Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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The Billionaire's Obsession: Catching His Savior
Jessie Compton harbored a lethal, burning secret in her veins, forcing her to live as a ghost on the fringes of society. When her volatile blood spiked to a boiling point, she fled into the woods and stumbled upon a dying billionaire, his veins turned to ice by a synthetic toxin. To stop herself from literally combusting, she made a desperate gamble: she cut their wrists and mixed her fire-blood with his poisoned ice. The insane transaction saved them both, but it unleashed an absolute nightmare. Bryce Hogan woke up completely cured, but violently obsessed with the anomaly that had invaded his system. He deployed a private army, thermal drones, and limitless wealth to hunt her down. He tracked her across state lines, shattered her carefully built new identity, and cornered her in an underground Las Vegas black market. "Find her! I want her found!" His men ruthlessly closed in, leaving her battered, bleeding, and with a cracked rib as she barely escaped his terrifying pursuit. With only three vials of inhibitor left to keep her body from catching fire, Jessie was exhausted and desperate. She couldn't understand why the man she had saved was hunting her with such a predatory, suffocating intensity. What exactly had her blood awakened in him, and why did he look at her with a chilling mix of absolute terror and dark obsession? Sitting on a midnight bus heading into the desert, Jessie tightened her grip on her tactical knife. She was finally out of places to hide, which meant the billionaire was about to find out exactly how dangerous a cornered ghost could be./1/103201/coverorgin.jpg?v=b7c8449186b072b2b0d9e9549db0a5e4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Discarded Princess, Reclaimed Crown
For seven years, I traded my crown for a quiet life with the man I loved, Harrison. I gave up my kingdom, my family, and my name, believing our love was enough. But on our son Colt's fifth birthday, he publicly announced his engagement to a pregnant socialite, calling their unborn child his "true heir." His mother then stormed into our home, calling my son a "mistake" and a "stain" that needed to be cleansed before her son's new life could begin. My little boy, his heart shattered, looked up at me. "Mama," he whispered, "am I really a mistake?" That's when I remembered I wasn't just a discarded wife. I was a princess who had given up her throne. I picked up the phone and called my father, the king. "I'm coming home," I told him. "And I'm bringing your grandson."/1/100281/coverorgin.jpg?v=8054606ef5c69b3b8f4e03a995ce1921&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Day My Love For Him Died
On my birthday, my husband Jensen gave the Logan Star, a priceless family heirloom promised to me, to his widowed sister-in-law, Isabella. It wasn't just a gift. It was a public declaration. Isabella was pregnant with his child-the heir I had failed to provide. His mother, the family matriarch, then announced I was to be moved from our master suite to a smaller wing to give Isabella the space and comfort she "deserved." Jensen just stood there, telling me to be "reasonable" for the sake of the family legacy. He had chosen his bloodline over our marriage, over me. He had promised to always choose me, but in that moment, I realized I was just a placeholder, easily discarded for a more "fertile" option. The love I had for him died, replaced by a cold, quiet resolve. So I smiled, agreed to everything, and walked away. That night, I boarded my private yacht. As it exploded in a fiery wreck at sea, with the world believing I was dead, my father received a single text from me: "It's time." The divorce was final, and the destruction of the Logan empire had just begun./1/114557/coverorgin.jpg?v=3b1fd54e3d44dc0b2ef366b2e3e098f7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His True Love, My Stolen Baby
When I discovered my husband's safe combination was my stepsister's birthday, my world tilted. Inside, I found the blueprint for how he planned to erase me. He would claim my unborn child for his true love. The postnup was cold and calculated: billions in assets, all designated for Kaleigh. Not a penny for me, his wife of ten years. He tore up the divorce papers I offered, threatening to use his power to take my baby. Kaleigh showed up at my door, taunting me, calling me a "convenient placeholder." She wanted to raise my child as her own. I realized I wasn't just a wife. I was a surrogate. A fertile womb he married because his true love was barren. Our entire marriage was a grotesque lie designed to produce an heir for them. Then, an anonymous email landed in my inbox. It contained a recording of my husband calling me his "incubator." That's when I knew I couldn't just leave. I had to die./0/64592/coverorgin.jpg?v=20241203172059&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Retribution
