Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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Fifteen Years: His Turn To Play
The sleek leather of my 50th-floor office chair felt real, the hum of the AC familiar. I was Andrew Scott, Wall Street rising star, not ex-con '734'. Then, the intercom buzzed. My assistant, voice tight with panic: "Mr. Scott, it's Ryan Clark...about Jenny...an accident." A physical blow. The exact same words. Fifteen years in a concrete box, the taste of stale bread, followed by the blinding Hamptons sun, Jenny-my dead wife-laughing with Ryan, their son looking exactly like him. The final memory: a dark New Jersey alley, the smell of garbage and my own blood. It wasn't a nightmare; it was my life, and it ended. But I wasn't dead. My heart pounded, not with fear for the woman I loved and our unborn child as it had before, but with a cold, hard rage. They had played their game, and I had lost everything. Now, it was my turn. And this time, I knew all their moves./0/27318/coverorgin.jpg?v=ef938047728590e17a01319fb76c2e4a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Welcome Home, Baby
Kome became pregnant for her university sweetheart after their first sexual encounter. It happened just at the end of her four year program. Once her father heard news of pregnancy, he was disappointed and sent her away. She took the news to her boyfriend who decided against assuming responsibility for the baby. This left her in a limbo and she scrambled for survival until she gave birth to a baby girl. She tried bringing up the baby but once she thought of her poor state and her lack of progress, she decided to do something drastic. She abandoned the baby in front of an orphanage and went off to serve the nation for a year. She got lucky and got a good job which enabled her to start living a good life. She was swimming along in this beautiful tide when a reminder from her past appeared. One that would bring her to examine the wrong step she had taken. She is forced to confront her past misdeed./0/85719/coverorgin.jpg?v=a4026154190946e0f51675caca7d4a91&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Gilded Cage: A Husband's Escape
It was our tenth wedding anniversary, but the party felt exactly like the nine humiliating ones before it. My wife, Vanessa Thorne, a dazzling socialite to the world, was my warden, and tonight, she paraded her newest "toy," a young model named Liam. "Show him the ropes," she purred, her eyes alight with cruel amusement, forcing me, her husband, to mentor her latest conquest in how to "please her." As the guests snickered, the subtext was clear: "Show him how to be my pet, just like you." For ten years, I had been her gilded prisoner, my father's mounting medical bills the chain around my neck, paid for by the Thorne family. But tonight, something inside me snapped. "No," I whispered, then louder, "No. I won't." I met her eyes and declared, "Vanessa, I want a divorce." The room erupted in laughter, and Vanessa sneered, "You always come crawling back. You have nothing. You are nothing without me." She was right; ninety-nine times, I had failed, but this was the hundredth. I pulled out a printed divorce agreement, a symbol of my resolve. In response, she snatched my champagne and flung it in my face, hissing, "Have you forgotten what you are? You belong to me." Then, for her audience, she commanded, "Get on your knees, Ethan. Crawl to me. Bark like the dog you are." Soaked, shaking, and utterly broken, I knelt, the marble cold beneath me, and whimpered, "Woof." That night, locked in my studio, the phone rang: my father was dying. I pounded on the door, screaming, "Vanessa! Let me out! He's dying!" Her reply, cynical and cold, echoed through the wood, "Another trick? It's pathetic." She left me there, and a primal fury ignited. I smashed the window, cut myself on the glass, and fashioned a rope from canvas. I barely made it down, landing hard and breaking my ankle, but I crawled through hedges, alarms blaring. On the street, a sleek black sedan pulled up. A woman, Sarah Jenkins, offered, "You look like you're in trouble." I gasped, "I need to get to the hospital. My father..." "Get in," she said, her voice calm and steady. At the emergency room, I heard it: "Mr. Miller... just passed a few minutes ago." My father was gone. The chain was broken. A strange, terrifying sense of freedom washed over me, a feeling of nothing left to lose. I clutched Sarah's card, a lifeline in my hand, and whispered, "I'm so, so tired of fighting."/0/38674/coverorgin.jpg?v=6ce87f47af73d71eb9c209b6f68aa6fe&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Tempting the Billionaire and his heir
