Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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Four Years and a West Village Watch
I'd poured millions into Sophia Evans, transforming a waitress into a chic SoHo gallery owner. For four years, I funded her life, her mother's life-saving medical treatments, her brother's MIT education. All because she was the spitting image of Ava, my beloved fiancée, who died seven years ago in a sailing accident I still blame myself for. Our wedding, a high-society spectacle, was set for the next day. Then, I overheard the devastating truth: her childhood sweetheart, Jake, had threatened to jump from her gallery balcony if she married me. And Sophia? She agreed to publicly humiliate me, leaving me stranded at the altar, just to appease his fragile ego. My carefully constructed world, built on Ava's ghost, imploded. Later, at a charity gala, Jake crashed the event, screaming I'd stolen her; when I was knocked down in the chaos, Sophia rushed to *his* side, not mine. The betrayal was complete; she'd played me, using my grief and my money. I was done. I immediately cancelled the wedding, cut off every penny, and even aired her deceit to our stunned guests before escaping to Dublin to start fresh. But months later, after her mother passed away and I learned Jake was still venomously manipulating her, I did something utterly unexpected, something that even shocked myself. I offered Sophia a job in Dublin working directly for me./1/117675/coverorgin.jpg?v=0d4acb50f880e367adaadf49cdee9848&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Scars, His Unconditional Devotion
At eight months pregnant, my world was a pastel nursery and the gentle kicks of my unborn child. I believed my husband, Barron, and I were building a perfect future, a life filled with meticulous joy. That future shattered with the splintering of our front door. A brutal assailant left me bleeding, but the true betrayal came in the ambulance. Through a fog of pain, I heard my husband' s cold, calculating voice on the phone. He had orchestrated the attack to induce a miscarriage. He needed our baby gone to fulfill a twisted promise: his firstborn had to be with another woman, Gisela. The vicious assault not only killed our child but left me barren, my body permanently broken. His only regret was that the plan got messy, not that he had destroyed my life. He thought he could cover it up with money and lies, forcing me to live beside the monster who had taken everything. He was wrong. With the help of his horrified best friend, I staged my own death in a fiery car crash. Alexandria Barber is dead. And I am finally free./0/81851/coverorgin.jpg?v=61be5181617e1c7272a42860c6589d50&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Jilted Fiancée to President's Enforcer
The champagne flute felt colder than the ballroom air at my lavish engagement party to Senator Ethan Prescott, D.C.'s golden boy. In my first life, this night had been a triumph. But tonight, Isabella Vance, Ethan' s mistress, brazenly crashed the party, heavily pregnant and dramatically announcing, "Ethan, this baby is yours." Chaos swallowed the room; cameras flashed, but I felt a chilling calm. In my previous life, this betrayal had led to my career' s ruin, a faked scandal, and a lonely "accident" – Ethan and Izzy' s masterpiece of destruction. Back then, I was broken; now, I simply placed my flute down and announced, clear-eyed and cold, "Our engagement is over." They continued their facade, building a new narrative and trying to publicly shame me at a White House State Dinner. Ethan mocked me, Izzy sneered at my simple dress, and their cronies tried to have me escorted out, believing I was a pathetic ghost from their past. They thought I was weak, a broken woman clinging to the fringes of their brilliant new lives. Every condescending word, every dismissive glance, was a fresh wound, a reminder of the injustice that had cost me everything. Did they truly think I'd just vanish? My heart, once shattered, was now a block of ice, focused solely on retribution. This time, I was no one's pawn. Just as they tried to completely discredit me, President Thompson himself appeared, announcing my true status as his "most trusted advisor," shielding me with the full weight of his office. My father's legacy, my own history saving the President's life, suddenly became my indisputable shield and sword. The real game had just begun./0/86857/coverorgin.jpg?v=9cdd4b5883c340120775c2c12f2b7aad&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Farewell To A Wicked Wife