Locked away in a cold, unforgiving mental hospital, Selina was branded as crazy by those who should have protected her. Betrayed by her father and tormented by her peers, her years of captivity have only fueled her desire for vengeance. Now, with a daring escape behind her, Selina is back, and she's not the same innocent girl they once knew. In a city that once turned a blind eye, secrets will be exposed and justice will be served-her way./0/85357/coverorgin.jpg?v=161f29842222ca601bcad54e649ba50a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Divorce Over Two-Fifty
"That will be two dollars and fifty cents," the ice cream vendor chirped, a cheerful end to a warm afternoon. My daughter, Lily, beamed up at me, eyes wide for a rainbow-sprinkled cone. But before my fingers found my wallet, a cold voice cut through the air. "What do you think you' re doing, Ava?" It was Leo, my husband, arms crossed, face a mask of disapproval. He shamed me, publicly, over two dollars and fifty cents. "It' s the principle," he snapped, throwing a five-dollar bill at the vendor. "Consider this an advance. Transfer me one dollar and twenty-five cents by tonight. I' ll be checking." My face burned, my heart twisting as Lily clung to me. That night, I overheard his voice, warm and indulgent, on the phone. "Of course, Sophia. You liked the red one? I' ll have it delivered to your new place tomorrow." He was buying his stepsister a penthouse, showering her with gifts, yet demanding I pay for half of our daughter' s ice cream. The contrast was a physical blow. His love, his generosity, was for someone else. Later, in my small art studio, I typed a search: "divorce papers." I downloaded the forms, each keystroke heavy, final. When I placed the stack on his nightstand, he finally looked up, disbelief twisting his face into an ugly laugh. "A divorce? Don' t be ridiculous. Is this about the car I bought Sophia? Are you that jealous?" "It' s about the ice cream," I said, my voice steady, empty of the tears I' d held back all day. He scoffed, tossing the papers aside. "The ice cream? You want to end our marriage over two dollars and fifty cents? Ava, you' re being hysterical." He didn't know yet. This wasn't hysteria. It was the quiet, steel-edged birth of a rebellion./1/101904/coverorgin.jpg?v=b2cabf8c16d2d7e8373d8beef9e3679f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Secret Son, My Broken Heart
"Look at the reflection in the window, sweetie," the TikTok sleuth messaged me. That one notification unraveled my entire life. My fiancé, Ashton, wasn't on a business trip. He was with Angela. And Alfie, the seven-year-old "little brother" I' d been raising and financing for two years? He was actually their son. I was just the ATM covering their bills while Ashton bought Angela a diamond ring with my money. When I tried to expose them, Angela played her trump card. She gave Alfie an angora rabbit, knowing he had a deadly allergy, just to frame me for attempted murder. "You poisoned him because you're jealous!" she shrieked in the crowded ER. Ashton looked at me with pure hatred. "You're a monster, Kaylynn." They thought they had me cornered. They didn't know I' d installed hidden cameras in the house three days ago. Or that I had the DNA test proving Alfie wasn't even Ashton's biological son. I wiped my tears and smiled at the police officer. "I have a video I think you need to see."/1/102553/coverorgin.jpg?v=c0df34709ae94a37c8abaaffca9d0f26&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Life Hung By My Hands
My fiancé and my cousin destroyed my life. Their betrayal led to my mother's suicide and my grandmother's death. They framed me for arson, and I went to prison. Three years later, I' m a trauma surgeon. The ER doors burst open, and there he was, carrying her in his arms. She was pregnant, and she was bleeding out. He begged me to save them. "Save her, Alana. Please. Save them both." Then he accused me of wanting revenge, his eyes filled with hate. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The man who took everything from me was now on his knees, his world depending on my skill. I was the only one who could save the woman who stole my life. I did my job. I saved them both. But as I walked out of the hospital that night, his car was there, blocking my path. This wasn't just a chance encounter. He was back to reclaim what he thought was his./0/83735/coverorgin.jpg?v=e6fc3658b478f266cf0fb3fd3348fc9e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Wife, The Stranger
