Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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A Telepath's Accidental Heroism
The forest' s quiet shattered as a bleeding FBI agent burst through my cabin door, collapsing at my feet. My perfectly normal afternoon nap was over, replaced by the immediate, terrifying certainty that trouble had found our isolated home. Ben Carter, handsome even as he bled out, was shot, his partner dead, and he was tangled in a massive counterfeiting ring leading straight to Senator Thompson. My stomach dropped – this was the kind of mess my sheriff dad always warned against. But then, as he gasped for help, a deeper dread set in: he heard my unspeakable thoughts. He heard everything I knew about him, about Thompson, about the danger. My father arrived, intervening with Thompson's thugs, but not before he too picked up on my mental broadcasts, his face paling as he realized the depth of the conspiracy I'd unwittingly revealed. Our quiet life was over, replaced by federal agents, corrupt senators, and a constant, terrifying loss of privacy over my own mind. How could I possibly live like this? My ability, usually just a nuisance, had now put us all in mortal danger, linking us irrevocably to a corrupt politician who wanted Ben dead. This wasn't some fantasy hero journey; it was an exhausting, terrifying invasion of my every private thought, broadcasting them to everyone around me. Yet, as Thompson' s people sped away and Ben lay bleeding on our rug, a terrifying question formed in my mind: if my thoughts were this loud, could they also be my weapon?/0/92598/coverorgin.jpg?v=5c5ed232fc631ac4a5e49e1bc9c893da&imageMogr2/format/webp)
I Made Them Pay
On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband compared me to my best friend. He used to nitpick everything about Hailee Baxter, but that day, he told me to learn from her. "You two grew up together. How is there such a huge gap between you? Grow your hair out, wear dresses more often, maybe spritz on some perfume. You can manage that, right? You're my wife. Don't embarrass me in public." I clutched my faded shirt, making sure it didn't carry the smoky smell of the barbecue I'd been grilling for years. I shot back, "What, you've got a thing for her now?"/1/113363/coverorgin.jpg?v=6fd08238ff0d2e58b753eabdf64ed992&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Love's Betrayal, A Cruel Game
Eighteen months later, I would watch the man I loved sentenced to twelve years in federal prison. Fourteen counts. Fourteen times the word "guilty" echoed through a packed courtroom. But on Christmas Eve, I didn't know any of that was coming. On Christmas Eve, I was still the woman who believed in him. This is the story of how I stopped./0/81243/coverorgin.jpg?v=991a2663f97916fc853f6a9b7552f0f0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Heiress They Left to Drown
My life was a perfectly curated display: a philanthropic heiress, a devoted husband, and annual galas that outwardly celebrated our unwavering love. But beneath the glittering facade, I stumbled upon a chilling truth: my charming husband Julian and my beautiful sister Liv were not just having a secret affair, but meticulously plotting to strip me of my family's fortune, revealing our entire marriage was a calculated lie, designed solely to gain control of my inherited shares. Julian had always prioritized Liv, abandoning me during my health crisis or fleeing to her side whenever she summoned him, yet nothing prepared me for the night my sister Liv maliciously shoved me into our estate' s ornamental pond. As I struggled to breathe, watching my heavy gown pull me under the shockingly cold water, I saw my husband, my father, and even my college sweetheart all swim past me without a glance, their sole focus on rescuing Liv, who theatrically thrashed and feigned distress in the shallow end. I was left to sink, utterly and completely abandoned. My entire life, it seemed, I' d been the overlooked second choice: my parents showered Liv with affection, my first love chose her vivacity over my quiet nature, and now my husband, the man who had promised unwavering devotion, had merely used me as a pawn for her ambition. How could every single person I ever trusted consistently choose her over me, again and again? As the dark water enveloped me, a strange, profound peace solidified my resolve: the suffocating, theatrical performance of my past life was finally over. I would burn down every painful lie, completely erase Ava Chen, and painstakingly sculpt a new identity, a new life, a true sanctuary where I was the main character, never just an afterthought in someone else's story./0/85461/coverorgin.jpg?v=138268116a3cff3fa3f17f045d5fe2ba&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Threat, Her Silent Strength