The hospital corridor smelled of disinfectant, quiet except for my wife Sarah's voice through the door. She' d claimed amnesia after a car accident, unable to remember me, her husband of five years. But what I heard next wasn't confusion. "It' s just for seven days. Then I'll say my memory came back. He can't blame a 'sick' person, right?" Mark Davis, a junior developer at our company, responded, "Aren't you worried he'll just cut you off? Financially, I mean." Sarah laughed, a chilling sound. "David? He loves me too much. He'll feel guilty and give me anything I want. This is the only way to get him to step down so you can take over the Alpha Corp project. Once you're in charge, everything will be ours." My world shattered. The woman was a stranger. The next day, Sarah, with a fake bandage, announced Mark as acting CTO, thrusting a temporary leave form at me. Everyone watched, expecting an explosion. They knew I co-founded the company, built its technical foundation from scratch. I signed the papers without a word. "Okay," I said, my voice even, leaving Sarah bewildered. Did they truly believe I was blind to their scheme? She had no idea. The Alpha Corp project, her intended prize for Mark, had a one-hundred-million-dollar penalty for failure. A seven-day time bomb she had just armed herself. This wasn't merely her plan anymore; it was mine too./0/99372/coverorgin.jpg?v=068e94b23b89834aa154c134f94307e1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Rat In Shadows: His Downfall
I endured 121 needle marks on my stomach for the child my husband, Braden, and I desperately wanted. But as I lay on the procedure table, moments from our embryo transfer, he walked out. He left me for his high school sweetheart, Isabella, who was hysterical over her son's scraped knee. He paraded her around in public "family" photos while his own family shamed me at dinner for being too "stiff." When Isabella's son shoved me to the floor, Braden rushed to comfort the boy, not me. He looked at me with pure disgust. "How can you possibly think you'd be a good mother when you behave like this?" he spat. I looked him dead in the eye, my voice shaking but clear. "The funniest part is, Braden? I canceled the embryo transfer." Then, in front of his entire family, I said, "I want a divorce. And this time, I'm not kidding."/0/80756/coverorgin.jpg?v=1387bd800a0eb91a49ef51cd79b4ff19&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Imposter's Game
Saturday mornings were sacred, spent in my garage, polishing my cherished cherry red '69 Camaro. My wife, Emily, had just confirmed her performance check at Sam's Autoworks before our road trip. Life was good, almost perfect. Then the phone rang. Detective Rourke. My Camaro was involved in a fatal hit-and-run, he said. Impossible! It was supposed to be safely at Sam's. But according to the police, it never arrived. At the scene, my world crumbled. My beautiful muscle car was a twisted wreck. Three body bags lay on the asphalt, one terribly small. A furious crowd pointed at me, screaming accusations: I was the driver, laughing, making vile comments, fleeing the scene. Emily arrived, her face aghast as Rourke showed her video stills of 'me' at the wheel. "How could you?" she wailed, slapping me. I was condemned, a monster in the eyes of the world. My wife left me. My parents were targeted and killed in retaliation. I was beaten to death in prison, still grasping for answers, knowing I was innocent. How could such a perfect frame-up happen? What impossible force made me the culprit when I wasn't? Then I opened my eyes. It was Saturday again. My clock read 8:03 AM. I was back. This time, even when the car was stolen despite my precautions and the accident happened again, I wasn't helpless. With the memories of my nightmare life, and a deeper understanding of my car’s unique security, I finally had a fighting chance to reveal the chilling truth behind the monster who stole my life./1/104378/coverorgin.jpg?v=6f8bc1f28c31ae63a639cdf180454aaf&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Tool To Treasure: My New Life
For nine years, I was Kane Hill' s secret. I was his emotional punching bag, the convenient stand-in for my twin sister, Harper-the woman he truly loved. I endured his cruelty, convincing myself his control was a twisted form of love. Then, just before he announced their engagement, Harper sent me a recording. It was Kane, his voice smooth and dismissive. "Eden? She's useful," he told Harper. "An emotional pressure valve. I need to vent on someone so I can be the perfect man for you." The cold truth shattered me. I wasn't a person, not even a substitute. I was a tool. That night, he polished Harper's engagement ring right in front of me before ending our nine-year "game" with a single, bored phone call. He never knew that I was the girl who had saved him at a summer camp all those years ago, not Harper. He'd called my attempts to tell him the truth "pathetic." So I packed a single bag and vanished into the night, leaving his gilded cage for a quiet farm in Vermont. But just as I started to heal, he found me, clutching the proof of my story in his hand, begging for a second chance I had no intention of giving./1/103283/coverorgin.jpg?v=57a47c26ef56aa778dde2e9501b883a9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Raising the Wolves