My mother, Eleanor Vance, was a Broadway legend, but my wife, Chloe, her star pupil and a rising star herself, treated me like an understudy. For two grueling months, Mom was dying, and Chloe, on a "promotional tour" in Europe with her agent, ignored my hundreds of desperate calls and texts. The night Mom passed, Chloe finally picked up, her voice sharp with annoyance. When I told her Mom was gone, she responded with a cold, disbelieving laugh, accusing me of lying and manipulation, then hung up. I buried my mother alone, while Chloe chose to attend a lavish funeral for her agent' s cat, scoffing at my grief and praising his "strength" in mourning a pet. The injustice of it all, the sheer audacity of her betrayal, settled in my bones as a heavy, cold weight. Every interaction with her, from her disingenuous attempts at seduction to her hysterical denial when I said I wanted a divorce, clawed at the last vestiges of my sanity. Her casual disregard for my mother's death felt like a final, devastating blow. Why had she ignored us? How could she be so callous, so utterly devoid of empathy, mourning a cat while my mother' s grave lay fresh? What kind of person pretends their mentor is alive just to avoid confrontation? I packed a shovel in my car and drove her and her agent to Woodlawn Cemetery. It was time to reveal the brutal truth, to force her to face the reality she' d so gleefully ignored, and to finally take back my shattered life./1/103202/coverorgin.jpg?v=5e6e59d0419566d622c3c5e879f1532c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Blizzard Betrayal, Phoenix Revenge Rises
For ten years, I was the family pariah, framed for a crime that destroyed my brother's career. My husband, Mark, never believed my innocence. Instead, he fell for the lies of my sister-in-law, Elsa-the woman who orchestrated my downfall. On our tenth anniversary, he stood me up to celebrate with her and our daughter. When I finally confronted him with divorce papers, he threw me out into a blizzard. My own daughter looked at me with cold, dismissive eyes. "Elsa said she should have been my mom." Left to freeze on the side of the road, my heart didn't just break; it turned to ash. The decade of abuse had finally killed every last bit of love I had. But I didn't die. A stranger saved me, and with his help, I found the one piece of evidence I needed to burn their world to the ground. Now, at the divorce settlement, I look at their smug faces and press play on a hidden recorder. "The world will soon know exactly who owes whom."/1/114558/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260430154846&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Erase My Love, Forget His Face
The first clue my life was a lie was a moan from the guest room. My husband of seven years wasn't in our bed. He was with my intern. I discovered my husband, Brendan, was having a four-year affair with Kiya-the talented girl I was mentoring and personally paying tuition for. The next morning, she sat at our breakfast table in his shirt while he made us pancakes. He lied to my face, promising he'd never love another, just before I learned she was pregnant with his child-a child he'd always refused to have with me. The two people I trusted most in the world had conspired to destroy me. The pain wasn't something I could live with; it was an annihilation of my entire world. So I made a call to a neuroscientist about his experimental, irreversible procedure. I didn't want revenge. I wanted to erase every memory of my husband and become his first test subject./1/101905/coverorgin.jpg?v=8d92174e5aecda81a5de02e73244adc1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Served Scraps By My Cruel Husband
I was once the CEO of a pharmaceutical empire, but now I was a ghost in my own kitchen, forced to serve the husband who stole my life. Bolden didn't just take my company and frame me as insane; he sat with his mistress, Kandace, and forced me to eat their table scraps like a dog. They poisoned my father to seize his legacy, gaslit the world into believing I was unstable, and made me scrub floors until my hands were raw and bleeding. Every day was a performance of submission, a calculated risk to protect my infant son, Leo, from their cruelty. They thought my silence was defeat. They believed the drugs had turned me into a hollow shell, unaware that I had been faking taking them for weeks. When they bulldozed my childhood home and desecrated my father' s grave, the last ember of my old life died-and a cold, ruthless resolve took its place. Tonight, I' m not just escaping with my son. I' m taking the evidence of their murders and fraud with me, and I won't stop until their stolen empire burns to ash./1/102554/coverorgin.jpg?v=4a6755db96da59d6d46929ad80e205aa&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Framed By My Husband's Love
