Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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The Quiet Assistant's Roar
For five years, I played a part. I was Ava, the quiet admin assistant. I lived in a Brooklyn walk-up, deeply in love with my charming boyfriend, Ethan Hayes. Our life together felt so real, so perfectly normal. Then, one night, I overheard him. He called me a "minor asset to be divested." A low-risk, low-yield stock, ready to be cut loose. It was for his upcoming merger with Chloe Parker. He was getting married, and I was just his secret. His 'simple' comfort to manage. The crushing blow wasn't just his words, but his fiancé Chloe' s endless DMs. She taunted me with pictures of their engagement ring and private jet "strategy sessions." My heart shattered. Then, during a car crash, his first instinct solidified everything. He shielded an absent Chloe, not the bleeding me beside him. He chose his lie over my life. How could the man who swore he loved me now see me as a disposable asset? Worth less than a lie? How could I have so completely misjudged him? The indignity and calculated cruelty burned through my veins. They thought I was simple. They thought I was weak. But they were about to find out how wrong they were. I returned home, not to a Brooklyn walk-up. I returned to AuraSphere. The multi-billion dollar private equity firm my family owns. And I was coming for them./0/82908/coverorgin.jpg?v=416f0ff39139c7afd777d461d5248611&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Behind the Scoop
My investigative journalism career was at its zenith, poised to expose a sprawling human trafficking network that reached into the city' s highest offices. I had irrefutable proof, years of hard work culminating in this moment, ready to break a story that would shake the city to its core. But then, only days from publishing, my former intern, Jessica Evans, unveiled my investigation with eerie precision, claiming my unique angles and even confidential source details as her own "intuition." Overnight, I was branded incompetent and slow, my decade-long reputation imploded, while she soared as the city' s new journalistic darling. The fallout was brutal: my editor, once my strongest advocate, viewed me with suspicion, and the whispers of a "washed-up" journalist followed me everywhere. The pattern continued; lead after lead I was developing, cases I was quietly researching-like the chilling "Poetic Justice Killer"-Jessica miraculously scooped with impossible, intimate detail I hadn't even fully formed. Then came the deepest cut: Professor Marcus Thorne, my respected Columbia mentor, praised Jessica's "raw talent" while publicly dismissing me as "envious," twisting the knife of my isolation and despair. How could Jessica know my raw, unfettered thoughts, my most private investigative theories, ideas I hadn' t even fully committed to paper? The sheer scale of this inexplicable theft, coupled with my mentor's shocking public betrayal, left me utterly confounded, adrift in a sea of public accusations and professional ruin. But their words, their disbelief, ignited a fierce fire within me; this wasn't mere envy or decline, it was a profound, calculated betrayal, and I would expose how she truly saw into my mind, starting with my "retirement" from the public eye./0/86477/coverorgin.jpg?v=86fd82534a95c92bfc2d2e0ec844d352&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Stardust Secret
My alarm should have been my wake-up call, but it was Matthew' s frantic Discord messages, desperate for me to play a game of Valorant. He promised good money for a few hours of coaching – a lifeline I desperately needed with my tuition due and my mom' s medical bills piling up. I logged in, ready to carry strangers, but one player stood out: "Nyx," a mysterious, rich gamer who offered me a retainer, making me her exclusive coach. My life flipped overnight as my channel, "Stardust_vlr," exploded online thanks to anonymous, lavish donations from "0x." Then, my mom set me up on a blind coffee date with a "friend" from UCLA. It was Stella, the helpful girl who' d given me directions on my first day. We hit it off, becoming real-life friends, completely unaware of our deep connection in the virtual world. The biggest Twitch charity tournament arrived, and I finally enabled my face-cam, revealing Ethan Scott, the broke freshman. Across campus, Stella watched, realizing the face belonged to the quiet guy she knew, and that Stardust was Ethan. Just as the tournament countdown began, I heard Nyx' s voice in my headset, and the pieces clicked into place. Nyx was Stella. The shock was mutual, paralyzing us both as the biggest game of our lives was about to begin. How could my coach, my anonymous benefactor, and the girl my parents set me up with all be the same person?/0/84206/coverorgin.jpg?v=177c4b40ebfbf7835ef622a02f02fe59&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Unmasking the Viper
