Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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His Love, My Hell, Her Justice
My wedding day was ruined by a crazed woman named Isolde, who claimed my husband, Ezekiel, was her soulmate from a past life. Then, after a car accident, Ezekiel faked amnesia, siding with her and putting me through hell. He let Isolde murder my mother, forced me to face my deepest fears, and poisoned me in public. When I finally had Isolde arrested, Ezekiel's revenge was swift and brutal. He kidnapped me and, in a final act of cruelty, snapped the neck of my puppy, Muffin-the only comfort I had left. He thought he had broken me, that he had destroyed every last piece of my soul. He was wrong. He had just unleashed a monster. Now, from the shadows, I will dismantle his empire, ruin his life, and make him pay for every tear I shed. My revenge has just begun./0/58451/coverorgin.jpg?v=96d5e30655fcee301e49b821dcedb557&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Twisted Hearts
My brother hates me, he hates me. He can't accept having a sister with a mental illness. He often deliberately provokes me to have an episode in front of others. Making me look ugly. The most common phrase he says is: "Haylen， I really wish you were dead from your illness." Later, I really died. But he went crazy. Every day stubbornly imitating my ugly appearance when I have an episode. Begging me to appear in his dreams for a glance./0/80514/coverorgin.jpg?v=05b352e0f12761faf54beedf4332f42f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Farm Girl\'s Billionaire Secret
My dad, Marcus Sterling, banished me to a remote Montana ranch after my ill-advised crypto-smoothie investment turned into an SEC headache. I, Ava Sterling, prodigal daughter of a tech mogul, was serving time for a very expensive lapse in judgment. All I wanted was a cell signal, a working phone, and to beg my dad for the G650 jet back home. The ranch, with its endless shoveling and broken fences, felt like a temporary purgatory. Then, on the eleventh morning, a sleek black Escalade crunched up the gravel driveway. A woman stepped out, an older, tired reflection of me, introducing herself as Eleanor Vance, my birth mother. The mother who, according to vague family stories, had vanished when I was a baby. It was an utterly shocking reunion, one I never anticipated. Eleanor quickly swept me into her opulent, yet startlingly cold, life in the city. Her grand house was a blur of shimmering dresses and tailored suits, a world away from my farm attire. My introduction to her husband, Richard Harrison, and her mean-girl daughter, Chloe, was anything but welcoming. "What is *that*?" Chloe drawled, her voice dripping with disdain at my mud-caked boots and ripped jeans. Richard's gaze was ice-cold as he demanded, "Get this… person out of my house." Despite Eleanor's tearful proclamations that I was "the one we lost," I was met with contempt and immediate rejection. The DNA test confirmed my identity, yet their attitude toward me only hardened; I was just an inconvenient truth. Why did this newfound family, after supposedly searching for me for two decades, treat me like an embarrassing relic? Their shock, their anger, their open scorn for me, the daughter they supposedly yearned for, left me bewildered and quietly seething. I, Ava Sterling, who was used to being celebrated, was now their dirty secret, a farm girl to be hidden away. But I wasn't some pitiable charity case; I was a genius accustomed to winning. As I picked up a plate of roast beef, ignoring their stares, a thought solidified: if they wanted a "farm girl" who was easily underestimated, they would certainly get one. This was a game, and I was just getting warmed up./1/104848/coverorgin.jpg?v=b172ef84da69f6c26970e5a7855b95b9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Not Just An Incubator: The Ex-Wife's Cold Revenge
Ten minutes. That was how close I was to handing my fiancé the keys to a three-hundred-million-dollar empire built on my code. But when I walked into the office, his mistress was sitting in my chair, spinning the pen I bought him for our anniversary. Caleb didn't even look up. He told me the investors wanted stability, not a pregnant woman. He called our unborn child a "liability" and ordered security to escort me out of the building I paid for. I went home to pack, only to find a burner phone hidden in the closet. The texts were brutal. He called me an "incubator." He said once the deal was signed, he’d take the baby and dump the "nerd." When he caught me with the phone, he didn't apologize. He dragged me by my hair and threw me into the soundproof panic room to keep me quiet until the deal closed. "Caleb, please! I'm bleeding!" I pounded on the steel door until my hands were raw. But he just locked it and went to eat pizza with his mistress. Alone in the dark, on the freezing concrete, I felt the life inside me slip away. He hadn't just stolen my company; he had killed my child. He thought I was broken. He thought I was just "the help." But he forgot one thing: I built the security system he was trying to sell. Three days later, I rolled my wheelchair into his victory press conference, flanked by his biggest rival. "Do you trust your new code, Caleb?" "Because I wrote the backdoor. And I just opened it."/0/93168/coverorgin.jpg?v=0862b49a8f88b1968e84457236ef446e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
