icon 0
icon TOP UP
rightIcon
icon Reading History
rightIcon
icon Sign out
rightIcon
icon Get the APP
rightIcon
closeIcon

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

Modern Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Son She Sacrificed

The Son She Sacrificed

I worked three grueling jobs, every aching muscle and burning eye for my son, Noah. He had a rare blood disorder, his medical bills a relentless mountain. I sacrificed everything, even my late father' s cherished guitar and took out predatory loans, just for Noah' s life-saving transplant. My wife, Chloe, seemed to struggle alongside me, always talking of bad investments and financial woes. Then, one delivery took me to a swanky charity gala. Inside, I saw her. Chloe. Radiant in a shimmering blue dress, laughing freely with Julian Thorne, a distinguished, wealthy art collector. This wasn' t my struggling artist wife; she was a stranger brimming with effortless wealth. Days later, a mysterious USB drive revealed the horrifying truth. On video, Chloe laughed with Julian, admitting our "struggle" was a five-year "test." She spoke of Noah, our dying son, as an "inconvenience," even hinting his marrow could be "fortuitously" diverted to Julian' s nephew, Alex. I clung to hope, but Chloe herself, Noah' s own mother, redirected his life-saving transplant to Alex. Noah died. My world imploded. Every sacrifice, every tear, every ounce of love was nothing but a pawn in their sick game. How could the woman I loved, his own mother, be capable of such monstrous, calculated cruelty? How could she condemn our child to death for a "test," for a wealthy man's convenience? The truth shattered me; I collapsed, consumed by grief and unfathomable betrayal. I woke up in a hospital, broken but not defeated. With Dr. Olivia Ramirez's unwavering support, I slowly healed. When Chloe offered "family money" and suggested "another child," I saw her true, empty remorse. She could never pay for the life she took, nor mend the love she destroyed. Now, alongside Olivia, I channel my unending grief for Noah into "Noah's Light," a foundation helping children like him. This is my path forward, a legacy for Noah, a future she' ll never touch.
My Secret Lover, Her Public Charade

My Secret Lover, Her Public Charade

Ethan Miller, a dedicated software developer, thought he had it all—a promising career, a secret five-year relationship with the vibrant Maya Rodriguez, and a future he was finally ready to embrace. His parents’ constant nudges about marriage were just background noise to the passionate, whirlwind romance he shared with Maya. But then, at a rooftop party, a casual overheard conversation shattered his world into a million pieces. He wasn't her beloved boyfriend; he was merely her "five-year intensive training program," her "driving school car," a disposable practice dummy for her "dream guy," Leo Vance. Every whispered promise, every intimate moment, twisted into a grotesque lie. Maya’s manipulative charm, her blatant disregard for his feelings, and her astonishing choice to prioritize Leo even during her own critical accident, laid bare the horrifying depth of her betrayal. Humiliated and heartbroken, Ethan felt like a pawn in someone else's cruel game. How could five years of his life be nothing more than an elaborate, cold-hearted charade? Was his unwavering love, his entire carefully constructed world, just a warm-up act for someone else’s main event? The pain was a raw, gaping wound; the humiliation, absolute. From the ashes of betrayal, a steely resolve ignited within him. Ethan cut all ties, sold everything he owned, and moved across the country, seeking a fresh start and a genuine connection. He found it in Olivia Chen, a woman who offered not drama, but true companionship and healing. Now, as he stands at the altar, unexpected chaos erupts, threatening the quiet happiness he’s finally built. Will he conclusively break free from his past, or will Maya’s final, desperate attempt drag him back into her toxic orbit?
My House, My Revenge

My House, My Revenge

Six months after losing my husband, Mark, I was a ghost in my own life, scrolling through Instagram when a photo ripped me from my numbness. It was Chloe' s account, a former intern I' d mentored, but the background-our living room. My living room. Only it wasn' t. The minimalist haven I designed was desecrated by gaudy gold wallpaper, a hideous leopard-print sofa, and a cheap crystal chandelier. Strangers laughed, red plastic cups in hand, in the space Mark and I built as a testament to our love. The house, bleeding, was screaming. Chloe was at its center, champagne flute in hand, her arm around David, Mark' s business partner. My husband' s friend. He smiled smugly, possessively, kissing her cheek. The caption: "New beginnings in our new home! Out with the old, in with the new! #blessed #bosslife." Our new home? My blood ran cold. My kitchen, painted garish pink. My garden, a frat house with a hot tub and beer bottles. They had taken my sanctuary, our legacy, and turned it into a mockery. The rage arrived like a physical blow, a hot spike in my chest. My hands shook, but my mind was terrifyingly clear. I called David. "What the hell are you and Chloe doing in my house?" His slick, unbothered voice, punctuated by Chloe' s infuriating giggle, coolly informed me Mark had signed everything over to him. It was his house now. His company. All perfectly legal. "People do strange things when the end is near," he sneered, dismissing Mark as a mere business transaction. He hung up, leaving me with the silence screaming in my ears. Just a house. It wasn' t just a house. It was my life. The last piece of Mark. And they had taken it, desecrated it, and were laughing. The grief that had fogged my world for six months burned away, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. They thought I was beaten, a grieving widow easily pushed aside. They had no idea who they were dealing with. I am a brilliant architect. I am meticulous. I see the flaws in every design, the stress points in every structure. And I designed that house. They' d started a war. I was going to finish it.
Online Mob, Real Consequences: Her Story