I was a star lawyer, undefeated in court. Then my husband and my rival framed me with fabricated evidence, landing me in prison and destroying my name. But the ultimate betrayal came after my release. My own adopted son, the boy I saved and raised, slashed my tires while my husband tampered with the brakes, sending my car flying off a cliff to silence me for good. The world declared me dead. For seven years, I' ve lived as a ghost, scrubbing toilets and hiding in the shadows while they built a perfect life on the ashes of mine. Now, they' ve dragged me back into their glittering world, using my son' s 18th birthday as the stage for their own engagement party-a final, public spectacle to humiliate me. They see a broken cleaner, a ghost they can easily dismiss. They're wrong. Tonight, I' m going live. And I' m bringing seven years of digital receipts that will burn their entire world to the ground./1/113910/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260422165849&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Twin's Deception: My Heart, My Hell
The day I found out I was pregnant, I also learned my entire three-year relationship was a lie. The man I loved, the father of my child, was actually a master manipulator orchestrating a cruel revenge plot. He and his twin brother had shared my bed, my life, and my heart, all to destroy me. Erica, an ER nurse, was overjoyed with her pregnancy, believing she'd found true love and stability with corporate heir Anthony Holden. But this joy shattered when she overheard Anthony and his twin, Emmanuel, revealing their relationship was a "farce"—a three-year revenge plot against her for a forgotten college slight. The man in her bed was Emmanuel. Her grandmother then died due to Anthony's cruel refusal of medical aid. They locked Erica in a dark closet, attempted to poison her, and Anthony stomped on her wrist, stealing her EpiPen. This relentless abuse led to the ultimate loss of her unborn child. Lying in agony, Erica realized this was systematic annihilation. What monstrous secrets fueled such calculated savagery? From the ashes, a terrifying resolve ignited. The naive nurse died on that blood-soaked floor. Erica, now utterly devoid of emotion, would forge their gilded cage into a weapon and burn their entire empire to the ground./1/101581/coverorgin.jpg?v=1558c064e4e60287b2acad38ebf8dab4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Her Vengeance Rises From The Asylum
I walked into the luxury boutique on Fifth Avenue, the air conditioning chilling my skin. There she was-Alivia, my adopted sister-swiping my husband' s Black Card for her wedding dress. Three years ago, she tampered with the neonatal equipment during my home birth, suffocating my newborn son. Then she told everyone I was a drug addict who killed my own baby in a hallucination. My husband, Carter, didn't just believe her; he locked me in a high-security psychiatric facility in Nevada to "fix" me. For three years, I rotted in isolation while she took my life, my husband, and paraded a child that wasn't even his as the Fletcher heir. Even my parents sided with her, protecting their image over their own daughter's sanity. They think I' m still the fragile socialite who would crumble under their gaslighting. They think I' m here to beg for forgiveness. I pulled a silver flash drive from my clutch and stepped into the light. "Shopping for a wedding dress, Alivia?" I whispered, my voice cutting through her laughter. "I hope it goes well with the forensic report proving you murdered my son." The game is over, Carter. I' m not here to reconcile. I' m here to burn your empire to the ground./1/114559/coverorgin.jpg?v=7a9d497a6950e67b2d1932e33e801809&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Chosen Her? Face My Fiery Wrath
My fiancé, Connor, and I had a one-year pact. I'd work undercover as a junior developer in the company we co-founded, while he, the CEO, built our empire. The pact ended the day he ordered me to apologize to the woman who was systematically destroying my life. It happened during his most important investor pitch. He was on video call when he demanded I publicly humiliate myself for his "special guest," Jaden. This was after she'd already scalded my hand with hot coffee and faced zero consequences. He chose her. In front of everyone, he chose a manipulative bully over our company's integrity, our employees' dignity, and me, his fiancée. His eyes on the screen demanded my submission. "Apologize to Jaden. Now." I took a step forward, held up my burned hand for the camera, and made a call of my own. "Dad," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "It's time to dissolve the partnership."/0/84061/coverorgin.jpg?v=a8b3910508b5716e471e8ebcefec1e9f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Billionaire's Retribution