My life as a Dallas socialite seemed perfect, dwelling in a grand mansion built with old money and maintained by new. Then, my husband, Ryan Lester, walked through the door with a woman I' d never seen, Sabrina Chavez, announcing she was "staying with us for a while." Her feigned innocence turned sinister as she systematically drugged me, leading to a horrifying assault that was meticulously filmed. Ryan then used that video as his weapon, turning my home into a prison, stripping me of everything, and publicly humiliating me at my father' s charity ball by projecting the assault on giant screens for everyone to see. The world shattered as I collapsed, suffering a devastating miscarriage, left to wonder how my life could be so cruelly dismantled, and who was behind this orchestrated nightmare. But just as despair threatened to consume me, a familiar face from my past, Andrew Scott, stepped into the light, and with him, the promise of truth and a fight for my lost life./1/102051/coverorgin.jpg?v=2d0cfeed499f81ff6149153e643f00e2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Love Lost, A Life Reclaimed
My world shattered with a piece of paper. A DNA test revealed I wasn't a Daugherty by blood, but an impostor. My husband, Kane, divorced me, and the real heiress, Britt, took my home, my life, and my son. Five years later, I was a waitress drowning in my foster mother's medical debt when they walked into my diner. Kane, Britt, and my son, Cleveland, who now called Britt "Mommy." He looked at me with disgust. "Mommy said you' re not my real mom anymore," he announced. "And you're just a waitress now. Daddy says waitresses are poor." The words were a knife to the heart. Later that night, my foster mother, Jessi, died in the hospital after Britt whispered poison in her ear, leaving me with a cryptic warning about Britt's dark secrets. Britt then offered me a job as a live-in nanny, a chance to watch her live my life up close. It was a cruel, humiliating offer. But I accepted. Because in my old home, I discovered Britt wasn't just cruel-she was poisoning my son and had infected my ex-husband with a disease. This wasn't just about humiliation anymore. It was about revenge./1/102700/coverorgin.jpg?v=2e274acd524427f2de3ce85c950a2e51&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Marriage: A Million Lies
My marriage to the cold New York tycoon, Eli Drake, was supposed to be an impossible love story. I was the rebellious artist who had chased him across continents, believing I' d found my soulmate. Then I overheard a conversation that shattered everything. Our three-year marriage was a lie, a charade designed to protect his fragile sister-in-law, Kala. I was just the "lightning rod," strong enough to take the hits meant for her. The worst part? He' d secretly had a vasectomy, letting me endure his family' s scorn for being "barren" while he knew the truth all along. It all clicked into place: the public humiliations, the framed financial crimes, the "accidents" that left me scarred. They systematically broke me, forcing me to give a piece of my own skin to heal Kala and staging a car crash that landed me in prison. Eli' s justification was always the same: "Kala is delicate. Not like you." He thought I was strong enough to take it, that my defiance was a tool he could use. He exiled me, thinking I was broken and forgotten. He was wrong. I reinvented myself as the celebrated artist 'Lark.' And when he came crawling back, begging for forgiveness on a global stage, I knew my moment had come. My revenge would be a masterpiece./0/86802/coverorgin.jpg?v=346b8233b5768b0c6abc8385c8c2e40c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Fake Death Plot
The ninety-ninth time I tried to kill myself, I was sent to the hospital. For seven long years, I had lived in a fog of grief, believing my husband, Ethan, had died in a fiery car crash. But then, in that sterile white room, I saw him. Ethan. Alive, vibrant, and kissing Olivia Hayes, his former sister-in-law, who cradled a prominent baby bump. Their child. In that instant, the truth crashed down on me. There was no crash, no death. He had abandoned me to elope with Olivia, living a happy life while I wasted away: my hair turning gray, my wrist scarred with 300 marks for every missed month, while he cried with joy over her pregnancy. My world went black. When I came to, I was back in time, seven days before our first wedding anniversary. Ethan stood before me, his eyes filled with intoxicating adoration, murmuring sweet words. Yet, the image of him kissing Olivia, the name "Olivia Hayes" flashing on his phone, burned in my mind. He left me to check on her, claiming she was unwell, while I knew the truth. I was blindsided by my trust. I thought of what he put me through, what he planned to do to me. The betrayal felt like a gaping wound. I looked at him, then called my brother, David. "I want to come live with you abroad," I said, my voice cold. "And David, could you please help me arrange something? I need a body. A fake one. I want to give it to Ethan on our wedding anniversary. Seven days from now."/0/82260/coverorgin.jpg?v=75184434baf2eadf81fb1d6fbd4a64ee&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Ninth Life: Breaking Free
