Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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Fatal Glow, Stolen Life
The shrill alarm sliced through the quiet, dragging me back to a body that felt impossibly light, unmarked by the scars that should have been there. I was 24 again, in the apartment Liam rented, a year before our wedding, a year before everything fell apart. The memory hit like a cold shock: Liam' s voice, not of concern, but sharp with disappointment after my liposuction failed. "Chloe, the doctor said the liposuction failed. You didn't lose enough weight. The wedding is in two months. Do you understand how this makes me look?" And Maya, my best friend, whispering comfort that I now knew was pure poison. "Oh, Chloe, don't listen to him. You tried so hard. Maybe your body just isn't meant to be thin." She watched, smiling, as I starved myself, ran myself ragged, and went under the knife, all for Liam' s "perfect image"-until a post-op infection finally claimed me. It wasn't until I was dying that I understood the curse, the horrifying truth: every ounce of fat I lost, every bit of vitality I drained from myself, was subtly transferred to Maya. She wasn't just my best friend; she was a parasite, feeding on my self-hatred, growing more radiant as I withered. But I wasn't the weak, naive Chloe who died in that hospital bed. This time, I knew their cruel game. And this time, I wasn't just going to play. I was going to win./1/103446/coverorgin.jpg?v=733804086506bd151a73e3150fa9b994&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Accused Heiress: A Public Betrayal
My parents sat across from me on a live TV court show, their faces a mask of practiced sorrow for the cameras. They publicly condemned me as a thief and a heartless daughter, accusing me of abandoning them after my father's "accident" and demanding my entire inheritance. The scrolling comments behind them called me a "MONSTER." My mother cried fake tears while my cousin, Karsyn, offered her a comforting hand, her eyes glinting with triumph. They painted a picture of a family on the brink of ruin, all because of my supposed selfishness. They looked at me as if I were something rotten, and a familiar ache filled my chest. Why did my own family hate me so much? But this was a show designed to break me. When the host asked for my plea, I met the camera's gaze. "Not guilty," I stated clearly. "And I request the court use the memory retrieval device."/0/20378/coverorgin.jpg?v=a25a03dabfac3ab135744d10605487f8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Exclusive Sex Worker
She was out of options, she needed something, she needed to do something - she needed money so she agreed to work in a sêx house, as a sêx worker. She joined the house and started her first training on how to be a perfect sexy girl, how to make a man go crazy with just a touch. But then, something happened along the line in the sex club house, she met the most powerful, cold,never smiling CEO last prince. She didn't just meet him because she wanted to, but, because he ordered for her service, for her to serve him, pleasure him whenever he needed her. She didn't have a choice, she had to do it. The pay was too high, no normal lady would ever refuse him, no one at all. So, she started her job on how to pleasure and please the prince until he was no longer in need of her service. Her name is pink......!/0/99848/coverorgin.jpg?v=687bae4729138509498c5d98d7357f85&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Barren Wife's Cold Hearted Revenge
For eight years, I endured seven miscarriages, clinging to the hope of starting a family with my husband, Joshua. Then I overheard the truth. He and my adoptive sister, Harlow, had orchestrated every loss. They needed the unique stem cells from my miscarriages to cure their own secret child. My body was just an incubator for their twisted plan. After the eighth miscarriage, they left me barren, my womb removed to save my life. They stole my children, my future, and my ability to ever be a mother. They thought I was a broken, naive princess. They had no idea they had just created a queen bent on revenge. Now, I'm back. And I will burn their empire to the ground, leaving them with nothing but the ashes of their betrayal./1/102351/coverorgin.jpg?v=e27e954d8ac59a7a1ebb2cf78c77dc4f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Leaving The Billionaire Who Loved His Ex