BLURB Alexa Martin did not think that she would fall head over heels for her employer, popular billionaire, Anthony Brown and his good-looking son, Nolan Brown when she came under the disguise to work as a maid. The plan was to go into their multimillion mansion and help her lowlife boyfriend and his gang rob the place but fate had other plans. Anthony Brown is the most eligible billionaire bachelor in the country while his spoilt but extremely handsome son, Nolan Brown would rather focus on his music career than follow his father's footsteps and take over the construction company. Anthony gets a nanny to watch over his son as punishment but Alexa ends up coming into their lives and everything as they know it, changes. What does a love triangle involving father and son look like? Will Alexa push through with the robbery plan which had brought her to the house? Or will she be blinded by love? What happens when they find out her real motive? And who wins her heart in the end?/0/85395/coverorgin.jpg?v=1693b959caab60ac8b4794c6bf0f67da&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Divorce Papers, A Woman Reborn
My record label was a empire, built on grit and an uncanny ear for talent. But that morning, standing in my sanctuary, Studio A, the controlled chaos I expected was replaced by a scene that froze my blood: a girl I didn't know, holding "The Nightingale," Liam's one-of-a-kind microphone. It wasn't just any mic. It was our mic, a silver emblem of our shared career, engraved with "E+L"-a symbol of a sacred promise he made years ago, that only his voice would ever touch it. And this girl, Ava, with her sickly sweet smile, was singing into it, her cheap perfume clinging to the pop filter, her fingers wrapped right over our initials. My sound engineer paled and cut the audio. "Hi, Ms. Reed. I'm Ava. Liam said I could warm up with this one." Her voice was pure saccharine. Liam, the man of principles, who preached loyalty and integrity, had let her use it, had broken his promise for her. He walked in later, carefree, carrying coffees, asking, "Where's Ava?" as if it were nothing. Blithely admitting he told her she could use his mic. Why did he dismiss our vow so easily? Why was this girl, a stranger, allowed to hold something so intimate, so symbolic of us? And why did Liam act like my feelings were an overreaction, just something he needed to manage? I sent her home, but the real fight had just begun./0/79555/coverorgin.jpg?v=380ca6147675ca86e3544715144b582d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
I Gave My Heart, He Gave Me Humiliation
My life revolved around Ethan, the secret husband I loved fiercely, despite the feud between our families. Then, Chloe Vance, his ex-girlfriend and now stepmother, cornered me in a powder room with a cruel bet: ten chances to make Ethan publicly claim me, or I'd sign divorce papers and disappear. Each attempt to win his affection ended in public humiliation. He remained cold, his attention always on Chloe, who openly delighted in my torment. He looked at me with disgust when I tried to bridge the distance, abandoned me in a fire, and watched me suffer an acid attack – his only concern for her. Despite my agony, he later tried to make me take the fall for her sordid scandals. How could the man I loved treat me with such brutal indifference, repeatedly choosing his ex-girlfriend while I withered? Was I merely a convenient shield, a secret to be hidden, while his true devotion remained with another woman? The casual cruelty, the dismissive betrayal, chipped away at everything I believed. Watching him side with her after that horrific attack, something inside me irrevocably shattered. My foolish, stubborn love for Ethan Gold finally, completely died. I decided then that I wouldn't just leave; I would reclaim my life and dignity, severing every last tie to the man who never truly saw me. And he would finally understand what he had lost./0/83449/coverorgin.jpg?v=7fe6c5124af9629805af2b4769be1c91&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Karma Served Cold: The Billionaire's Mother