I Ranked In The Top Three On The Country's Rich List
One hour after I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, my husband, Ethan Wood, a superstar, publicly cheated with his agent, Lilian Forster. Some media outlets bombarded me with calls and asked if I would pay a hefty sum to buy out the scandalous footage. Watching their intimate figures in the video, I coldly replied, "I won't." I decided to do what I had wanted to do in the remaining days. I divorced, invested, and rebuilt my gallery. I wanted to be my own empress. No one expected that the cheap paintings I casually snapped up would become wildly popular among collectors and that the stocks I bought on a whim would surge overnight. In just a few weeks, my wealth snowballed. I nearly landed among the top three on the rich list in Preayork. As Ethan and Lilian mocked that I had no time to enjoy my wealth, the doctor revealed to me that the supposed brain tumor was, in fact, a misdiagnosis./0/47746/coverorgin.jpg?v=332bdfe769cb65a9f8baddf06afd63c5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Heartbreak Brings Mr. Right
Lindsey's fiancé was the devil's first son. Not only did he lie to her but he also slept with her stepmother, conspired to take away her family fortune, and then set her up to have sex with a total stranger. To get her lick back, Lindsey decided to find a man to disrupt her engagement party and humiliate the cheating bastard. Never did she imagine that she would bump into a strikingly handsome stranger who was all that she was currently looking for. At the engagement party, he boldly declared that she was his woman. Lindsey thought he was just a broke man who wanted to leech off her. But once they began their fake relationship, she realized that good luck kept coming her way. She thought they would part ways after the engagement party, but this man kept to her side. "We gotta stick together, Lindsey. Remember, I'm now your fiancé. " "Domenic, you're with me because of my money, aren't you?" Lindsey asked, narrowing her eyes at him. Domenic was taken aback by that accusation. How could he, the heir of the Walsh family and CEO of Vitality Group, be with her for money? He controlled more than half of the city's economy. Money wasn't a problem for him! The two got closer and closer. One day, Lindsey finally realized that Domenic was actually the stranger she had slept with months ago. Would this realization change things between them? For the better or worse?/0/83111/coverorgin.jpg?v=5832341874f819c4f1beb910d027663d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Betrayed By Her Beloved
Ten years. That' s how long I' d spent in Ironwood, a frozen hell disguised as a "rehabilitation" facility, stripped bare. Finally, I was home, a woman I barely recognized, clinging to Marcus and Leo' s hollow promises of normalcy. I just wanted peace, to be safe. The recycled air inside felt foreign after the clean Alaskan crispness. But peace was a cruel illusion. I overheard them talking, my husband and my son, their voices low and urgent. "She took the fall," Marcus confessed, "It was convenient." My blood ran cold. The "Aegis data breach" that stole a decade of my life was no accident of negligence, but a calculated frame-up by my own family to protect Vivian. Their "sympathy" was a meticulously constructed performance. My husband, the man who comforted me, was having an affair with my adoptive sister, Vivian, who now held my former title. She paraded in front of me wearing the gown Marcus had commissioned for my anniversary. My son, Leo, defended her, then burned my cherished journals for him, making space for "Aunt Viv's" things. This house was not a home, but a gilded cage built on lies. My own father lauded Vivian as a family "asset," subtly shaming me. The trust that had flickered within me was extinguished, replaced by a cold, burning fury. They had conveniently buried me for ten years in a brutal Alaskan prison, then expected me to play along. My heart hammered with an overwhelming sense of injustice and betrayal. They thought I was still broken. They were wrong. Amidst the ashes of my old life, my mother's cryptic words from years ago echoed: "The Seraphina Protocol. My escape hatch." A meticulous archivist, a planner, was reawakening. The gala would be their stage, yes. But soon, it would be mine./0/99658/coverorgin.jpg?v=5cb4dd5def961555e627da086767af12&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Saw My Soul, Not My Scars
My husband, Jeremiah, let me die from an allergic reaction because he couldn't pause his video game. He dismissed my kidnapping as a prank and refused to come to the hospital when I was miscarrying our child. But the final straw came when he ordered doctors to carve skin from my body for his mistress's minor burn. He thought he had broken me, but he was wrong. I exposed his affair, took his company, and left him with nothing. Years later, he crashed my wedding to another man, begging for a second chance. "Elena lied to me! She manipulated me! It was always you, Celina!" I looked at the monster who had destroyed my life, my family, and my child. Then I picked up a wine bottle and smashed it over his head./0/84409/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106204633&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Monster My Wife Became