I' d died eight times already, each a brutal end, all thanks to Caroline Hawthorne. Now, I was on my ninth life, cold in a dusty attic room, a flat digital voice repeating its impossible command inside my head: "Secure Caroline Hawthorne's genuine, exclusive romantic devotion." But this wasn' t just about winning her love; it was about survival itself. This time, the System' s chilling ultimatum echoed with no emotion: "Failure in this iteration will result in permanent dissolution." No more chances. My tormentor, Caroline, then entered, pregnant with her fiancé Derek' s child, and immediately imposed her latest cruelty: I was demoted to the gardener' s shed, while Derek' s prize-winning show dog got my warm room. She kicked me. Memories of my past deaths, stark and agonizing, flooded me: freezing in a wine cellar, drowning after being pushed overboard, a shank in prison, botched medical procedures where she watched me bleed out. I' d endured skin grafts from my own thigh because Derek faked an injury, been forced into life-threatening blood transfusions for his "recovery," and suffered public humiliation at her hands. Her blind devotion to Derek was absolute, her cruelty towards me boundless. I was broken, tired of the endless loop of torture and failure. Why did I have to suffer endless agony for a devotion she clearly didn't deserve, a woman who treated me as less than human? I just wanted it all to end, for oblivion to claim me. My silence became defiance against her rage. That yearning for freedom, once a desperate wish for death, hardened into something cold and resolute: revenge. If the System demanded her "devotion," or her "permanent removal from the equation," then I would choose freedom. After her last threat-to harm the only person who cared for me-I knew what I had to do. This time, I wouldn't just survive; I would ensure her downfall, and finally, truly break free./1/104647/coverorgin.jpg?v=7e4561cb163c120e68c4b8f26af09859&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Sold To The Devil: Escaping My Ruthless Husband
I was standing in the center of the gallery, holding a glass of expensive champagne, when the screens behind me flickered and my life ended. It was supposed to be an art unveiling, but the monitors shifted to fake footage of me handing evidence to the FBI. My fiancé, Ethan, looked at me like I was a sick dog that needed to be put down. My father slapped me across the face in front of everyone, disowning me to save his own skin. That was when Luca Vitti, the city’s most dangerous man, stepped in. He cleared the room and took my hand. I thought he was saving me. I didn't realize he was just collecting a new pet. I was locked in his estate, isolated and terrified. Then, my healthy mother suddenly "died" of pneumonia in a Vitti clinic. Days later, I saw Luca’s frail stepsister, Clara, breathing easily for the first time in her life. She had my mother’s lungs. I became nothing more than a breeding vessel. When I fell pregnant, I overheard Luca and Ethan planning my death. "Once the kid is cut out, she's a loose end," Luca had said. They were going to kill me and give my son to the woman who stole my mother's breath. I couldn't let that happen. So, I staged a tragedy. I induced labor in secret, hid my living son, and placed a fake corpse in the crib with a note: The Vitti Legacy. I escaped while they mourned. Five years later, Luca finally found the doctor’s confession. He learned that Clara had orchestrated everything. He opened the velvet box I left behind and realized it was empty. Now, he knows I didn't kill his son. I saved him from becoming a monster like his father./0/85829/coverorgin.jpg?v=c402a250c6386a1df3e44b23e07df69b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Escaping The Betrayal's Chill