The cold garage floor seeped through my thin jeans as I lay hidden, listening. This wasn't a memory; it was a horrifying déjà vu, a second chance at the day that had once destroyed me. Inside, I heard my husband Kevin' s bitter voice, dismissing me as "simple," "always tired," and "smelling like the diner." His mother, Helen, chimed in, labeling me an "anchor, dragging him down" from his imagined football star glory. Then came the chilling words from my own twelve-year-old son, Justin. He openly wished Aunt Tiffany, the "friend" I'd helped through her divorce, was his mom, because her house didn' t smell like "fried onions." Tiffany' s smooth voice, dripping with fake concern, endorsed their narrative, twisting my double shifts into "neglect." I knew their entire sinister plot, every humiliating detail: Justin' s fake "runaway" act, Kevin' s performative call to the police and Child Protective Services, framing me as an unfit mother. They planned to file for emergency custody, force a divorce, and escape with Justin to a new "perfect" life with Tiffany, leaving me utterly ruined. In my first life, I was blindsided. I fought desperately, screamed, cried, and ultimately lost everything-my son, my home, my reputation. I truly died a broken woman, my soul consumed by an unbearable grief. But somehow, I was back. The crushing grief was gone, replaced by a terrifying calm and an ice-cold resolve. They still believed I was simple, weak. They were about to discover the monstrous mistake they had made./0/79556/coverorgin.jpg?v=8d6ed24131dffa45377c47c9e77cef30&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Perfect Love, The Perfect Deception
My life with Liam Goldstein was a fairytale, a perfect love story plastered across every magazine and TV screen in Manhattan. He'd even unveiled the "Maya's Horizon" necklace, a multi-million-dollar cascade of sapphires, celebrating our perfect devotion. But fairytales are just that – tales. Then came the burner phone, the hushed calls, the screenshots, and hotel receipts that screamed 'affair'. I watched him live-stream gifts to his young mistress, Ava Sinclair, calling her his "queen," only to later find her visibly pregnant in a hospital, flaunting our engagement necklace and talking about a "situation" with me. His friends, the same ones who toasted our "perfect love," smirked as he publicly kissed Ava and joked about his "side action," assuring her I'd "never find out." Every grand gesture he'd made, from donating a kidney to cultivating a white rose garden, flashed before my eyes, revealing themselves as calculated performances. How could the man who saved my life, the one I vowed to, betray me with such grotesque audacity, in front of the world and his complicit inner circle? It felt like a sick cosmic joke, a public humiliation disguised as love. But I had given him a warning on our wedding day: "If you ever lie to me, truly lie, I will vanish from your life as if I never existed." Now, it was time to activate the Phoenix Initiative, erase Maya Goldstein, and leave Liam with nothing but ghost of a promise he had shattered./1/116219/coverorgin.jpg?v=a5bbff8415a6d0e7d769f1bb237e2579&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late For Regret: The Lawyer's Comeback
I woke up at seventeen again, right on the morning of our college application day. But this time, things were completely off. My boyfriend Kevin and my best friend Jack suddenly announced they were ditching our shared Ivy League dream. "We’re going to apply to State University. Locally. Brittany needs support," Kevin said, avoiding my eyes. Instead of Princeton, they decided to sacrifice their futures to tutor the blonde head cheerleader. They handed over my meticulously organized SAT notes to her and became her full-time academic babysitters. When I refused to play along, Kevin snatched my yearbook and wrote a mocking goodbye, while Jack coldly accused me of being selfish. They paraded her around, genuinely believing my plans to go out of state were just a childish tantrum. In my previous life, when I fell into severe depression after my dad died, they didn't even try to make me smile. Yet now, they were treating me like a villain and throwing away everything we had built, all for a girl who was clearly playing them for fools. Watching them fawn over Brittany's fake tears, the cold knot in my stomach turned into iron resolve. I packed my bags and pulled out my one-way ticket and secret acceptance letter to UC Berkeley. This life was already different, and it was time I made it my own./0/84423/coverorgin.jpg?v=3ce04d48bfaa8f5a8f9fa622a5dac504&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Million-Dollar Trap