My daughter Chloe was the bright star of my life. I' d traded Silicon Valley for stay-at-home dad life, and her seventh birthday at "Galaxy Adventure" was everything. But the park was closed for a private event, and I watched my wife, Molly, embrace her high school sweetheart, a man who' d nearly ruined her family years ago. Chloe, oblivious, ran to her mom, only to be met with a hateful shriek: "What is she doing here?" Molly, enraged, shoved our daughter, then strapped my terrified child into a high-G-force simulator, cranking every dial to maximum. Chloe's screams were lost to the machine, and moments later, she lay limp, bleeding, dying. Molly bought off every neurosurgeon in the state, sending me cartoon band-aids as Chloe flatlined. With Chloe dead in my arms, and Molly mocking me, a chilling emptiness settled over my soul, replacing all emotion with a cold, hard resolve. They thought I was destroyed, but I made a choice that day: I'd take everything from her, just as she'd taken my everything. I needed the world to see her for the monster she was. So, I faked my own death, leaping from her penthouse balcony into the spotlight of every news camera./0/91547/coverorgin.jpg?v=f9dddba85bd5b625d2d5db1fa6cda9cd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Alpha's Belated Heart
I watched as the doctor tossed the bone marrow, which was freshly extracted from me, into the trash can. Just as I was about to speak, I heard voices from the adjacent room. "The 97th revenge, and that stupid woman, Vanessa Price, really believes Timothy was poisoned and rushed over to donate her bone marrow." "Vanessa stole Bryanna's championship back then. Just wait. Timothy will take revenge on Vanessa three more times. She'll be begging for mercy." Timothy Oliver, for whom I would sacrifice everything, was casually listening to his friends recount his torments against me. I was forced to search through garbage for a non-existent ring and brave the cold in solemn prayer before the statue of the Moon Goddess. And my piano competition was ruined... Timothy meticulously planned 100 acts of revenge against me in the past four years to vent the anger of his stepmother, Bryanna Oliver. It wasn't until he unearthed my dead body and the pregnancy test in a collapsed silver mine that he truly regretted it. Now it was time for me to fight back for the deception under the name of love./0/85707/coverorgin.jpg?v=ae4d19bfb1bbd9235ca0b91e418f7d00&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Best Friend, His Betrayal
The drive to my best friend Mark' s father' s 60th birthday party felt good, the kind of easy trip you take to see family. My wife, Sarah, was supposed to be in London for a work conference, nursing a sprained ankle. But when I stepped inside, my eyes scanned the crowd, and there she was, kneeling in the center of the living room. She was participating in a formal tea ceremony, dressed in a beautiful silk dress I' d never seen. "What a good, respectful daughter-in-law!" Mark' s aunt boomed, praising her. "Mark, you found a real treasure." My heart hammered against my ribs as I saw her, my wife, here, being celebrated as his wife. The whiskey bottle in my hand suddenly felt heavy and cold. Sarah' s eyes locked with mine across the room, her polite smile vanishing, replaced by pure panic. She rushed towards me, pulling me into a quiet hallway. "Liam, what are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice frantic. "Last I heard, you were in London with a sprained ankle," I retorted, my voice dangerously low. She claimed Mark' s father had terminal cancer, and she was just "helping" fulfill his dying wish to see Mark settled. "You' ll lend me your wife, right? We' re best friends, you wouldn' t mind, would you?" Mark asked, joining us, his tone infuriatingly casual. The sheer audacity, the betrayal, stole my breath. My wife, my best friend. "A few days?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that all? I guess his dying wish doesn' t include seeing his grandkids, then. Or do you think he' ll live long enough for you two to pop one out?" The smile vanished from Mark' s face, and Sarah' s eyes widened in horror. The casual charade was over. The real party was just beginning./0/82787/coverorgin.jpg?v=fc592f6ea1bcbbc669fc141c63fff866&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Dying Man's Legacy
