Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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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?"/0/80396/coverorgin.jpg?v=62d01d564e5969b69250a6a65029205c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Day I Left My Own Wedding
Ethan Miller, a top-tier software engineer, had poured his soul into Innovatech, the company he built alongside his long-term girlfriend, CEO Victoria Hayes, with shared dreams of success and marriage. But when Ethan responsibly exposed a catastrophic flaw in a project plan by Dylan Vance, the investor’s entitled son, Victoria publicly humiliated him, brazenly siding with Dylan and demanding Ethan compromise his ethics to secure funding, even dangling their long-awaited marriage as a cynical incentive. The betrayal escalated as Ethan witnessed Victoria's increasingly intimate relationship with Dylan, both professionally and personally. He came home to find them openly laughing, a cruel mockery of his devotion. Victoria then accepted his resignation with contempt, threatening his career and leaving him financially stranded. How could the woman he loved, his partner in building this company, so casually discard his integrity for a spoiled rich kid and investment money? Was their entire six-year relationship nothing more than a strategic pawn in her corporate ambition? The injustice was a searing blow. With his loyalty shattered, Ethan made a drastic choice. Soaked by an Austin downpour, he walked away from it all and made a decisive call to a rival firm. This wasn’t just about quitting; it was a defiant declaration that his integrity, and his future, belonged solely to him./0/82899/coverorgin.jpg?v=66e8f24d7ae5a0ff837f61916f9c6766&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Hidden Cameras, Unseen Terror
Mike was sketching, I was scrolling, just another quiet Tuesday night in the condo we' d built together. Our life was perfectly ordinary, perfectly peaceful. Then came the call: Mike' s mother-in-law, Brenda, had declared herself a reincarnated 1950s movie star, Lila LaRue. Even worse? She insisted Mike was her co-star, Johnny Starlight, reborn. Her eccentric claims quickly escalated into full-blown harassment: relentless calls, unannounced visits, and her moving directly across the hall. She left bizarre notes, stalked my grocery runs, and even planted hidden cameras in our bedroom. The nightmare culminated when her public theatrics cost Mike his job, leaving him utterly shattered. The police offered only a slap on the wrist, powerless against her unyielding delusion. Mike was terrified, his career destroyed, our privacy shattered beyond repair. How could the system be so blind to this sinister obsession? But as Mike reached his absolute breaking point, a cold, calculated rage ignited within me. Brenda demanded an audience for her performance? Fine. I decided to give her one she' d never forget, arming myself with a smartphone and a plan to expose her madness to the entire world./1/104644/coverorgin.jpg?v=a54177805da29b5ba71c331d0916c59a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Remarried To The Ruthless Mafia King
I found the instruction manual for my own abandonment on a dark web forum while my husband scrubbed the scent of another woman from his skin in the bathroom. The thread was titled "Burden Disposal Strategies." The user, RatKing88, asked a simple question: "How do I dump a loyal wife without triggering a war with the old guard? My parents love her more than me." The replies were brutal. They suggested faking a dangerous mission, forcing a paper divorce for 'asset protection,' and then disappearing with the cash. Moments later, Luca walked out of the bathroom smelling of cheap vanilla perfume and panic. He grabbed my hands, his palms sweating, and spun a clumsy lie about a "Code Red" mission in Sicily. "It is going to be a bloodbath, Sienna," he whispered, his eyes wide with manic energy. "We need to divorce on paper. It is the only way to protect you from the vendettas." I felt a cold rage settle in my gut. He wasn't a soldier going to war. He was a rat running off with his mistress and the family savings, leaving his stroke-ridden father and our daughter with nothing. He planned to wait for his parents to die so he could return for the inheritance. He thought I was just a naive, caged canary who would wait forever. But he forgot that canaries are the first to smell poison in the air. I didn't scream. I didn't expose him. Instead, I looked him in the eye with carefully manufactured sorrow and signed the papers. He thought he was escaping to freedom with a bag full of stolen cash. He didn't realize he had just voluntarily abdicated his throne. And I was going to take it./0/81335/coverorgin.jpg?v=eaf6fdc8852c82a202b95ff575ce42ca&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Rival, The AI
As a programmer from Chicago, my little brother Leo's rare illness left us drowning in debt, making the national InnovateNext coding championship our only lifeline. A Stanford scholarship and prize money were his only hope. But it felt like I was trapped in a recurring nightmare: my rival, Tiffany, always beat me by the exact same, infuriating margin – a flawless twenty points. Each defeat deepened my despair, the hollow victories mirroring Leo' s weakening breaths. Even my boyfriend, Mark, dismissed my suspicions, openly siding with her. I tried everything – offline coding, decoy functions, an unbuggable keyboard – yet that cursed twenty-point gap remained unyielding. It was maddeningly impossible. This wasn't just cheating; it felt like a pre-written script, a sinister force guaranteeing her win, pushing me to the brink of losing everything. Cornered, with Leo's life hanging by a thread, I made a desperate, radical gamble for the final round: I submitted the simplest code imaginable, "Hello, World!" I had to expose whatever unnatural power ensured her impossible triumph, even if it meant professional suicide./0/44103/coverorgin.jpg?v=bd0174f1d2d83dc1ec284e8aa3bdf3ad&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Reunion
