "To Sophia," he announced, his voice warm with a feeling he' d never shown me, "for coming back. The firm wasn't the same without you." Waves of applause crashed around me as I stood by the wall, my untouched juice a stark contrast to their champagne, the bitter truth settling in: it was all over. A quiet, mechanical voice echoed in my head, a secret only I could hear: [Host, your mission completion is at 99%. Are you certain you wish to terminate the task?] I didn' t need to say yes aloud. My thoughts were enough: Yes, I'm certain. He doesn't love me. He loves her. All this time, I was just a substitute – a ghost he loved through me. My five years of devotion, every effort, every believed promise, every step closer… it was all a lie. Then, just last night, I' d heard his confession, heard him admit I was just a "substitute." My world shattered. [Understood. Processing request for termination. A 30-day buffer period has been initiated.] I wasn' t Chloe Davis originally. I was a soul from another reality, with a mission: win 100% affection to go home, healthy and whole. I escaped an abusive adoptive family, only to be "saved" by Ethan Vance, who built my world, offered me everything, and then asked me to marry him. I genuinely believed he loved me for me, switching my mission target to him, and the progress bar leapt to 80%, slowly crawling to 99%… and stalling. Now I knew why. He wouldn' t even notice I was gone. I was done. I was ready to leave this world.
The Woman Who Reclaimed Life

The Woman Who Reclaimed Life

The antiseptic smell was the last thing I remembered. In my "other" life, the one that ended in blood and despair, I died from late-stage cancer in an unpaid hospital bed. My parents, Sarah and Robert, cried. They held my hand, promising to take care of everything, just as they had for years while I diligently sent them money for my health insurance. But they lied. The money was gone, squandered on a secret life. My father finally broke, confessing they' d adopted a son, Liam, channeling all my money to him, building a new family on the foundation of my slow death. The betrayal shattered something inside me. The weight of the kitchen knife, my mother' s scream, then nothing. Until I blinked. Sunlight streamed through my bedroom window. My husband, David, slept beside me. My body felt healthy, a full year before Dr. Evans' death sentence. A terrifying, undeserved second chance. I remembered the insurance renewal notice I' d ignored yesterday because I trusted them. This time, I wouldn't. When I called my mother, her usual syrupy sweetness faltered. "Oh… perfectly fine if you handle that yourself," she said, before asking for another twenty thousand dollars for renovations. I gave it to them, a ticket to the truth. Then came the photo: a blurry, half-demolished kitchen, and in the corner, a bright blue, brand-new plastic dinosaur. Liam already existed. The confusion lifted, replaced by a cold, sharp purpose. The hunt had begun.
Her Lies, His Unbreakable Spirit

Her Lies, His Unbreakable Spirit

It was our ten-year anniversary, a celebration of the life Chloe and I had built, a life where her gallery thrived on the back of my secret, unique artistic ability. But then, I saw the name "Mark" flash across her phone, a ghost from her past that she claimed was long gone, and a cold dread settled in my stomach. Minutes later, Mark-pale, sickly, and utterly unwelcome-was being paraded into our party by Chloe, who then, to my horror, demanded I use my life-draining power to create a spectacular light show for his band's performance. I watched, hidden backstage, as my essence poured out, illuminating the man she adored, while she waved away my pleas to stop, her eyes fixed on him, a tenderness for him that she hadn't shown me in years. Left crumpled on the floor, my power spent, Chloe abandoned me for him, and I knew with a chilling certainty that the decade we' d shared was a lie, and there was nothing left but to walk away. But even fleeing her apartment, stripped of everything, wasn't enough to escape her cruel control. Mark, her "soulmate," staged elaborate deceptions, framing me for poisoning him, turning Chloe' s coldness into outright malice, and leading her to expose my deepest secret and imprison me for torturous "studies." Beaten, stripped, and emotionally ravaged, my only hope lay in a small, symbolic hearthstone from my true home back north, a stone Chloe had once dismissed as junk. When I crept back to reclaim it, only to be trapped and mercilessly tormented with ice-cold and scalding water, then forced to watch as she deliberately burned my painting and cast the stone, my last link to sanity, out the window, I understood: she owned me, and she was determined to break me completely. On her wedding day, Chloe still insisted I illuminate her triumph, only to find my hidden cell empty, and as she spiraled into a furious hunt for me, the truth about Mark' s cruel manipulations finally unraveled before her. Two years later, I found my new life, a new love, and a quiet strength she could never touch, and when she finally tracked me down, hoping for forgiveness, my calm, indifferent gaze was her final, crushing punishment: I was free, and she was utterly, unforgivably alone.
The Hearth's Unholy Secret

The Hearth's Unholy Secret

My best friend Chloe and I were drawn to The Hearth, a mountain valley sanctuary promising peace and belonging. We sought healing, desperate for a new start, believing in its vision of harmony and finding our true selves. But The Hearth was a gilded cage. After a decade of apparent bliss, I accidentally overheard a chilling conversation between Marcus, my husband and leader, and Julian, his second-in-command. They were discussing how they had orchestrated the brutal "cleansing" I endured years ago, merely to "test" me for Seraphina, the community's revered oracle. My world shattered. My spiritual abilities, my very 'Blossoming,' weren't nurtured but exploited. Chloe' s empathic Soul-Echo had been deliberately siphoned, a shard of it now a "charming little poppet" for Seraphina's raven. Marcus had faked an illness to manipulate me into draining eight of my nine Wellsprings, not for his safety, but to forge a mighty "Shield of Warding" for Seraphina. Even my nascent spiritual pregnancy was intentionally aborted by Marcus to preserve Seraphina's "primacy." Everything was a calculated lie, a cruel manipulation. The love, the care, the decade of peace – all for Seraphina's sake. How could we have been so blind, so stupidly grateful? The people we loved, the community we built, was nothing but an elaborate stage for their monstrous scheme. Chloe, pushed to her breaking point, unleashed her entire Soul-Echo in a desperate "Soulfire" against Seraphina, only for it to be blocked by the very shield made from my stolen power. She vanished, consumed by her own essence. My best friend, gone, and they dismissed it as mere theatrics, demanding more from me. In that moment, grief turned to an unquenchable, silent fury. They would pay. Every single one of them.
Her Gift, Her Curse, Her Redemption

Her Gift, Her Curse, Her Redemption

Sarah Miller, with her uncanny gift of foresight, was a sensation. Her "Sarah Sees" livestream, broadcast from her humble Vermont farmhouse, brought comfort and answers to thousands. She was a rising star, a rare and authentic voice in the world of online spiritual guidance. But then, out of nowhere, an old childhood acquaintance, Jessica Evans, appeared. "Mystic Jess," she called herself, launching a strikingly similar channel. Whispers of Sarah being a "copycat" began, subtly fueled by Jessica and an influential local figure, Alex Peterson. The online comments turned vicious, branding Sarah a "fraud" and "liar." Her followers evaporated, her income vanished. The local community, once supportive, grew cold, and the stress bled into her family's life. Then came the vandalism, spray-painted threats, culminating in a confrontation that tragically led to her father's fatal heart attack. I watched my family shatter, my life ruined, all by someone who seemed to mimic my every move, even my private thoughts, always one step ahead. How could Jessica know what I was about to say or do before I even did it? My own gift, once so clear, became a dark, confusing static whenever I tried to foresee anything about Jessica or my grim future. It made no sense. Crushed by grief and public scorn, wishing for an end to it all, I closed my eyes. A snap, a void, then a gasp. I opened them to find sunlight streaming through my old bedroom window, my laptop waiting-showing the exact date I launched my first livestream. I was back. And I wouldn't let it happen again.