The biting cold was the first thing I felt, deep in the walk-in freezer where Chloe, my wife of five years, had locked me. My punishment for accidentally breaking an outrageously expensive Patek Philippe, a gift not for me, but for Liam O'Connell, her "soulmate" who was returning to the US today. Hours earlier, her face had turned to ice, her voice dangerously quiet, "You clumsy fool! Do you have any idea what you've done?" Her grip like steel, she' d shoved me inside, snarling, "Two hours. Think about what you did," before the heavy door slammed shut. I had loved her, so much so that I' d sold my firm and inheritance to free her from gambling debts, thinking my selfless love had won her heart. A dream shattered by a hidden journal revealing her rage, resentment, and her true love for Liam, whispering to our son, Leo, "This is your real dad." Now, shivering, I heard a muffled thud, then another, against the door, and Leo' s small voice screaming, "Get out! You made Mom unhappy! Get out of here!" A harder kick, "I don't want you as my dad anymore!" My spirit shattered into a million tiny pieces, the cold from the freezer nothing compared to the chill in my soul. Just as consciousness faded, Chloe unlatched the door, the kitchen light blinding me. She found me collapsed, feverish, but her face was a mask of irritation, annoyed she' d been caught, already on the phone with Liam, gushing, "Leo? Oh, he's wonderful. He calls you 'Dad' all the time now. He can't wait to see you." My son looked down at me, his face twisted in disgust, "You're pathetic." That was the moment. The last flicker of hope died. I stumbled to the guest room, my hands shaking. Ignoring calls, I booked a one-way international flight to anywhere, vowing never to return. Two days later, Chloe was seen on the news, chasing my taxi to the airport, screaming my name in a public meltdown no one, least of all me, could have predicted. I still had no idea how deep her betrayal ran./0/81287/coverorgin.jpg?v=d9596f3aa3652765998fca0a88858307&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Pianist's Reckoning
Ava Thompson, a renowned concert pianist, had a life that felt like a perfectly orchestrated symphony. Her husband, Mark Chandler, an architect from a powerful family, was her biggest fan, her rock, their love a fortress built over shared dreams and quiet evenings. Her quiet, seemingly sweet cousin, Lila Hayes, lived with them, a shadow Ava had welcomed into their sunshine. The first dissonance struck when Lila's prized Persian cat, Snowball, vanished. Then came Lila's theatrical despair, followed by her chilling accusation: "You did this!" She dramatically "found" a crudely written note: "Stay away from my husband. Next time, it won't be the cat that disappears." She claimed I wrote it. My heart pounded, expecting Mark to laugh it off, to defend me. He didn't. His eyes, once full of love, turned cold, filled with a chilling disappointment. He believed her. He banished me to our secluded lake house, confiscating my phone and keys, isolating me completely. A week later, he made me his spectacle: dressing me in a maid's uniform, fastening a jangling cat collar around my neck, and then, in front of our high-society circle, he leashed me to the veranda post like an animal. My Mark, the man who called me "magic," who vowed he couldn't breathe without me, orchestrated this grotesque public humiliation. Was it all a lie? How could years of devotion dissolve in the face of my cousin's fabricated malice? My spirit had been crushed, but as the storm raged, desperation ignited a spark. Bleeding and barefoot, I smashed a window, tearing off the mocking bell, and made a desperate call for help. They thought they had killed Ava Thompson. They were about to witness her rebirth, stronger and deadlier than ever, ready to reclaim her life and expose their monstrous betrayal./1/102052/coverorgin.jpg?v=b0170e856c1b1e6df0545ce75061fa79&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Burning Down His World Of Lies
My husband, Dax, was cold and distant, obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, Frida. His neglect cost me our first child. Then, Frida' s schemes cost me my dream job. When I became pregnant again, Dax abandoned me while I was in agony to rush to Frida's side for a minor scratch. This time, I didn't just lose the baby-I almost died. He never even visited me in the hospital. Instead, he was photographed comforting Frida, his "one true love." His mother finally revealed the truth: Dax's loyalty stemmed from a twisted childhood memory. He believed he had saved Frida from a traumatic event, a debt he felt he owed her for life. But as I lay broken, a memory of my own surfaced. A dark warehouse. A kind boy who saved me. A promise whispered. It wasn't Dax. His entire devotion to Frida was built on a lie. Now, he stands on my doorstep in Argentina, begging for a second chance after I've filed for divorce. He doesn't know that I know his secret. And I'm about to burn his world to the ground./1/102701/coverorgin.jpg?v=93cd1480525534bb692a3a0de5cc3030&imageMogr2/format/webp)
They Stole Everything: Now I Take