My father raised seven brilliant orphans to be my potential husbands. For years, I only had eyes for one of them, the cold and distant Caspian Vance, believing his distance was a wall I just had to break through. That belief shattered last night when I found him in the garden, kissing his foster sister, Lyra—the fragile girl my family took in at his request, the one I had treated like my own sister. But the true horror came when I overheard the other six Ashworth Fellows talking in the library. They weren't competing for me. They were working together, orchestrating "accidents" and mocking my "stupid, blind" devotion to keep me away from Caspian. Their loyalty wasn't to me, the heiress who held their futures in her hands. It was to Lyra. I wasn't a woman to be won. I was a foolish burden to be managed. The seven men I grew up with, the men who owed my family everything, were a cult, and she was their queen. This morning, I walked into my father's study to make a decision that would burn their world to the ground. He smiled, asking if I'd finally won Caspian over. "No, Dad," I said, my voice firm. "I'm marrying Silas Blackwood."/0/81069/coverorgin.jpg?v=c7377d4b8a88981b4eab5bf2eab2a859&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Missing Wife's Return
We were the quintessential Chicago love story, high school sweethearts, married for five blissful years. My husband, Michael, a successful real estate developer, suddenly longed for a family, and our high-profile OB-GYN, Dr. Peterson, joyfully announced we were expecting twins. But eight months into my pregnancy, a chilling conversation changed everything. I overheard Michael conspiring with Dr. Peterson, not about our supposed twins, but about 'Chloe's' baby, and a forced C-section for me to steal her child. "Born a month apart, they won't look like twins," Dr. Peterson warned, yet Michael heartlessly replied, "She won't see them much anyway; I'll keep her occupied." In that horrifying moment, I realized my beloved husband planned to use me to legitimize another woman's baby, then discard me. He was a monster beneath the charming facade, frantically searching for his "missing" pregnant wife on national TV, all a performance. He bought me my dream bakery and orchestrated a public reunion for the cameras, while inside, I felt only cold, sickening dread. Then came Chloe's anonymous messages and Michael's sickening "promotional wedding" with his pregnant mistress, humiliating me publicly. The man I loved, the man I married, was a ghost, replaced by a calculating schemer. How could the man I trusted utterly betray me, twisting our love into such a grotesque charade? But while he reveled in his deception, I was already planning my escape. I had to protect my baby from his sick game, so aided by my powerful mother, I left him with divorce papers, ready for a final act he'd never forget. His confident charade was his undoing; my departure was my fierce liberation./0/86388/coverorgin.jpg?v=7641094bb349bb1c7f42a7eedd357bed&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Sister, His Choice: My Freedom
The gallery shimmered with color, a vibrant tribute to my son Leo's first year, his framed finger paintings and tiny plaster casts proudly displayed. My art, my life, my world. Today, I was a proud mother and a celebrated artist. Then the gallery door creaked open, and a cold draft swept in with Brenda, my husband' s sister, her eyes already searching for fault lines. "An entire party for a one-year-old? A little much, don' t you think, Sarah? Most people just do a cake and some balloons." The words cut, but the real sting came when she implied my "art" was just a desperate attempt to contribute financially. Mark, my husband, stood beside me, silent, his arm tightening in a gesture of restraint, not defense. The room grew heavy with unspoken judgment, our friends shifting in discomfort. Brenda, reveling in the awkwardness, then whispered loud enough for me to hear, insulting my post-baby body. My throat tightened, and I fought back tears. This was supposed to be a moment of joy, yet here I was, wounded again by someone who delighted in tearing me down. Later, as "Happy Birthday" filled the air, and Leo' s candle flickered, Brenda' s voice sliced through the sweetness: "I wish he grows up to look a little more like Mark. Right now, with that hair, he could be mistaken for the mailman' s kid." The insinuation was vile, stripping any innocence from the day. Something inside me snapped. "Get out," I said, my voice shaking with a rage I hadn' t known I possessed. But when Brenda feigned tears, my husband, Mark, sided with her. "Sarah, that' s enough," he said, his voice cold. "You are making a scene. Apologize to my sister right now." Apologize? His words hit me harder than any slap. He didn' t defend me; he condemned me. He chose his toxic sister over his family, over me. Was this the man I married? The father of my child? My marriage, my sense of security, crumbled into a lie. My pain didn' t matter; my dignity didn' t matter. Only keeping the peace with Brenda mattered, at my expense. As Linda, my gallery-owner friend, began politely ushering guests out, a horrifying clarity washed over me. I couldn't live a life where I always came second. I had to choose myself. I had to choose my son. The battle for my voice, my boundaries, and my future had just begun./1/103127/coverorgin.jpg?v=1bd2f420829df6682fdcab3e62491a4a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