The order confirmation email glowed on my phone, a beacon of pride for Emily, my sister and the first in our family to graduate college. This custom gown wasn't just fabric; it was a symbol of her extraordinary achievement, bought with my hard-earned money. An hour later, a message from "Mark\'s Master Gowns" shattered that peace: "Your address is flagged as a high-risk area. We require an additional $50 insurance fee." Then, a venomous follow-up: "So you admit it. You\'re trying to scam me. I know your type. You order expensive stuff, then claim it never arrived to get it for free." My attempts to de-escalate, to explain I was a social worker, were met with relentless, ugly insults. He canceled my order, kept my money, and then called, his voice a snarl. "Is this the scammer, Sarah Miller?" My heart hammered. "You have my money. You haven\'t sent my product. That makes you a thief." His threat hung heavy in the air: "You don\'t know who you\'re messing with. I have your address. I know where you live. Maybe I should pay you a little visit and we can sort this out in person." He actually hung up. I stood there, stunned, believing it was over. I was wrong. The next morning, my face, labeled "WARNING: SCAM ARTIST AT WORK," was plastered all over local social media. My boss gave me 24 hours to make it disappear or lose my job. He didn' t care about the truth. Then, Mark brought his harassment right to my doorstep, organizing a public shaming spectacle on my quiet street. His megaphone blared, "She lives right here! The woman who steals from hardworking veterans!" As my neighbors watched, judging, he spoke chillingly to a confederate, "This is how you get them to pay. A little public pressure and they\'ll give you anything." Humiliated, desperate, and feeling utterly defeated, I capitulated, wiring him a substantial payment. I had paid the monster. He had won. But as I watched him drive away, a cold, unyielding resolve settled deep within me. This wasn\'t surrender. This was just the beginning. I picked up my phone and dialed 9-1-1./0/60803/coverorgin.jpg?v=fab5ab82e9fad1b4cfc8a39838bc7ee2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Saving The Victim Of Plastic Surgery
Here's the translation: My best friend is flat-chested and became obsessed with breast augmentation, after which a salesperson recommended her to get liposuction. I advised her against it, suggesting she should exercise more to lose weight instead. However, she not only ignored my advice but also told annoying people that I was jealous of her becoming more attractive. Later, she had a failed liposuction, her face became disfigured, and she developed infections all over her body, looking unrecognizable. When I went to visit her, she yelled at me, accusing me of coming to mock her and claiming that I was the one who caused her problems. Although I felt sad, I didn’t blame her and continued to take care of her. On the day she was discharged from the hospital, I went to pick her up, but she pushed me into the street, where I was repeatedly run over by vehicles! After being reborn, my best friend once again asked me if I wanted to get plastic surgery. "No, you'll die." I decided to keep trying to save her./0/99737/coverorgin.jpg?v=34d712511a967af7b9c79b167f45c6f4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Heiress's Vengeance: A Betrayed Heart
My boyfriend of eight years, Devin, proposed to another woman. I saw it on social media, my world shattering as I drove. The shock, the betrayal, and the secret life growing inside me sent a wave of pain through my body. Then, a flash of light, a violent crash. Karly, his new fiancée, had run me off the road. Bleeding and desperate, I called Devin for help, telling him I was losing our baby. His voice was cold. "What baby? You're being hysterical." In the background, I heard Karly laugh. "You were just a placeholder, a charity case. Consider the 'accident' a favor." Then the line went dead. But as I faded into darkness, a woman appeared at my bedside. "I'm Arlena Dickerson," she said. "And I'm your mother." Suddenly, I wasn't an orphan anymore. I was the sole heiress to one of New York's most powerful families, and the woman who stole my life, my love, and my child was about to learn what happens when you cross a Dickerson./1/114013/coverorgin.jpg?v=1d9f416738e96cf48fb58dea1fcd6491&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Scars To Gold: A Queen's Rise