"Reunion," follows the gripping journey of a little girl forced into adulthood when tragedy strikes her family. After her father's untimely death, she is betrayed by her uncle, who she holds dear. Her life of luxury disappears before her very eyes.. Desperate to save her family, she finds herself entangled in a dangerous world of bad influences and demeaning jobs. However, everything changes when she decides to take charge of her destiny. As she reaches the pinnacle of fame and success, fate brings these two parallel lives crashing back together, challenging the notions of justice, redemption, and forgiveness. "Reunion" is a powerful tale of survival, strength, and the enduring spirit of a young woman who refused to be defeated by life's harsh trials./0/80866/coverorgin.jpg?v=cc2209a9660720b3aa818c90ee68b032&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Comeback Billionaire
I, Mike Evans, died young from endless work, a fool who gave everything to build a future. But then, as my soul drifted, I watched my supposed devoted wife, Jessica, calmly discard my ashes, her face devoid of grief. Moments later, she was in *our* bed with Chad Peterson, my best friend, laughing, truly laughing. My son, Kevin, the one I poured every dime into for his surgical career, walked in and called Chad, "Dad." My entire fortune, built brick by painful brick, was now theirs to exploit. Jessica’s "girls’ trips" and Kevin’s "specialized training" were just cover stories for their years-long affair. This sickening truth, this profound betrayal, ripped through me with a pain far more searing than death itself. My life, my sacrifices, had fueled their illicit happiness, making me nothing more than a convenient workhorse to be discarded. How could I have been so monumentally, tragically blind to such a colossal lie? Then, an unexpected jolt, a blinding flash, and I gasped, choking on lake water. I was back, years in the past, at the exact moment I was supposed to "save" Jessica from drowning. The very incident that launched my miserable first life of servitude. But this time, things would be different. This time, the game would change./1/101985/coverorgin.jpg?v=a8929ca4497a9b819ef4bd1531a5e73f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Don't Cry Now, My Heartless Ex-Husband
The smell of leaking gasoline burned my nostrils, but the cold look in my husband's eyes hurt worse. Trapped in the overturned car, I watched Jacob reach in. He didn't reach for me, his wife. He unbuckled his mistress, Cassandra, shielding her head with a tenderness he never showed me. He walked away, leaving me to burn. I survived, but at a brutal cost. My right hand—the hand that played Chopin—was crushed into a useless claw. Jacob didn't apologize. Instead, he moved Cassandra into our home. He let her wear my diamonds, mock my injuries, and burn my sheet music. When I tried to expose her embezzlement, he called me unstable. To punish me for "betraying the family," he dug up my mother's grave and threw her ashes into the sea. That was the moment the wife died, and something else was born. He thought he had buried me under the weight of his cruelty. He didn't realize he had planted a seed. I staged my death and vanished into the snowy streets of Vienna. Five years later, I am a world-renowned composer, and Jacob is a ruined man in a wheelchair, begging for a forgiveness I no longer have the energy to give./0/82274/coverorgin.jpg?v=61745903f649c4f12740b2f693f1cfed&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: Her Sacrifice Burned Away
Ava Miller, terminally ill with ALS, fled a brutal five-year imprisonment in a mental health facility. Her desperate wish was a final act of control: a pre-arranged full-body donation for complete disintegration, leaving no trace behind. But her carefully planned escape shattered when she collided with Liam Donovan, her former fiancé and the man who believed she was responsible for his beloved sister' s tragic death. Liam, consumed by grief and rage, dragged Ava into a new nightmare, intent on making her pay for Chloe' s loss. Despite her rapidly worsening illness and broken body, Ava shielded a secret that would exonerate her but destroy Chloe' s memory, embracing Liam' s abuse as penance. She endured public degradation, horrific assaults, and even a forced bone marrow donation that left her paralyzed, all to uphold her silent promise. How could the man she still desperately loved be so cruelly blind to her innocence and suffering, allowing his hatred to consume her? Why did she choose to sacrifice every shred of dignity for a truth she couldn't speak, leaving her stripped of everything but oblivion? Her final agonizing moments came in a fire he implicitly condoned, prompting Liam to slowly unravel her devastating sacrifice through hidden clues long after she was gone. Now, haunted by the profound truth of Ava's unwavering love and innocent torment, Liam is forced to confront the monstrous depths of his own actions, embarking on a brutal journey for redemption, only to discover some truths come too late for forgiveness./1/103393/coverorgin.jpg?v=1264c4ba925629ea919c53f7e840186a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Anniversary, His Secret Wife