The steel door of the "behavioral correction facility" clanged shut, freeing me after five years of unspeakable torment. I returned to my grand New England mansion, my face a roadmap of scars, my body wracked by a terminal illness. Yet, my mother, Eleanor, and my wife, Olivia, greeted me not with solace, but with cold accusation, immediately blaming me for my younger brother Jake' s fabricated trauma. Olivia chillingly presented divorce papers, her eyes devoid of warmth, sneering that my hundred cuts were nothing compared to Jake' s supposed suffering. They dismissed my dying body as a manipulative ploy, my mother even admitting she orchestrated my brutal incarceration. I was a walking, disfigured ghost of a man, haunted by memories of forced drain cleaner and relentless beatings, yet they still saw only a deceitful monster. How could my own family abandon me to such horrors, actively participate in my torture, and then refuse to believe the undeniable evidence of their cruelty? The final humiliation came at Jake' s lavish birthday gala, where he forced me to publicly apologize. But then, a raw, hidden video from the facility, detailing my screams and brutal abuse, unexpectedly exploded onto the screens, momentarily shattering their facade. Jake' s desperate, manipulative accusations quickly re-blinded them, sealing my fate once more. With death approaching, I yearned only for escape from this family, whose belated remorse and desperate scramble for justice felt hollow and too late. But the truth, once glimpsed, had a way of fighting back./1/100957/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106221013&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Scorned Woman's Unstoppable Rise
For my entire life, I was the secret architect of my stepbrother Hector' s perfect world. As the CEO of our family's empire, I funded his every whim, letting him play the prince while I quietly ran the kingdom. That all ended the night his girlfriend-a bar manager I once hired-had me beaten in the cellar of my own hotel. She called me a charity case, a pathetic leech trying to mooch off his money. Then she and her guards cracked three of my ribs and demanded half a million dollars to let me go. All while Hector, the brother I had sacrificed everything for, ignored my desperate calls. He was too busy partying in the penthouse I paid for. When he finally learned what happened, he took her side. He called me a bitter old hag, a monster trying to ruin his happiness. The physical pain was nothing compared to the chilling realization that the man I had protected for decades was a parasite. Lying on that cold concrete floor, I understood. I wasn't just going to cut him off. I was going to burn his entire world to the ground, starting with the thirty-year-old secret of his birth that I had sworn to protect./0/82788/coverorgin.jpg?v=4c7451c860212fb9789bb3c946322259&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Scorned Wife's Comeback
The world snapped back for Sarah Miller. It wasn't a blessing. It was June 14th, the day her life first shattered. That day, her son, David, received his prestigious ROTC scholarship acceptance. It was a golden ticket. Then, it was brutally snatched away. Her husband, Sergeant Mark Jenkins, the man she' d sacrificed everything for, didn't just have an affair with Brenda Lewis. He openly diverted David's esteemed scholarship to Brenda's entitled son, Kevin. Overnight, Sarah was painted as the "unhinged ex-wife." Mark and Brenda flaunted their "perfect" new family, built on disgusting lies. She remembered the public humiliation David endured. She remembered his spirit dimming under relentless bullying. She remembered the unspeakable note he left behind and the awful silence in his room before his suicide. Consumed by grief and labeled a crazy scorned woman, Sarah herself faded into a blur of despair. Her own tragic, unspoken end followed. How could one man be so utterly devoid of conscience? To destroy his own son for a new life? The injustice burned. The raw pain was still fresh. Why would fate curse her with such a horrifying memory, only to offer it again? Then, the shocking realization hit her. She was back. It was June 14th. A second chance. This time, she wouldn't be a victim. This time, David would live. This time, she would fight. And no one on this earth would stand in her way./1/105824/coverorgin.jpg?v=438263e5361d7745a5709a475a5522af&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The CEO Went Bankrupt After His Mistress Humiliated his Wife
As the New Year's dinner concluded and we prepared to leave, Miranda Wells, the manager, blocked my path and forced me to pay the bill. I firmly refused, but Miranda was tough. "I am doing you a favor by asking you to pay the bill! Who in this country would dare to defy anyone from the Harris family? Do you have a death wish?" She sneered, rolling up her sleeves and pointing at me before I spoke. "Do you know who I am? Nikolas Harris, the CEO of the Harris Group, is my husband! I am Mrs. Harris!" I was stunned. I was married to Nikolas, so why was Miranda claiming to be his wife? In the next moment, I called Nikolas at the spot. "Why am I unaware that you have another wife?"/0/80517/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106193704&imageMogr2/format/webp)
No Apologies: The Hollywood Takeover