My grandfather, a proud Vietnam vet, was wasting away in his rundown house, neglected by my "perfect" family who deemed him a "downer" on their holiday plans. I was the only one who bothered to visit him, bringing him real food and doing my best to fix his crumbling home. But then, he collapsed right in front of me, his face turning blue. I fumbled to call 911, frantic with fear. When I desperately reached out to my family group chat, informing them Grandpa was dying, the "read" receipts popped up instantly under my message. Every single one of them saw it. No replies. No calls. Just silence. And later, when the doctor confirmed he had a month at most, my own father and uncle called, not to offer comfort, but to scream at me for running up hospital bills. "You should have just left him be!" they yelled, furious that I had dared to get involved. How could these people, his own children, be so heartless, so utterly consumed by greed? Didn't they feel an ounce of shame, an ounce of love, for the man who raised them? What kind of family was this? Then, a weak whisper from Grandpa's bed cut through my despair. "I know how to make them come." He pointed to his old footlocker, revealing a shocking secret: a bank statement showing over $1.5 million. And with a grim nod, he told me what to text them next: "Grandpa is discussing his will. There's money." This was going to be a Thanksgiving performance they'd never forget./1/100970/coverorgin.jpg?v=52867dc8e94fda7c725c3be73596a149&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Truth Hidden In A Folder
For three years, I believed I had the perfect marriage with my husband, Grant, and an unbreakable bond with my best friend, Chelsey. That illusion shattered when I found a hidden video on our shared laptop, tucked away in a folder labeled "Memories." It showed them together in a hotel room, kissing, their bodies intertwined. I heard my husband promise my best friend he would never truly love me, that I was just a responsibility he had to bear. He was the man who swore he'd never cheat. She was the woman who once saved my life. Their entire relationship, their fake animosity-it was all an elaborate performance to hide their affair right under my nose. But when he left me sobbing on the floor to rush to her side after a faked car accident, something inside me finally broke. I found them wrapped in each other's arms, and with the sound of my hand cracking across his stunned face, I made a new promise. "We're getting a divorce."/0/98699/coverorgin.jpg?v=164aa2626c93527a5a4214e509f9229a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Caught In The Twin's Cruel Game
For three years, I was married to a lie. The man I loved, the man whose name I carried, wasn't my husband. He was his identical twin brother. The truth shattered my perfect life on our anniversary. My real husband, Elliot, had swapped places with his volatile twin, Killian, all so he could be with another woman without the mess of a divorce. I was just a placeholder in their cruel game. Elliot stood by as his lover burned my hand, while Killian wore his face, whispering promises he never meant. But the final blow came when I found Killian's phone. In a group chat, he called me a "prize" he'd won from his brother, promising his friends they could have me once he was bored. That's when my heartbreak turned to ice. I filed for divorce, took everything the pre-nup promised, and fled to London. I thought I was free, but now they've followed me, determined to reclaim their favorite toy./0/38676/coverorgin.jpg?v=bbf53ad7829f203d7481399e03b77d82&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Elevator
ELEVATOR BLURB Sometimes people do find love in a hopeless place, but it never comes without an emotional rollercoaster. Adrianna McPherson, the rebel heir to a Billion dollar business empire is forced to marry a man as equally ruthless as her father and even richer, another rebel heir to a Billion Dollar business empire. Adrianna and her areanged husband Lucas Shaul go through a loveless marriage, trauma, life threatening adventures and then find love. This is a tale of finding love in unexpected places, coming of age, rebellion and Outsmarting adversaries. You're in for a rollercoaster, more accurately an elevator ride of adventures from the McPherson's and the Shauls, this is Billionaire romance like you've never seen, rather—read before./0/83450/coverorgin.jpg?v=b0872cd2e2a295697d8b70bb40b1d1a4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Tradwife's Calculated Comeback