I gave up my twenty-billion-dollar inheritance and cut ties with my family, all for my boyfriend of five years, Ignatz. But just as I was about to tell him I was pregnant with our child, he dropped a bombshell. He needed me to take the fall for his childhood sweetheart, Everleigh. She'd been in a hit-and-run, and her career couldn't handle the scandal. When I refused and told him about our baby, his face went cold. He told me to terminate the pregnancy immediately. "Everleigh is the woman I love," he said. "Finding out you're pregnant with my child would destroy her." He had his assistant schedule the appointment and sent me to the clinic alone. There, the nurse told me the procedure carried a high risk of permanent infertility. He knew. And he still sent me. I walked out of that clinic, choosing to keep my child. At that exact moment, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a glowing article announcing that Ignatz and Everleigh were expecting their first child, complete with a photo of his hand resting protectively on her stomach. My world shattered. Wiping away a tear, I found the number I hadn't called in five years. "Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm ready to come home."/0/84164/coverorgin.jpg?v=b92d7b1f6e56444ff8475774fa50f00a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Ex Who Wouldn't Let Go
Six years ago, I fled my hometown and the toxic shadow of my ex, Stella, rebuilding a new life far away with my loving wife, Maria, and our sweet daughter. Returning for my high school reunion felt like a minor obligation, a chapter I thought was long closed. But Stella, ever the master of drama, blindsided me by announcing her engagement to the very man she left me for, using the moment to publicly humiliate me. I retaliated with a calm, pointed gift that shattered her grand announcement, but her obsession only escalated. She ambushed my wife and me, hurled hateful insults at Maria, then shockingly, physically assaulted our innocent five-year-old daughter. A cold rage consumed me as the woman who once broke my heart turned her venom on my family, framing me for assault when I protected my child. Then the anonymous online attacks began, a vicious smear campaign against Maria and me that threatened to destroy everything I had built. Was this simply her desperate revenge, or was there something more sinister behind her relentless malice? I would not let her win; I set a trap, a public reckoning to expose Stella's lies once and for all and reclaim my family's peace./1/103631/coverorgin.jpg?v=9caffa87a08b49fab9d29d99bd1e7e08&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Perfect Lie, Her Vicious Truth
For five years, I was the loving Mrs. Clayton, enduring painful fertility treatments to give my husband, Bronson, the heir he deserved. He was my rock, my protector since a college hazing incident left me barren. Then I overheard the truth from behind his study door. Our marriage was a sham, never legally filed. He' d had a vasectomy before our wedding. It was all an elaborate lie to protect Bridgett-his childhood love and the very woman who orchestrated the assault that destroyed my future. He wasn't my savior. He was her accomplice, and I was just his compensation. Every gentle touch, every reassuring word, was a performance. He thought I' d never find out. He thought I' d always be his devoted, clueless wife. But when his precious Bridgett harmed my sick brother, my grief turned to ice. I smiled sweetly, played the part of the forgiving wife, and began gathering the evidence that would burn their entire world to the ground./0/71835/coverorgin.jpg?v=759b4f17adf4465575105131438e5a5c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
THE MAFIA ACADEMY
In the city of Willowbrook, powerful Mafia families fight to rule, but only one leader can hold the top spot. After the death of Arthur "The Don" Morreti in a tragic plane crash, the families gather in a grand mansion to select his successor. Most expect Marco Rossi, the powerful and calculating leader, to take charge. But instead, the role goes to Rhomana Ivannovick, who receives a round of applause; even though a few, like Marco, hide their disappointment. Rhomana wants to protect his family's legacy, especially his only daughter, Camilla, who he hopes will one day take his place. For now, she's being taught and trained at home, but her mother, Alexis, believes that isn't enough. Alexis insists Camilla should go to the Nosa Costra Academy, a place where she can learn much more than she could at home. Rhomana disagrees, worried Camilla isn't ready, but eventually, he lets her go, sending her with her cousin, Seraphine, for support. At Nosa Costra, Camilla meets Cassandra Bianchi, a smart and helpful friend. With Cassandra's help, Camilla faces the dangers of the Academy, where trust and betrayal are always close by. When Rhomana's life is in danger, Camilla, Cassandra, and Seraphine find themselves pulled into a deadly game where everything is at risk; and Camilla realizes she's the only one who can save her father./0/84813/coverorgin.jpg?v=e657654127223edeaf1ffe8f2ecf5345&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The CEO's Twisted Deception