A Scientist's Revenge: New Life
I removed an intern from an award nomination for stealing my dead sister's research. My husband, Craig, was furious. He chose to defend her, not me. His rage turned violent. He destroyed my life's work-a cure for Alzheimer's-then shoved me so hard I miscarried our child. He called me "dramatic" as I bled on the floor. Then he locked me in our home, a prisoner, forcing me to sign over my patents to his mistress, the woman who drove my sister to suicide. He thought he had broken me, that I was his to control. But when he tried to humiliate me in the most depraved way imaginable, I saw my chance. I threw myself from a second-story window. As I lay broken on the ground, watching him rush to his mistress's side, I made a vow. My revenge was just beginning./1/103440/coverorgin.jpg?v=5ee1d150b46222ec72a5f2c978cdbb44&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Chose Power, She Found Love
Five years after my ex, Clay, traded me for power, we met again at an exclusive summit. He and his new fiancée, Destany, publicly humiliated me, calling me a trespasser and a thief for looking for my son's lost locket. Then, my three-year-old son, Justus, ran to me, crying "Mama!" In a horrifying move, Destany snatched him from my arms. She shrieked to the powerful crowd that I was a low-born commoner who had kidnapped a child of noble blood. The room erupted, calling for my arrest. Clay, the man I once loved, watched with cold satisfaction as guards pinned my arms back. He ordered them to take my son away and deal with me. I screamed that Justus was mine, but my pleas were drowned out by their accusations. How could this be happening? The man who once promised me everything was now helping to rip my child away from me, branding me a criminal. But just as they were about to drag me away, an immense power slammed into the room, forcing everyone to their knees. A tall, imposing figure appeared, his golden eyes blazing with fury. My husband, Damien, had arrived./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."/0/42899/coverorgin.jpg?v=0bdef79e453cc517e8872cd195f7e2f7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Single Dad
Most college-aged girls go to Europe to experience their sexual awakening. All I had to do was come home. Ford Dalton isn’t the kind of man I’d look at twice—because I can’t stop looking at him at all. We can’t take our hands off each other in the bar. Back at his house, it’s our lips. And in his bed? There isn’t a single part of us that’s not on fire. One night would never be long enough for Ford to show me every delicious thing he can do to my body./0/79036/coverorgin.jpg?v=c1076ac1e006bc2f7676f105ef4f5bad&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Premiere Night Betrayal
I woke up from a car accident, my head pounding, to Ethan's hushed voice on the phone. Not sweet nothings to me, his injured fiancée, but a deal with his agent to steal my screenplay, "City of Echoes," and give it to A-lister Olivia Monroe. He planned to propose at the premiere, trap me with a ring, and erase me from the narrative of my own success, all for Olivia's comeback and his own glory. The agent, surprisingly, spilled the tea: my early career sacrifice to cover Ethan's plagiarism, and Olivia's involvement in the stress that led to my miscarriage, our baby now gone. Was my entire relationship a carefully woven web of lies, orchestrated by an ambitious man and a manipulative starlet? Then I saw that framed photo of me in Liam Sterling's office: a gesture of respect towards my writing. This realization made me start a new life plan: run, collaborate with Ethan's nemesis, and rewrite my history./0/84042/coverorgin.jpg?v=c85755dc4aec82e52ec3770e62693339&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Discarded Husband, Rising Mogul
Tonight was our tenth anniversary, wrapping up ten years of a meticulously kept contractual marriage. For a decade, I, Ethan Lester, had been the silent architect behind my wife Sabrina Chadwick' s booming real estate empire. I managed her entire life, a dutiful husband and housekeeper, all to repay her for saving my father' s life. But then, she walked in, not alone, but with a smug-faced young man. "So this is the famous kept man," Caleb sneered, his words echoing through our Manhattan penthouse lobby. Sabrina, my wife, my partner of ten years, pulled him towards the elevator, her expression chillingly indifferent, utterly ignoring me. She didn' t care that her protégé was publicly humiliating me. She didn' t care what I felt when I overheard them that night, or the next morning when she ordered me to make them breakfast. I had