Gentle morning light streamed through my bedroom window, and my phone buzzed. It showcased a viral video of me, packing a perfect lunch for my husband, Mark. It was the innocent start of my seemingly idyllic life. Then, a new notification appeared: a tag from notorious online personality Jessica "Jessi" Vance. Her words were a direct hit: "Amelia Reed: The Tradwife Betraying Her Gender." I remembered the first, painful time this happened: her online mob, doxxing, death threats, and a staged overdose that obliterated my reputation. It cost Mark his job, our home, and culminated in a car crash that should have killed me. Burning rubber and crushing metal were my last memories, but I woke up. My stomach was flat, the baby gone. The date on my phone was exactly one year ago. In that first tragic life, I' d cried, defending myself against overwhelming injustice. This time, no tears came. Only a cold, unwavering resolve. Behind my innocent public facade, a fierce hunger for vengeance burned. I was back, armed with memories of my ruin and their weaknesses. They thought I was just a gentle homemaker, easily crushed. They had no idea they had resurrected a woman who would meticulously orchestrate their complete ruin. My revenge would be a masterpiece./0/85397/coverorgin.jpg?v=f6dcc8992e823ce4414f40c939fb5a24&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Love Lost, Life Reclaimed
My mother' s voice cut through the party noise. "If it wasn't for my sacrifice, how could Kyle be so successful today?" She was openly boasting that she' d given my college fund to my cousin, Kyle. I stood hidden in the shadows, my hands shaking. Years of scholarships, working dead-end jobs, meticulously saving every penny for my Ivy League dream-all gone. "Ethan was never going to amount to much anyway," my aunt, her sister, added with a sneer. "Look at him now. A dead-end job, a miserable wife." My parents had enabled it all three years ago, when I'd been eighteen, acceptance letter in hand. "There's a family emergency," my mother had said. "Kyle has an amazing opportunity to study in Europe, and they're a little short." A little short for his tuition, but my entire life' s savings for my own education was apparently disposable. Now, Kyle swaggered through the party, designer suit, wealthy wife, a life that should have been mine. And I, Ethan? I was trapped in a mind-numbing warehouse job, just paying the bills for a small apartment I shared with a wife I didn' t love and a daughter who deserved so much more. "Ethan just doesn't have the drive," I heard my mother tell a neighbor. "He's lazy. Not like Kyle." The words hit me like physical blows. My vision blurred. The anniversary cake I bought with my overtime pay, a small gesture of connection, slipped from my numb fingers. It crashed to the floor. "Ethan! What is wrong with you?" my mother shrieked, rushing over, not to me, but to the mess. "You clumsy idiot! You've ruined everything!" My father followed, his face a mask of disappointment. "Can't you do anything right?" They stood there, judging me. My aunt and Kyle smirked. Later, my last twenty dollars, a fruit basket, rejected. "We don't need this cheap junk," my father said, not even looking at me. "Go make yourself useful. Your aunt needs another drink." That night, listening to them celebrate the man who stole my future, something inside me finally broke. The buried resentment ignited. It wasn't just about the money. It was about my life. And I was going to take it back./1/114922/coverorgin.jpg?v=4a4c57bd7734bc81b46383803f021950&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Eighteen Broken Promises, One Way Out
He postponed putting my name on the deed 18 times. Each time, his mentee Ciera had an “emergency.” Each time, he ran to her. I watched him give her his prized Montblanc pen—the one he wouldn’t even let me borrow. I saw her post their late nights on Instagram. I ate anniversary dinners alone while he “mentored” her. Then he bought me a necklace—identical to the one she just flaunted online. That was when I stopped feeling anything. I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I simply packed two suitcases, resigned from our firm, and booked a one-way ticket to London. He thinks I’m coming back in a week. He has no idea I’m gone for good. Nineteen broken promises. One silent goodbye. And a new life waiting across the ocean./0/83126/coverorgin.jpg?v=4c744abc557c62fc5016aa7901e95242&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Bride Who Rose from Ashes