The new car gleamed in the executive parking spot, a silver dagger twisting in my gut. It was a gift from Chloe, my fiancée and CEO, to Liam, her new executive assistant. My project budget, for the core technology I built, was slashed again, a cold financial slap in the face. Then, in front of the entire company, Chloe announced my salary cut, while Liam smirked beside her, wearing a new designer watch that matched his car. The humiliation was a physical blow, public and intentional. I looked at Chloe, searching for the woman I loved, the partner I trusted, but found only a stranger. I resigned on the spot, the words a liberating exhale after ten years of pouring my life into Apex Innovations. The next day, Chloe kissed Liam right in front of me, but the part of me that would have shattered was already gone. I flinched from her touch when she tried to placate me, a physical rejection that finally broke her composure. She fumed, threatening to abandon me, but I felt nothing. Then, Liam, her new executive, chillingly outlined his plan to dismantle my life' s work for profit, and she agreed. My lawyer informed me about the power of attorney, a relic of our past trust, that I might use to sell our joint home. I heard him conspire to cannibalize my project, and witnessed her trust him blindly. Later, she signed the house away, giving me full control of our assets, all because of Liam's fabricated emergency. It was clear then: my loyalty hadn't been seen as strength, but as a weakness to exploit. After she tried to blacklist me from the entire industry, I stood across from Chloe and Liam, who offered me a menial job in the company I co-founded, as an act of charity. I realized this wasn't just a breakup; it was a war, and I was finally ready to fight back./0/85462/coverorgin.jpg?v=d77391814e4f6a25ed82479f733f3ac7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Twisted Lies, Her Cold Resolve
The sweet scent of birthday cake filled my car, a promise of a happy surprise for my son, Finn, at his coding bootcamp. My cheerful mood shattered the moment the lead instructor, Ms. Albright, coldly informed me I wasn' t on his authorized visitor list. Then another mother, dressed in designer clothes, cruelly whispered that I was likely "some woman" trying to con families for their money. Humiliation burned as security guards appeared, their presence turning a simple misunderstanding into a menacing accusation of attempted abduction. Ms. Albright' s contempt chilled me to the bone when, after I showed her a photo of Finn and me, she flatly declared, "That is not the Finn who attends this bootcamp. That is a different boy." Desperation clawed at me; I knew my Finn was here, yet they were trying to throw me out. I broke free and ran, bursting into a classroom full of teenagers, my eyes scanning for my son. Instead, a blond boy in the front row looked up, startled, and then said, "Mom?"-but he wasn't looking at me. Then, facing me directly, he declared, "Who are you? I don't know her! My dad is Mark Peterson." This wasn' t just a mistake; it was a twisted, deliberate lie. A wave of nausea and fury crashed over me as Ashley Daniels, the "other mother," slapped me across the face and sneered, "Mark mentioned you might show up. The obsessed ex-wife." My reality crumbled as Mark, my husband, joined in, confirming her story and labeling me a "psychotic break," threatening to keep Finn from me forever. But the fear burned away, leaving a cold, sharp resolve. I pulled out our marriage certificate, proving his bigamy, and then delivered the final blow: Mark Peterson was no tech CEO; he was a 'kept man,' living off my family's trust fund. Just as his carefully constructed façade shattered, my real son, Finn, emerged from the hallway, his confused gaze the ultimate indictment of his father's deceit. Amidst the chaos of Mark and Ashley' s public implosion, I held Finn close, whispered, "I am divorcing you," and vowed to reclaim everything. This wasn' t an ending-it was my defiant beginning./0/86760/coverorgin.jpg?v=852c5489d85b151aa36be7a66e9ad85d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Unburnt Man's Revenge