Online Mob, Real Consequences: Her Story

I prided myself on being an exceptional AP Calculus teacher. My "Final Review Packets" were legendary, often predicting major exam questions with uncanny accuracy. I believed I was helping all my students achieve their best, providing every resource available. Then, a notification popped up from the PTA Facebook group: "Sarah Miller is playing favorites with the AP Calculus exam!" It was Karen Thompson, Brittany' s mom, the queen of helicopter parenting, accusing me of giving unfair advantages and leaking exam content. The comments section exploded, parents accusing me of taking bribes and having "secret coaching sessions." Even a student I' d stayed late tutoring for free seemed to corroborate their lies. The next day, they ambushed me at the AP US History exam, screaming "Fire unfair teachers!" and physically shoving me. My personal information was suddenly online, coupled with old, embarrassing photos from college. My life, my reputation, everything I had built was being systematically destroyed. I was bewildered and terrified, watching my life unravel because I simply tried to help every single student. How could a comprehensive review packet, emailed to everyone, be twisted into an accusation of corruption and favoritism? I felt utterly betrayed, trapped in a nightmare where my good intentions were weaponized against me. But when Karen and a mob of parents forced their way into my home, trashing my apartment and physically assaulting me, I snapped. That' s when I realized: I wasn't just a victim anymore. I was fighting back.
Reborn to Reject: The Heiress's Final Choice

Reborn to Reject: The Heiress's Final Choice

Ava Vanderbilt, heiress to an old-money fortune, was born into a gilded cage. Twice before, she'd lived this life, destined to marry one of the "Golden Trio" – Ethan, Liam, or Noah. But in every lifetime, their hearts, and all their sacrifices, belonged to Isabella "Izzy" Rossi, the conniving estate manager's daughter. Izzy, a master manipulator, always played the innocent victim, while Ava endured public humiliation, neglect, and the painful ruin of her husbands. Now, reborn a third time, Ava faced the same suffocating expectations. She refused to repeat the past, rejecting the trio and choosing Julian Mercer, a sharp-minded tech mogul, for a marriage of strategic stability. But Izzy wouldn't release her hold. At Ava's engagement party, Izzy unleashed a public spectacle, portraying herself as a tragic martyr and manipulating the trio into abandoning Ava yet again. They stormed off, pledging their devotion to Izzy, leaving Ava to face a ballroom full of shocked onlookers. How could these powerful men be so utterly blind, so completely enthralled by such transparent deceit? The bitter taste of repeated betrayal, and the sheer audacity of Izzy's endless drama, ignited a cold fury within Ava. This time, Ava Vanderbilt would not just escape her fate; she would dismantle the masquerade entirely. With Julian's unexpected and unwavering support, she vowed to expose Izzy, free herself from her past tormentors, and forge a life undeniably her own.
She Is a Rose From Ruins

She Is a Rose From Ruins

Olivia Miller had finally built her dream, a thriving craft brewery making waves in Austin. As her new hazy IPA celebrated success, she scrolled Instagram, feeling the quiet satisfaction of a life well-lived. But that peace was instantly shattered by an anonymous direct message: a photo of her husband, Ethan, intimately tangled with another woman – his own junior analyst, Izzy. The world tilted as Olivia recognized Ethan' s watch, Izzy' s clinging embrace, and the dim, discreet bar. This wasn't a misunderstanding; it was proof of months of his chilling indifference, his short texts, and his dismissive "work crises." He had even abandoned her, terrified, during a severe Texas storm, only to be "safe and sound" with Izzy, later offering Olivia beer he explicitly bought for his mistress. The sting of being gaslighted, manipulated into believing her instincts were "reading too much into things," was almost worse than the betrayal itself. How could the earnest boy who made her a lopsided pottery vase, promising eternal devotion under the Texas sky, become this cruel stranger who made her feel utterly erased and "unclean"? But from the wreckage, a flicker ignited – the fierce, brilliant girl her mother reminded her she still was. Olivia shed her tears, faced Ethan with cold clarity, and dismantled his lies one by one, refusing his desperate, asset-laden pleas to buy her back. Now, it was time to close that bitter chapter and start fighting for a future entirely her own.
Too Late For Regret: The CEO You Fired