Days before my picture-perfect wedding to Kevin Davenport, a man as beloved in our tight-knit town as his prominent family, my life stretched before me, an unblemished canvas. But a late-night stroll turned into a nightmare when I was savagely attacked, leaving me battered, disfigured, and my future hanging by a thread. Waking in the sterile hospital room, amidst the beeping machines, the true horror unfolded: my own father and brother, the very men who vowed to protect me, were the architects of my suffering. I overheard them celebrating, their voices chillingly calm, about how my "unfortunate accident" cleared the path for Dad's ambitious intern, Jessica Evans, to become a Davenport in my stead. They deliberately stalled my reconstructive surgery, allowing my severe injuries to worsen, while simultaneously unleashing a venomous smear campaign across social media, painting me as the villain. And then came the doctor's quiet confession: the brutal assault and subsequent neglect meant I might never be able to have children. The ultimate blow landed when Jessica herself glided into my room in my wedding dress, her triumphant smile twisting as she leaned in to whisper that she'd paid the attackers extra to ensure my visible "unforgettable" disfigurement. My father and brother watched, their faces hard with approval, ready to silence my pain. How could the family I loved, the people who should have protected me, orchestrate such a monstrous betrayal, sacrificing my body, my future, and my very identity for their ambition? The physical agony paled in comparison to the searing rage and profound despair that ignited within me, consuming every last shred of my old life. They thought they had broken me irrevocably, that I was a defeated, silenced doll in their cruel game. But as they celebrated their victory, I reached for a hidden burner phone, dialing the number of a woman they had underestimated for years: my formidable, estranged mother, Eleanor Vance, a corporate lawyer in New York. Let them think I was sedated and compliant. My real fight had just begun./1/115571/coverorgin.jpg?v=603c03a34cce99c7f11f0f41669bf754&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Ghost Wife's Silent Escape
For three years, I was the ghost wife to tech billionaire Julian Petersen. I ran his empire from the shadows, securing the patents that were his foundation, while he publicly doted on his manipulative ex, Blair. On my 30th birthday, he forgot me entirely, choosing instead to solve another one of Blair's manufactured crises. That was the final straw. I tricked him into signing our divorce papers, hidden within a stack of routine acquisitions he never bothered to read. He signed away our future without a second glance, his mind already on her, leaving me to eat my birthday cake alone. When he finally saw Blair's true, venomous nature, his obsession didn't end-it just shifted to me. He hunted me down across the globe, offering billions not as an apology, but as a new set of golden chains. He thought he could buy me back after everything he'd done. He cornered me in my new life, his presence a suffocating shadow. His voice was a low command, "Get in the car, Arlene. We're going to talk." "And you will listen."/1/103891/coverorgin.jpg?v=bc57f2764ac76e7d8bd903d37027a27d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My New Eyes Saw His True Lie
After the accident that took my parents and stole my sight, my childhood friend Leo swore he would be my eyes. For years, I believed him, my dark world revolving around the boy who described every ray of sunlight for me. I was even undergoing a risky, experimental surgery to restore my vision, just for him. Then, I saw the truth with my own eyes. On his phone screen, I was just the "little blind girl" he had to take care of, a burden he was tired of carrying. The cruelty didn't stop. He let his new flame publicly humiliate me, and when she faked an injury, he forced me to apologize for a "carelessness" that never happened. The final betrayal came in a dark sea cave. He abandoned me to the rising tide and the pitch-black darkness, leaving me to face the same terror that had once consumed my entire world. He chose her. He broke his promise. He broke me. So I left. I found my own vision, my own strength. Three years later, I returned for my first solo art exhibition, and when I saw his face in the crowd, I knew he was about to see everything he had forced me to be blind to./1/100971/coverorgin.jpg?v=b3d62a4497354d02fe81f5c67ef1dadb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