The smell of gasoline and the horrifying image of my own son, Leo, smirking as he flicked a lighter, consumed me in my last moments. My wife, Olivia, stood beside him, her face a mask of cold satisfaction. In that agonizing instant, I learned the bitter truth: Leo wasn't my son, but the product of IVF with Alex, Olivia's childhood love, a man supposedly long dead. I had spent three decades building an empire for Olivia's family, the Millers, out of gratitude for them taking in an orphan. All for a love that was a lie. Olivia confessed her secret, revealing how she had always loved Alex and despised me, the obstacle to her true happiness. The flames roared, my silent scream lost in the inferno. I died burning, betrayed by the woman I cherished and the son I raised, a fool who had wasted his entire existence. But then, I opened my eyes. The smell of gasoline was gone, replaced by roses and champagne. I was standing in a lavish suite, wearing a tuxedo. My body felt young, strong, unblemished. It was my wedding night, thirty years ago. Olivia, panicked, snatched her buzzing phone. "It's Alex," she whispered, "He says he's going to jump." She looked at me, not with love, but with raw, desperate fear for another man. Her father burst in, forbidding her to leave. She froze, then reluctantly agreed, blaming me with her eyes for the life she was forced into. My throat burned with the memory of the fire. I remembered every sacrifice-my ambitions, my eighteen-hour days, raising Leo. A son who wasn' t mine. A life built on deceit. A death born of her twisted obsession. She slapped me, her words meant to humiliate. "Say something, you pathetic social climber!" This time, things would be different. I caught her wrist. "No." I would not be the devoted husband or sacrificial lamb. My past was a brutal lesson. This time, I would save myself. I released her wrist. "The wedding is off."/1/114014/coverorgin.jpg?v=56fd3f0f87e05642f0cbfe1861db2795&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late, Mr. Ex: I'm Free
Today is my fifth wedding anniversary. It's also the day my husband, Ethan, asked me for a divorce for the 38th time. He does this for Ilene, his childhood friend. The woman who crashed her car on our wedding day, leaving her unable to have children. Ever since, he's been repaying a debt of guilt, and I've been the price. For five years, I endured the cycle of divorce and remarriage. But this time was different. Ilene pushed me down a flight of stairs. Ethan found me bleeding and promised me justice. He swore he would make her pay. But days later, the police called. The security footage of the incident had been mysteriously erased. There was no evidence, no case. That night, Ilene had me kidnapped. As her men tore at my clothes in the back of a van, I managed to call Ethan. He rejected my call. I jumped from the moving van. And as I ran for my life, bleeding on the cold asphalt, I made a vow. This time, there would be no 39th remarriage. This time, I would disappear./0/84165/coverorgin.jpg?v=9e963b11abd20ac1fc7f689282be1d18&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Ex-Wife Who Built An Empire
My mother-in-law, Maria, was crying silently at my kitchen table, her shoulders shaking with a defeated kind of grief. My husband, Ethan, barely glanced up from his phone. "Dad had another one of his episodes," he said, dismissively. This meant Maria, our lifeline for childcare, was being sent back to her abusive husband. A cold dread settled in my stomach; this was the beginning of the end for my paralegal career. Then, the strange incidents started with the nannies: a baby monitor blasting static, a gas knob turned on, a back door found wide open. Terrified, one by one, they all quit, forcing me to give up the job I loved, the independence I cherished. Ethan, now a newly promoted Regional Director, gloated. "See? It' s a sign. You' re meant to be home with Maya." He cut off my access to our joint account, then tossed me a few hundred dollars a week like an allowance, questioning every single purchase. Our home became a cage, and he was the gatekeeper. But I wasn' t stupid. I knew his control was tightening, and I saw a way out. One night, after he threw a wad of cash in my face and called me a leech, my phone buzzed. A photo appeared, then quickly vanished: Ethan, arm-in-arm with another woman. My hands shook with a potent mix of humiliation, rage, and a terrifying clarity. That night, I hit record on my camera, pouring every ounce of my defiance into my 100th baking video. The next morning, it went viral./0/81245/coverorgin.jpg?v=41d26af31348d914bf9dbaa18a707949&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Once Broken, Now Free