I’d just returned to LA after 18 months off-grid, ready for a well-deserved break from humanitarian law. My younger brother, Leo, a rising actor, needed a favor: appear on a cheesy reality show. I envisioned a relaxing week at a ranch, a simple family obligation. I was entirely mistaken. I quickly discovered Leo wasn't just having career trouble; he was "Hollywood’s Prettiest Prop," drowning in online hate. His self-worth was shattered by relentless "talentless" accusations. Then I met Chad, the actor who publicly claimed Leo "stole" his role, and his sneering sister Brittany. They wasted no time insulting my brother, questioning our family's very "gene pool" for the cameras. Every show interaction fueled their narrative: Leo as the fraud, me as the "entitled" sister. I faced public ridicule for daring to push back. Then came the real threat: Marcus Thorne, a powerful executive, publicly hinted at activating a "morals clause" against Leo. My brother's agent confirmed the studio was ready to discard him due to "negative publicity." Leo, utterly defeated, begged me, "Maybe I should just… apologize." Apologize? For exposing a rigged system? For defending my brother against an organized smear campaign orchestrated by industry sharks? My kind, vulnerable brother was about to be sacrificed for entertainment ratings and Hollywood politics. This wasn’t just Leo’s career; it was about justice in an industry built on lies. Watching his fear, I knew one thing. No. "No apologies," I firmly told him. "Not now. Not ever for this." I fired up his dormant Twitch channel. It was time to fight back, not with their manufactured drama, but with cold, hard facts. I was about to detonate a nuclear bomb on Hollywood. They didn't just pick a fight with Leo. They picked a fight with a Hayes./0/80518/coverorgin.jpg?v=371da0f62b26fa8f547e501cfd314c43&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Stolen Destiny: The Ivy League Lie
The Yale scholarship email glowed on my screen, a testament to years of grueling work and quiet ambition. I, Emily, had finally achieved my dream, a full ride to an Ivy League. But my triumph shattered when my older brother, Mike, stormed in, his eyes blazing with a fury I’d never seen directed at me. He accused me of stealing my adopted sister Sophia’s destiny, blinded by her manipulative claims of having her ‘luck stolen’ and a fabricated illness. His rage escalated, culminating in a brutal attack in a remote cabin, where he bound me, then deliberately cut my arm with a hunting knife. Knowing full well I suffer from real hemophilia, he left me there, miles from anywhere, to bleed out, dismissing my desperate pleas as mere dramatics. My own parents, swayed by Sophia’s charade, tragically remained unaware of my brother's monstrous act. How could the brother who once vowed to protect me now be trying to kill me? Every drop of my blood pooling on the cabin floor was a testament to their chilling deception and my utter helplessness. Was I truly doomed to die for a lie he believed and a future she coveted? Yet, from the depths of despair, an unexpected tool emerged – a Swiss Army knife Mike himself had given me, ironically, for protection. This wasn't an end; it was the beginning of my fight back, a meticulous plan to expose their heinous truth and reclaim my life./1/101932/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106222059&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Queen Of His Twisted Betrayal
My husband, Cameron, cheated on me with his intern, Cara. After months of begging, I gave my childhood sweetheart a second chance, but the trust was gone. One night, after a fight, he stormed out. I watched on a hidden dashcam as he drove straight to her apartment, the sounds of their passion echoing through the car's speakers, a soundtrack to my despair. The next day, I found them kissing in our foyer. In a blind rage, I attacked Cara. Cameron shoved me to protect her, and my head slammed against the wall, splitting open. As blood streamed down my face, he cradled Cara, murmuring, "Are you okay?" At the hospital, his mother arrived, horrified. "She's pregnant with another man's child, and she's trying to trap you!" she screamed at Cameron. But he only had eyes for his mistress. He pushed past me, sending me sprawling to the floor, and rushed to Cara's side after she faked a medical emergency. He didn't even look back. Later, he returned, his eyes cold. "I can't let Cara go," he said. "You'll still be my wife. My queen. Just... allow me this one small indulgence." The audacity was breathtaking. He wanted me, his wife, to accept his mistress. But his arrogance didn't stop there. When Cara went missing, he accused me of harming her. He dragged me from my hospital bed, held a knife to my arm, and sliced my skin. "Tell me where she is," he hissed, his face twisted with madness, "or I'll make you."/0/58456/coverorgin.jpg?v=153b30c2180b3775a4148371c35f0d72&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Her Love Torment
Three years ago He accidentally fell from a building, resulting in a disability in both legs. The doctor said the hope of recovery was slim. I accompanied him to grasp that slim hope. Three years later, he recovered. He's once again a hotshot business tycoon. But he told his friend, "I have always been afraid to touch her, afraid to see her shrunken feet under her skirt, afraid I can't control my disgust..." But he didn't know, I lied to him. My legs have never had any problems./1/101933/coverorgin.jpg?v=ef3ee342e86f0746fbb73a197830f548&imageMogr2/format/webp)