My father was dying on a hospital bed, and I was frantically calling my husband, Ethan. He didn't answer. Later, he claimed his battery had died while he was on a crucial business trip. But a photo sent by my best friend revealed the sickening truth. Ethan wasn't working. He was in a London café, looking at Olivia—the ex-girlfriend he swore he hadn't seen in five years—with pure desperation and love. His phone was sitting right there on the table between them, face up and fully charged. I swallowed the betrayal and played the perfect, grieving wife when he returned. But then I found the locked drawer in his study. Inside wasn't just a shrine of photos of her; it was a journal. The ink was barely dry on the latest entry. "I pray the child has Olivia's eyes. If it looks like her, I can pretend I didn't settle for the safe, boring option. Ava is a good placeholder, but she isn't Her." He didn't want a family with me. He wanted to use my body to recreate a ghost of the woman he actually loved. He planned to turn our unborn child into a prop for his twisted obsession. I wiped my tears. The next morning, I handed him a stack of documents to sign, hiding the divorce papers in the middle. Then, while he was busy texting her under the table, I walked into a clinic to remove the only thing binding us together. He thinks he is the mastermind. He has no idea he has already lost the game./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./0/82640/coverorgin.jpg?v=d99cb630583e0b16327f04a256cd75af&imageMogr2/format/webp)
A Brewing Betrayal
Daisy' s memorial service was a haze, the thick lily scent a painful echo of my little girl, gone. I stood a hollow shell, while my wife, Casey, seemed eerily calm, almost serene. Then I overheard her chilling confession: she' d authorized an "unproven" treatment that "hastened" our daughter' s death. My blood ran cold. She dismissed Daisy' s complex care as "draining," before reconnecting with her old flame, Ethan Holloway. Days later, she callously planned to convert Daisy's vibrant room into her new home office. I found Ethan lounging in my living room, Casey laughing with him, more animated than I' d seen her in years. "It's my parents' house, Alex!" she snapped when I confronted her, mocking my award-winning brewery as a "hobby." Her family had already frozen our accounts, accusing me of financial mismanagement. Now, Ethan and Casey were trying to steal my revolutionary brewing process-my life's invention, meant for our family's legacy. The betrayal was absolute, desecrating Daisy's memory and everything we built. How could the woman I loved not only hasten our daughter' s end but then brutally disrespect her memory, seemingly conspiring to ruin me? My marriage was shattered, but my spirit was not. I vowed that day to leave the wreckage, launching "Daisy Chain Brews" with my secret patents. This wasn't just for me; it was for Daisy./0/79042/coverorgin.jpg?v=40d8c0d452361d5b4cc44bccc3115b63&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Framed by the Man Who Saved Her
I was living the American dream with Sarah. A small house, a steady job at the garage, and a wedding on the horizon. Life in our Montana town was simple, predictable – until Billy Rivers walked in. One afternoon, I came home early with a bouquet of wildflowers, only to find Sarah on the couch, wrapped around a shirtless Billy. She claimed he was just upset, that she was comforting him, but the way he looked at her... it was more than just a friendly hug. Then Sarah dropped the bomb: Billy was the EMT who saved her life after a logging truck nearly killed her. He donated blood directly, becoming her "hero," her "lifesaver." Now, he was down on his luck, and she insisted he move in with us. My gut screamed, but Sarah accused me of being jealous and heartless. Soon, the town turned against me, whispering about my "dark moods" and "controlling" behavior. Billy, the golden boy, played the victim card perfectly, while Sarah remained blind to his lies. Was I losing my mind, or was everyone else? Everything exploded when Billy claimed I pushed him down a flight of stairs. I was arrested, my reputation ruined, and Sarah got a restraining order against me. My life had completely shattered. But that's when I decided, enough is enough. I was going to prove my innocence, and expose Billy for the fraud he truly was, even if it meant losing everything – including Sarah./0/84048/coverorgin.jpg?v=7190fdf2ccc4879376dbfb52cf2a39d2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Betrayal at West Point