My 21st birthday wasn't just a day; it was the day. The day Ava Harrison promised we' d meet at Austin's iconic Continental Club, the moment I believed she'd finally see me, the kid who poured his soul into songs just for her. But as I arrived, guitar in hand, ready to begin our future, I heard her voice, clear and cold, telling her friend: "It' s a great way to finally shut down little Ethan. Still chasing that silly promise about The Continental Club." Then came the public engagement, a diamond flashing as she announced, "Sweet, but a little too late." My world crumbled. Moments later, a stage light crashed. I was severely injured, but Ava, my supposed future, didn't stay. She left me, bruised and broken, for her new fiancé, Julian, sending a single, chilling text: "#EngagedLife." How could the girl I worshipped, the one I wrote a decade of music for, be so utterly cruel? So dismissive of my love, my pain? The betrayal burned deeper than any physical wound. I smashed my guitar. Blocked her. And packed my bags for Nashville. This wasn't just over; it was a detonation. I swore I' d turn that agonizing betrayal into music so powerful, it would become her inescapable shadow. This wasn't the end of me; it was the birth of something far more formidable./1/103957/coverorgin.jpg?v=826938fa2d6147a359ff89b8580da6c0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Beneath The Glass Tower
He was a ruthless CEO who always got what he wanted until he noticed her, a homeless girl surviving outside his office building. Quietly proud, clever, and impossible to read, she became the one woman who refused to fall at his feet, forcing him to chase for the first time in his life. As she steps into his workplace, she faces ridicule, betrayal, and a wealthy woman determined to erase her from his world. While his family pushes him toward an arranged marriage with an entitled heiress, his heart is already bound to the girl everyone underestimates. In a world ruled by power and status, she must prove her worth through strength and integrity, while he learns that love cannot be bought, controlled, or inherited./0/85464/coverorgin.jpg?v=30759f422a91449ee477d99f5450a116&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Son Who Chose A Stranger
Three weeks after Mark informed me his "ideal woman" Sarah was moving in, forcing me out, I returned to our house for one thing: the divorce papers his lawyer drafted. As I fumbled for keys I no longer had, heavy, uneven footsteps sounded behind me, a low, slurred muttering growing closer. I pounded on the door, screaming for Mark and our son, Ethan, but through the peephole, Ethan' s shadow moved, then his voice came, muffled and cold: "Go away. You're scaring Sarah." My blood ran cold as my own son chose a stranger' s comfort over my safety, a drunken attacker' s hand clamped down on my shoulder. I screamed, fought, and tumbled onto the lawn, only to hear Ethan tell Mark on the phone, "Mom is making a scene… she's scaring Sarah!" Mark rushed past me, shivering and disheveled, to comfort Sarah, who stood draped in my robe, her face buried in Ethan' s shoulder. He then rounded on me, disgusted: "Look at you, Ava. Making a scene in the middle of the night. You woke Sarah up. She was terrified." They stood united, demanding I apologize to the woman who replaced me, for the crime of being assaulted on my own doorstep, as I realized my phone was dead, useless to call for help. When Sarah offered me peanut butter cookies, knowing about my life-threatening allergy, and Mark merely stared, impatient, without a flicker of recognition, the quiet truth dawned: he didn't remember, or worse, he didn't care. The man who once promised to always be my protector was gone, replaced by a cold stranger, eager for me to sign away our life so he could care for his new love. In that moment of profound betrayal, something shifted inside me. I signed the papers, then looked at Ethan: "I'm going to need to make a statement to the police. I'll need to use your phone." No longer fighting for a husband who despised me or a son who saw me as an inconvenience, I spoke to the police, then blocked Mark and Ethan' s numbers, cutting the last ties./1/100389/coverorgin.jpg?v=bfc43c16a7dd59d558c164b4ddda7c8b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