For seven years, I was a prisoner in a wheelchair, and my husband, Carter, was my devoted savior. After the accident that stole my legs, he fed me, bathed me, and carried me. He was my entire world. Then I discovered his secret: he was having an affair with Jade, the daughter of the man who crippled me. My "recovery" smoothies weren't for healing; they were laced with sedatives to keep me weak and dependent. When I confronted them, Jade pushed me down the stairs. As I lay bleeding on the cold marble floor, I felt a sharp, agonizing pain. I was losing our baby. Carter looked down at me with disgust. "You're pathetic, Alayna. Stay here and rot." He walked out, leaving me to die. But I didn't die. My family found me. And as I slowly, miraculously, learned to walk again, the broken wife he knew was gone. They took my legs, my child, and my trust. Now, I would take everything from them./0/91021/coverorgin.jpg?v=5f9a3c92fc5cd5e111725abf0695089b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Beyond The Betrayal: Her Rise
After three years in prison for a murder I didn't commit, my husband, Alexander, was waiting for me at the gates. He was the perfect, devoted spouse who stood by me through everything, promising me a new beginning. But when he opened the door to our home, my new beginning ended. Standing in the foyer was Katerina, the mistress I was convicted of killing. "She lives here now, Aubrey," he said, not even looking at me. He confessed everything. The three years I spent in hell weren't a mistake; they were a "lesson" to teach me not to question him. He had let me rot in a cage while he built a life with the woman who put me there. Then, he threw me out of the house I helped design. The man I loved hadn't just cheated. He had sacrificed my freedom, my sanity, and my life just to put me in my place. The betrayal was so absolute it broke something deep inside me. The woman who walked out of prison that morning was already dead. In a cheap motel room, I whispered to the other person my mind had created to survive the trauma, "I can't do this anymore. You can have this life. Just... make them pay." When I looked in the mirror again, the reflection that stared back was not me. "Don't worry," a new voice said. "My name is Aja."/0/81612/coverorgin.jpg?v=e2e68a9401bce47286b7e4dc3ec8ac7c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Queen Bee's Fall
The drone of Mr. Davies' voice, the familiar hum of my junior year English class, felt strangely distant. Once, my life was a clear path: top student, Yale-bound, my future set. My mother, Dr. Emily Miller, a respected psychometrician for the College Board, a source of pride. But that perfect future shattered. Tiff Reynolds, the school' s queen bee, twisted my academic talents and my mother' s connection into a weapon. Jealous of my success, she spread a monstrous lie: I was the mastermind of a cheating ring, funneling actual test questions from my mom. The investigation hit like a Category 5 hurricane. My Yale admission, rescinded. My mother, suspended, her brilliant career in ruins. And Dad… Dad, hounded by shame and stress, passed away. The weight of their blame, the utter desolation, crushed me. I tried to end it all, escaping into a cold abyss. Why? Why did Tiff' s greed and lies destroy everything I loved, everything I was? The injustice was a searing, raw wound. There was no relief, no way out of that suffocating despair, only the consuming question of how my innocent actions could lead to such a catastrophic fall. Then, the world snapped back. Heart hammering, I was sitting in class again, the date September 14th. It was real. A second chance. My hands clenched under the desk. This time, I wouldn' t just survive. This time, they would pay./0/88750/coverorgin.jpg?v=8a293ddf5b297ef6773525de00e6aaca&imageMogr2/format/webp)
After the Divorce My Husband Regrets Deeply
On our seventh wedding anniversary, Alan Begum and I had a heated argument because of my decision to choose not to have children, and it ended on a sour note. Later, I saw a post on social media from his childhood friend, Danna Ahmed. "From the moment you entered the racing circuit to now being famous, I've always been by your side, and only I have been by your side." She also posted a photo of her with Alan and other teammates. The teammates had teasing expressions as they looked at them, while Alan and Danna exchanged smiles, appearing like a couple. Yet in these seven years, he never allowed me to visit his racing events or meet his teammates. Whenever I asked, he would gently and patiently reassure me. "There are high-speed races on the track. It's too dangerous. You're my dearest, and I'd be heartbroken if you got hurt." But when I pressed further, his gentle demeanor often turned into impatience. We had been married for seven years, and it turned out that the most important person in his heart had been his childhood sweetheart, Danna. Without any drama, I calmly took off my ring, composed a message, and sent it to him. "Alan, let's get a divorce." Then I slipped on the black gloves that had been preserved in the glass cabinet for many years. Since when did high-speed racing become dangerous?/0/85830/coverorgin.jpg?v=abb197af10e58681697c58011f19a484&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Unmasking Their Lies