The suffocating darkness of the barracks was my constant companion, a heavy blanket of dread thick with the smell of sweat and fear. Every whispered threat, every sneer from Caleb Blakely, my squad leader, was a reminder of the impossible secret I carried. I wasn't "Matthew Johns," a plebe at West Point; I was Molly, a woman masquerading as my injured brother, desperately clinging to his scholarship to save my family from financial ruin. Then came the night in the communal showers. A broken water main meant no privacy, nowhere to hide my true identity from fifty other men. Caleb had me cornered, his cruel smile promising public humiliation and the end of my impossible dream. I pictured the headlines, the disgrace, my family' s hope shattering before my eyes. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a frantic plea for an escape that didn't exist. Just as panic threatened to overwhelm me, a defiant spark ignited. I couldn't let him win. I couldn't let him break me. My voice, surprisingly steady, cut through the night: "I have a proposal for you, Sir. A bet." I challenged him to West Point's most brutal endurance course, the "Recondo," wagering my entire future on a desperate gamble. Either I finished, and he' d keep my secret, or I' d publicly expose myself and surrender everything. This was my last stand, my only shot to reclaim control and prove that even a scrawny plebe could fight back./1/117682/coverorgin.jpg?v=89ba9f892b52f34abfef0afe6eaae6b9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Switched Heiress's Stolen Life
I was the long-lost heiress to the Alston family, with a loving husband, a protective brother, and two beautiful twin daughters. My life was perfect. But the day my daughters died in a fire, the two men I loved most didn't comfort me. They protected the woman responsible-Jorja, the one I was switched at birth with. They locked me in a psychiatric ward, claiming I was insane with grief. They said Jorja was a hero who had once saved their lives, and they would protect her at all costs. To save my last surviving daughter, who lay in a coma, they forced me to my knees. I had to publicly confess I was an unfit mother and that my children's deaths were my fault. But it was all a lie. They let my last daughter die anyway, diverting her doctors to treat Jorja for a scratch on her wrist. As I walked out of the hospital, carrying my daughter's cold body, my phone rang. It was a prosecutor. "I saw your post," he said. "Do you still need a lawyer?"/0/87959/coverorgin.jpg?v=8311e2d4f8b1344828fbc9bed8db68f9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Love, Her Prison, Their Son
For five years, my husband, Courtland Johnson, had me locked in a rehabilitation center, telling the world I was a murderer who had killed my own stepsister. On the day of my release, he was waiting. The first thing he did was swerve his car directly at me, trying to run me down before I even left the curb. My punishment, it turned out, was only just beginning. Back at the mansion I once called home, he locked me in a dog kennel. He forced me to kowtow to my "dead" sister's portrait until my head bled onto the marble floor. He made me drink a potion to ensure my "tainted bloodline" would end with me. He even tried to give me to a lecherous business partner for the night, a "lesson" for my defiance. But the cruelest truth was yet to come. My stepsister, Kinsley, was alive. My five years of hell were all part of her sick game. And when my little brother Aspen, my only reason for living, witnessed my humiliation, she had him thrown down a flight of stone steps. My husband watched him die and did nothing. Dying from my injuries and a broken heart, I threw myself from a hospital window, my last thought a vow of revenge. I opened my eyes again. I was back on the day of my release. The warden's voice was flat. "Your husband has arranged it. He's waiting." This time, I would be the one waiting. To drag him, and everyone who wronged me, straight to hell./0/90462/coverorgin.jpg?v=9dd48ca1b9e95f4a19a6684b76e5460a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Her Sacrifice, His Blind Hatred