Too Late For Regret: The CEO You Fired

I had dedicated three relentless years, sixty-hour weeks, and sacrificed countless lunches to single-handedly launch Project Titan, Momentum Corp' s most crucial software release. My life was on track, balanced with a career I built from the ground up and a future planned with my boyfriend, David, who worked in sales at the same company. Then, a seemingly ordinary Friday afternoon was ripped apart by an email landing in my inbox at 4:58 PM, starkly titled: "Team Restructuring." The harsh reality hit: my name was obliterated from the org chart, brazenly supplanted by Jessica Peterson, the unqualified daughter of Mr. Peterson, fresh out of college and totally clueless. My boss, with chilling dismissiveness, then flat-out told me to either wholeheartedly support his incompetent daughter or simply go find employment elsewhere, as "it's a family business." The betrayal spiraled as my boyfriend, David, became increasingly elusive, eventually exposed on Instagram, arm-in-arm with Jessica, brazenly labeled as a "power couple" at a rooftop bar he once deemed too expensive for us. A devastating email from him followed, abruptly ending our five-year relationship, confirming he' d abandoned me for the very person who usurped my career, leaving me with nothing but a churning knot of indignation. Everything - my hard-earned career, my loyal team, and my long-term relationship - was brutally stolen, leaving me standing in the ashes, reeling from an unfathomable injustice that screamed betrayal. But just as despair threatened to consume me, an unexpected call from my father, the head of Miller Real Estate, unveiled a shocking twist: he was gifting me the deed to the very office building Momentum Corp occupied. It was a moment of profound revelation, transforming me from a victim into a landlord with an unprecedented opportunity to reclaim what was mine, and teach those who wronged me an unforgettable, public lesson.
The Rolex & The Ruin: My Family's Greed

The Rolex & The Ruin: My Family's Greed

Divorced and a multi-millionaire, I finally packed my bags and left Silicon Valley behind. All I wanted was to return to my hometown in Ohio, reconnect with my blue-collar family, and embrace a simple, honest life, especially with my sister-in-law expecting. But when I arrived, their embrace was anything but warm. To test their loyalty, I lied, claiming I was broke, expecting sympathy. Instead, my brother raged that they were "counting on my payout," and my pregnant sister-in-law, wearing the expensive Rolex I gifted her, sneered, demanding I pay rent to live in the very house I bought and owned. The betrayal escalated. They claimed my master bedroom, threw out my belongings, and openly mocked my alleged financial ruin. My mother and stepfather, whom I' d supported for years, stood by, silently endorsing the cruelty. My stepfather even tearfully confessed he'd put my house in my brother's name to secure his marriage, then tried to manipulate me with a fabricated story about paying for my college. How could my own family turn on me like this? Why were they so filled with greed and contempt? What hidden resentments festered beneath their supposed love? When I finally ripped off the mask of poverty and exposed my true wealth and ownership, their carefully constructed lies shattered. But the shocking truth about their betrayal was nothing compared to the dark secret I was about to uncover, a secret buried for two decades that connected them directly to my father' s mysterious death and a chilling attempt on my own life.
His Mother, My Vengeance

His Mother, My Vengeance

The last thing I remembered was the splintering pain as I tumbled down the stairs. My mother-in-law, Martha, stood at the top, her face a mask of cold satisfaction. "You should have just stayed in your place, Sarah. None of this had to happen." Her words were crueler than the impact that shattered my bones. My vision blurred to a dark red. The last image in my mind wasn't of her, but of my daughter, Lily, her tiny body limp in my arms. Lily was dead because of Martha. And now, so was I. My husband, Mark, would believe his mother. He always did. My death would be just another inconvenience for them. Then, a sudden, blinding light. I shot up, drenched in sweat. My room was familiar. My hands were whole. No pain. My phone buzzed. October 12th. The day Lily died. Pure terror washed over me. This had to be a dream. But the room was real. My frantic heartbeat was real. I had come back. I was given a second chance. Not for forgiveness. Not for reconciliation. A chance for revenge. The submissive Sarah was gone, shattered at the bottom of those stairs. The woman who woke up was forged in betrayal and grief. Lily was downstairs with Martha. Martha, who in a few hours, would give my peanut-allergic daughter a "special" peanut cookie. The same Martha who dismissed Lily' s deadly allergy as "just a little sensitivity." They didn' t believe me. Or they didn' t care. The result was the same. My daughter died. Not this time. I ran. The smell of sweet, nutty death filled the air. I burst into the kitchen, just as Martha offered Lily the cookies. "No!" I ripped the plate from her hand, shattering it in the sink. "You will never, ever eat Grandma's cookies," I told Lily, holding her close. "They will make you very, very sick." Martha puffed out her chest. "Peanut isn't going to kill anyone. It builds up tolerance." The same words she'd used before. The same excuses that put my daughter in a casket. But I wasn't that woman anymore. "You are a stupid, stubborn old woman," I said, cold and clear. "Your 'wisdom' is going to get someone killed." I knew all their secrets now. The game had changed. And I was making the rules.