The sharp, chemical tang of turpentine used to smell like hope, but not today. I woke up eighteen again, just weeks before my art school scholarship deadline-the one my mother "helped" me meet by giving me paint stripper instead of turpentine, ruining my masterpiece. My family, ever the loving wolves, had blamed me, calling me ungrateful and a failure, twisting the knife until I believed I deserved the heartbreak and a lifetime of mediocrity in a cold, lonely apartment. I spent years internalizing their gaslighting, wondering why I was never good enough, always the villain in their self-serving narrative. But this time, as my mother chirped, "Good morning, sweetie. I brought you something to help you finish up," I knew. This was my second chance, and they had no idea who they were dealing with./0/84208/coverorgin.jpg?v=2094be347be027d088e9d5626802c8be&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Lucky Day, Her Fatal Flaw
My name is Gabrielle Johns, a rising architect with everything going for me – a dream career, a great apartment, and loving parents who sacrificed for my future. I was heading to my family's lake house for a long weekend, my best friend, Jen, complaining beside me as usual. That' s when the vintage hearse hit my car, a minor fender-bender that Jen immediately declared my "lucky day." Bizarrely, her words seemed to come true: my career soared, and my parents had the full down payment for my new condo. Jen, consumed by envy, became convinced the hearse was a source of "luck," deliberately getting herself hit by it. But her "luck" turned into ruin. The hearse was priceless, and its owners sued her for damages that would devastate her. Spiraling into a paranoid rage, she blamed me for "stealing" her luck. One night, as I left my new condo, her madness culminated in the ultimate betrayal. Jen, my childhood best friend, plunged a knife into my chest, hissing, "This was supposed to be mine." Darkness consumed me, my last thought of my parents and their future, stolen. How could someone I loved become such a monster? Why did she believe my hard work was just "luck" she was entitled to? Why did this happen? Then, I gasped awake. I was in my bed, in my old apartment, on the very morning the nightmare began. My phone buzzed: a text from Jen, "I've got a feeling this is going to be a very, very lucky weekend. ;)" She was back. And this time, I wouldn't be kind./0/84857/coverorgin.jpg?v=aec2caa983f0b26e3135df01c8f8038e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Forever With My Children
The last thing I remembered was the cold, damp earth on my knees, kneeling before Liam' s grave as my wife, Olivia, stood over me, her beautiful face a mask of pure hatred. "This is where you belong, Ethan. At his feet." I had believed her promise of a child, an heir, would free me from her cruel games and secure our future. Instead, her obsession with her dead childhood sweetheart, Liam, led her to deliberately delay the C-section for our twins, costing them their lives. Then, she had her guards beat me to death. But I woke up. In a sterile white hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of a machine in my ears, I saw Olivia, seemingly unchanged, on the phone, ordering the very delay that doomed our children in my first life. My heart, which I thought was empty, throbbed with a dull ache as she publicly declared another child - Liam' s son, Lucas - her sole heir, and callously ordered my own babies to be "gotten rid of." Paternal love surged, and I rushed to protect them, only to be struck down. I awoke again, beaten and framed for attacking them, mocked by Olivia and the fake Liam. Then came the chilling realization: Olivia, too, remembered. She knew about my "second chance" and taunted me with it. She used my dying father, his life hanging by a thread in the same hospital, as leverage. When I reluctantly agreed to her demands, she killed him right in front of me, shattering my world. Imprisoned in the dark basement of our old mansion with the bodies of my dead children, utter despair consumed me. How could this be happening again? Why did she hate me so much, across two lifetimes? Why couldn't I escape this nightmare? But Olivia's twisted victory was short-lived. The very betrayal she orchestrated began to unravel, revealing Liam' s true identity as a con man and Lucas as a stranger' s child. The architect of my torment had built her empire on a foundation of lies, and now, it was all about to come crashing down./0/83235/coverorgin.jpg?v=371e975cce5d603bfd62ccb9461dc7c2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