My boss, August Ortega, forced me to donate bone marrow to his fiancée. She was afraid of getting a scar. For seven years, I’d been the assistant to the boy I grew up with, the man who now despised me. But his fiancée, Harlow, wanted more than my marrow; she wanted me gone. She framed me for shattering a five-million-dollar gift, and August made me kneel on the broken crystal until my knees bled. She framed me for assault at a gala, and he had me arrested, where I was beaten bloody in a holding cell. Then, to punish me for a sex tape I never leaked, he kidnapped my parents. He made me watch as he dangled them from a crane on an unfinished skyscraper, hundreds of feet in the air. He called my phone, his voice cold and smug. "Have you learned your lesson yet, Cora? Are you ready to apologize?" As he spoke, the rope snapped. My parents plummeted into the darkness. A terrifying calm washed over me. The taste of blood filled my mouth, a symptom of the illness he never knew I had. He laughed on the other end of the line, a cruel, ugly sound. "Feel free to jump off that roof if it hurts so much. It would be a fitting end for you." "Okay," I whispered. And then, I stepped off the edge of the building and into the empty air./0/99379/coverorgin.jpg?v=f431b6a870473075e177134b68b509ce&imageMogr2/format/webp)
When Love Dies And Memories Fade
To save my grandmother, I married a man who hated me. He never knew I was the one who secretly saved his life with a bone marrow donation. And when my grandmother lay dying, he refused to pay for the surgery that would have saved her. He called it another one of my "dramas," laughing as my last hope died. But he didn't just kill my grandmother. He killed our child, too. I was secretly pregnant, part of a billion-dollar surrogacy deal to get the money for her care. When I begged him, showing him the ultrasound, his reply was cold. "Get rid of it." With my grandmother dead and my heart destroyed, I finally gave up. He would always believe the lies of his mistress-my sister-who had stolen the credit for saving him. So I terminated the pregnancy, signed the divorce papers, and paid a doctor to erase every memory of him. Now, he stands before me, a broken man begging for forgiveness, but I can only look into his tear-filled eyes and ask, "I'm sorry, who are you?"/0/80763/coverorgin.jpg?v=d5ef74bca0e4145d2a3cb7a21f114c4d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Teacher's Secret Life
Sarah Miller, a beloved high school history teacher, pregnant with her first child, was just nominated for State Teacher of the Year. Her husband, Mark, owned the local car dealership, and their life in this small Vermont town seemed utterly perfect. Then, a chilling post appeared on the town's Facebook group: "LOCAL TEACHER FAILS DRUG TEST???" Underneath, a blurry lab report screamed: "Sarah Miller - Positive - Opioids." The digital firestorm erupted immediately, turning me into a "junkie teacher," a "danger to children" overnight. Whispers followed me at school, former friends looked away, and parents demanded their kids be moved from my classes. Even Mark, my own husband, dismissed my pleas, laughing with his buddies about how 'radioactive' I'd become, before orchestrating a vile setup at a rundown motel. The final, devastating blow came at a community forum where Tiffany, my conniving colleague, served me a poisoned cupcake, causing the agonizing loss of our baby. My perfect life, my reputation, my unborn child—all ripped away by unimaginable betrayal, orchestrated by those closest to me. How could my own husband conspire with my manipulative rival to destroy me and our child? As I felt the life draining from me, a cold, pure rage took hold, replacing all pain and despair. I would not die a victim. I would turn their live-streamed spectacle of my undoing into a shocking confession of their crimes. I steered my car towards Blackwood Gorge bridge, knowing this would be my final, devastating act of defiance—not against myself, but against every single person who brought me to ruin./1/103290/coverorgin.jpg?v=417541e8553311f644e77639ab000724&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Mother's Cruel, Blind Heart
I sacrificed five years of my life for my comatose mother. When she finally woke up, she looked right through me. She embraced my estranged stepfather and a strange girl, calling her daughter. I was cast aside like trash, forced into the servant's quarters and left to eat from the garbage. My new "sister" even set her dog on me. As the dog tore at my arm, I locked eyes with my mother. She watched for a moment, then slowly pulled the curtains shut. In that moment, my hope shattered. I was nothing to her. A problem to be ignored. But as a social worker led me away to foster care, a black car screeched to a halt. My grandfather stumbled out, clutching a DNA report, his face ghost-white. His eyes, wide with shock, locked onto mine. "My God," he gasped. "Aisha... you're my son's real daughter. My granddaughter."/1/104698/coverorgin.jpg?v=85558c014de56361f6e9dd0c79b053b1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Mafia Don's Regret: Torturing His True Savior