been nothing but a loyal servant, and now, even that seemed to be beneath her consideration. I was left on a gurney in a crowded hospital hallway with a broken ankle after a car crash SHE forced me into, while she pampered Caleb over a scratch. That was the moment I realized the ultimate insult: I was just a possession, easily discarded. When the doctor asked for my family contacts, I looked him dead in the eye and said, "I have no family. Take her name off." I had been a fool to ever think love could bloom from a bargain, or that I could ever truly matter to her. Now, instead of cleaning her mess, I' m building my own empire. She desperately wants me back, but she has no idea what' s coming./0/86545/coverorgin.jpg?v=760356dd8770398d4297543470984801&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Discarded Husband, Unseen Genius
The Grand Hyatt ballroom glittered with the success of SmithTech's IPO, a company I, Alex Chase, had secretly poured three years of my life into, building its unbreachable cybersecurity. As my wife, Sarah Smith, the celebrated CEO, took the stage, her eyes met mine, chillingly. Then, the hammer fell. "It' s also a night for new beginnings. For cutting away dead weight," she announced, her gaze fixed on me, the "live-in husband." Sarah's assistant, Mark Johnson, smugly presented my termination letter. My "courtesy position" in IT was revoked, my performance "lacking." The cameras, once focused on her triumph, now devoured my public humiliation. Sarah then ordered the destruction of my simple black laptop, calling it "junk," an "eyesore." I watched in silent horror as Mark gleefully smashed it to pieces, scattering the "true core of SmithTech' s security"-my life's work-across the marble floor. They didn't see the truth. They only saw a pathetic husband, discarded. How could they be so blind? This wasn't just a laptop; it was the master key, the quantum core that authenticated their entire system. Without it, SmithTech isn't just vulnerable; it's doomed. Their billions mean nothing. The system I built, the fortress they so carelessly destroyed, will now turn against them. As I walked out into the cool night, leaving behind the laughter and the wreckage, I smiled. My name online wasn't Alex Chase; it was Hades. And their public debut? It just became their public execution. The clock was ticking./0/90456/coverorgin.jpg?v=223a954c3f0b09c1894e6a59ce020674&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Prank That Broke Her
I was on my way to tell my boyfriend, Cooper, that I was pregnant. He was my savior, the man who rescued me after a brutal assault left me an orphan. But when I arrived at his penthouse, I overheard him talking to his sister, Kenya. My entire life was a lie. The assault wasn't random; it was a "prank" they had orchestrated so he could play the hero. It only got worse. Kenya tortured and killed my dog for "surgical practice," and Cooper defended her. They leaked a private video of me, destroying my reputation at school. When I tried to escape, Kenya sent thugs after me, and the attack caused me to miscarry our child. As I lay bleeding in the hospital, Cooper blamed me for losing the baby. He then told me the miscarriage had left me permanently infertile. His final demand was the cruelest. He said I had to "compensate" his sister for all the trouble I'd caused by donating one of my kidneys to her. But they had made one fatal mistake. They thought I was a powerless orphan. They didn't know I had just inherited a billion-dollar empire from a secret aunt. And I was about to use every penny to burn their world to the ground./0/86858/coverorgin.jpg?v=304780b31bf3b2c11bfc125dbda95da0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
When Ambition Destroys, Love Saves
My five-year relationship wasn't just with my CEO girlfriend, Olivia; it was with the company we built from scratch. I poured my heart into both, from the late nights debugging to the vision of an empire. Then her entitled nephew, Liam, an intern who knew nothing, pushed a catastrophic error into our live system. It was a million-dollar mistake that could cripple us. When I confronted him, he whined to his aunt. Olivia called me into her office, her voice cold. Liam sat there, feigning tears. She snapped that I was bullying her nephew, who was "just trying his best." Her solution? A choice: either I get demoted to Liam's personal assistant, mentoring him and taking full responsibility for his incompetence, or I clean out my desk and move out of our shared apartment. I signed my resignation, printing it from her own printer, and slid it onto her desk. "I choose option two," I said, handing back her apartment key. "We're done." Olivia, stunned, ripped up my resignation, screaming that I was fired. As I walked out, Liam, emboldened, pointed and yelled that everything was my fault, that I had sabotaged the company. I just kept walking./0/85763/coverorgin.jpg?v=4db0626b3177574de39ef0725d78c85a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