The searing pain was the last thing I knew. A sharp, cold metal plunging into my belly, again and again. My best friend, Tara, was screaming, a twisted rage on her face I' d never seen before, "Why couldn't it have been you? You have everything!" Her husband, Brian, held the knife, his eyes empty. I watched my own blood pool on my marble floor as they staged a home invasion, taking over my life, my home, my wealth. I watched my husband, shattered by grief, take his own life. My baby, my husband, me – all of it, gone. I died, clutching to the injustice of it all, wondering how the people I loved most could betray me so absolutely. Why did they hate me so much just for having what they wanted? Then I woke up, alive, in my Silicon Valley home, my hand resting on my still-pregnant belly. And the front door opened, revealing Tara and Brian, suitcases in hand, their smiles dripping with false sweetness./1/100608/coverorgin.jpg?v=b84546977e849a5bcfd12a628a5ef12a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Heart, His Spare Part
My bodyguard, Grant, took the full force of a speeding car meant for me. In that moment, I realized I loved him. He was my protector, and I thought his fierce devotion was mine alone. But in the hospital, I overheard the truth. He hadn't saved me; he'd saved my kidney. I wasn't the woman he loved. I was just the "best option" for his sick sister's transplant. Every tender gesture, every watchful glance, was a lie designed to keep his organ donor safe and compliant. The man I adored saw me as nothing more than a collection of spare parts. The love I thought we shared was a carefully constructed trap, and I had been the fool who walked right in. The girl who believed in fairy tales died in that sterile hospital hallway. I picked up my phone, my hand steady. "Dad," I said, my voice cold as ice. "I'm ready to consider the alliance with the Powell family."/0/85359/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106205943&imageMogr2/format/webp)
When Love Became A Transaction
The phone rang, a sharp, unwelcome sound cutting through the quiet of my office. It was Olivia, my wife. A smile touched my lips. Six months pregnant, a miracle after years of heartbreak. "Hey, honey. Everything okay? Did you pick out a color for the nursery yet? I' m still team blue." Then, silence. A heavy, dead-air kind of quiet. Her voice, when it came, was a ghost: "Ethan… can you come to the hospital?" My heart stopped. My mind raced through a thousand terrible possibilities, but none prepared me for the sight of her in the surgical waiting room, her face pale, her belly-our baby-gone. "I had an abortion, Ethan." Her words shattered my world. "He was bad luck," she said simply, as if explaining the weather. Then she pointed towards the ICU. "Liam is in here. He was in a car accident." Liam. Her college sweetheart. The ghost in our marriage. "The baby… he was too perfect. All our good luck went to him. I had to get rid of the bad luck. I had to save him." Her twisted logic was terrifying. I stumbled home to find my mother humming happily in the nursery, folding a tiny blue onesie. The room was a testament to a dream now destroyed. "She lost him," I managed to tell her, a desperate lie to shield her from the grotesque truth. But she sensed it. The pain of our son' s death, coupled with Olivia's betrayal, hit my mother hard. Her doctor called it "broken heart syndrome." Then came the call from Olivia's doctor. "It's highly unlikely Olivia will be able to conceive again. The damage is permanent." That night, I discovered our joint savings account, tens of thousands of dollars, completely drained. Funneled to Liam's experimental medical clinic. I found Olivia at his bedside, peeling an apple for him. "It wasn't a problem," she said, "It was a sacrifice. For you. For us." "Good girl," he replied. "Once I'm out of here… Miller will be out of the picture." My son's death wasn't a tragic act of madness. It was a transaction. And I had been played for a fool from the very beginning. Liam called me, arrogant and triumphant. "You were just a placeholder." "You're too selfish!" Olivia shrieked, when I confronted her. Her words, so twisted and absurd, snapped the last thread of any feeling I had for her. "I want a divorce, Olivia." I hung up, then blocked both their numbers. The decision was made. The war had just begun./1/101906/coverorgin.jpg?v=96f9486fbef8c133dbc655fe388fec97&imageMogr2/format/webp)