My husband crushed the metacarpals of my left hand—my drawing hand—with a heavy leather-bound book. This was Punishment Ninety-Six. The offense? I had missed a single phone call from my stepsister, Joyce. According to Don Austen Ballard, ignoring the woman who allegedly saved his life fifteen years ago was akin to high treason. "Discipline is the highest form of love, Alana," he whispered, watching the violet bruise spread across my skin. He calls shattering an architect's hand "love." He believes Joyce dragged him from a burning building when he was a boy. He treats her like a living saint and me like a punching bag to pay his life debt. But it is all a lie. Fifteen years ago, Joyce was at a cheerleading camp three towns away. I was the one in that crawlspace. I was the one who found the bleeding boy in the dark. I was the one who called him "Stellen" because he was too terrified to tell me his real name. He has spent our entire marriage torturing his true savior to please a fraud. Tonight, the pain finally burned away my fear, leaving only cold resolve. I didn't cry. I waited until the house was silent, then I retrieved a burner phone hidden in a false bottom of a box in the bathroom. I dialed the number of his sworn enemy, Don Dalton Underwood. "I have the blueprints," I said, my voice steady despite the agony in my hand. "And I have the controlling shares of Ballard Industries. I'm ready to burn his kingdom to ash."/0/34145/coverorgin.jpg?v=cb6aafaaa49b0a583838f4b0ab1c399a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Nasty Professors and The Harem Site
Jemma is the forbidden fruit that three professors can't resist. She's the untouchable student who stirs a raw need in them to break all the rules. In this reverse harem romance, Jemma finds herself falling for three men who have nearly everything they want - but they're missing the softness and sweetness that she brings to their lives. Despite the scandal that would ensue if their relationship was discovered, Jemma promises she wants every inch of what they have to give her. And as they shower her with the beauties of the world, they'll show her just how good it feels to finally fall for her filthy professors. This steamy romance brings the heat and the happily-ever-after in one sitting./1/102821/coverorgin.jpg?v=e647d7595bfa06937469c0b0fc3b408a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Five Years of His Lies
For five years, I tolerated my husband Franklyn' s cheating. My only condition was simple: keep it out of my sight. Then his college crush, Heaven, came back. He didn't just parade her around-he stole the community center I designed in memory of our late son and gave it to her as a gift. When photos of their affair were leaked at her launch event, he shielded her from the cameras and pointed the finger at me. He told the world I was an unstable, grieving wife who was having an affair. He forced me to publicly confess, shattering my reputation. Then he came home and told me Heaven was pregnant and that I needed to move out of our penthouse to give her a "calm environment." "You know how much you care for children, Clara," he said, using my deepest pain against me. That night, I signed the divorce papers. At the airport, as he screamed my name from behind the security gate, I calmly pulled the SIM card from my phone, dropped it in the trash, and boarded the plane./0/90619/coverorgin.jpg?v=19e891e6e799a98507976f1918dfdec3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Promise, Her Ruin
Tonight was supposed to be the greatest night of my career. I was the frontrunner for the Pinnacle Prize, the highest honor in architecture. But the award went to a complete unknown—my fiancé’s first love, the widow of his older brother. My fiancé, Kason, the man who was supposed to build my winning design, had given my life's work away to her. He said she needed it more. He then forced me to mentor her, letting her take credit for my projects. During a promotional shoot, he stood by and watched as she slapped me again and again under the guise of "getting the shot right." When I finally slapped her back, he had me fired and blacklisted from the entire industry. He didn't stop there. He pushed me to the ground in a hospital hallway, causing me to bleed, and then abandoned me. He did all this while I was carrying his child. Lying on that cold hospital floor, I made a decision. I took my unborn baby and disappeared. I flew to a new country, changed my name, and cut off all ties. For five years, we were ghosts./0/83423/coverorgin.jpg?v=8e67257b92cac89fa3d3addb27d97215&imageMogr2/format/webp)