On my first wedding anniversary, I woke up pregnant and thrilled, waiting for my husband, Carter. But a trending TikTok video shattered my world. It showed Carter celebrating the same anniversary with a famous influencer, Kenley Mendez. He had lied to me for an entire year with a fake marriage certificate while being legally married to her. When I confronted him, he spun a story about Kenley dying of cancer, begging for my sympathy. But his lies quickly turned to violence. During a fight, he struck me so hard that I collapsed, and later that day, I miscarried our baby. To protect his perfect public image, Carter' s company then released a statement branding me as a delusional mistress. The internet exploded with hate, and I became the villain in his tragic love story. I had lost my baby, my husband, and my reputation. The man I had loved and supported for eight years had not only betrayed me but systematically destroyed my life. Lying in that cold hospital bed, with nothing left to lose, I picked up my phone. I turned off the beauty filters, looked straight into the camera, and hit 'Go Live.'/0/86185/coverorgin.jpg?v=1bcf2ced32f2527e5fed70eec573ae3c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Her Choice, His Downfall
The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to me like a shroud as the doctor' s words cut through the haze: "The test is positive, Ms. Miller. You're pregnant." But his next revelation, stark and clear, truly shattered my world: "There's a mass, Sarah. It's a rare form of tumor, quite aggressive. We need to start treatment immediately, but… the treatment is not compatible with the pregnancy." It was the same impossible choice I' d faced before, a replay of a life I' d already lived and tragically lost. A chilling memory surfaced of my estranged boyfriend, David Chen, spitting venom at me in a cold penthouse: "Keep her alive just long enough to deliver the baby. I want her to watch everything she loves wither and die." He'd trapped me then, financially and emotionally, under the guise of a deadly illness only my wealth could cure, all while secretly engaged to another woman, Chloe. His true cruelty was laid bare in a whispered confession I overheard: "She's just a walking bank account. And soon, when that tumor of hers gets bad enough, the whole bank will be ours." The sheer audacity, the betrayal, the knowledge that they planned to destroy my brother, Tom, for my life insurance, burned through me. They were monsters, and I had been a fool, blind to their horrifying scheme. But this time, I wasn't the naive artist. This time, I had a choice, my choice. I looked the doctor straight in the eye, my voice steady, devoid of the hesitation that had crippled me before. "I want an abortion." It wasn't a surrender; it was a declaration of war./0/98700/coverorgin.jpg?v=34bf3bb8036040e604c0497e04d4551d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Peace After Pain: My Unwritten Blueprint
The algorithm knew my fiancé was cheating on me before I did. It led me, five days before my wedding, to a secret Instagram account. My maid of honor was wearing my wedding dress. The account was a shrine to her three-year affair with my fiancé, Arden. They had crafted a perfect narrative for their followers: they were tragic soulmates, and I was the cold, calculating villain keeping them apart. The comments were full of hate for me. But the final twist of the knife was seeing that my best friend, Dallas, had "liked" a comment wishing I'd have an "accident" and break my leg again. I had saved his life. My family had saved hers from ruin. Why this elaborate, public cruelty? On my wedding day, I was a no-show. Instead, as the elite of New York society watched, the ballroom screens lit up with a presentation I' d prepared, exposing every photo, every text, and every single lie./0/83995/coverorgin.jpg?v=a3094d8f66791098da6cde17a33804d1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Discarded Daughter's Rise
Christmas morning should have been filled with joy, but for me, it was the day my hard work, my straight-A report card, was ripped to shreds by my father. Instead of comfort, my own paternal grandmother slapped me, calling me a "bad omen" just like my mother, Brenda. My mother, a paralegal who valued appearances, had vanished weeks prior, only for divorce papers to appear. Soon after, my father dumped me at a bus station, tossing a few crumpled bills and driving off, telling me not to call him, even in an emergency. Hours passed, the cold seeping into my bones, every hopeful car not hers, until finally, it was my Grandma Rose who saved me, wrapping me in a hug that smelled of cinnamon and soap. But the truth soon crushed me: my mother hadn't wanted me, and my grandmother, with her meager social security, had to invent "gifts from your mom" to keep my hope alive. Just when I thought I had a haven, Brenda reappeared, engaged to a wealthy businessman, dragging me back into her world of superficiality and ridicule. Life with them became a new hell, culminating in a public slap from my mother for making her "look bad" and finally, being thrown out onto the street with nothing but a small bag. I walked for miles, desperate to get back to Grandma Rose, the only person who had ever truly loved me. And then, just weeks before my SATs, she collapsed, needing an expensive surgery my parents coldly refused to fund, forcing me to sacrifice my future for her. She passed, leaving me heartbroken, but also with a cold, clear rage burning inside me. When my mother brazenly reappeared after Grandma' s funeral, complaining about the "inconvenience" of her death and scoffing at my efforts, something inside me snapped. I was done being a victim. I stood up, my voice dangerously quiet, and told her to get out, but not before she paid what she owed me. I sued both my parents for years of neglect, studied relentlessly, and when I emerged as the state's top SAT scorer, exposing their hypocrisy to the world. Years later, as a successful investment banker, I faced them again, broken and desperate for money, and coolly repeated their own words back: "That's not my problem." Now, holding my daughter, Rose, a child I chose to have on my own terms, I realized I had not only broken the cycle but built a new legacy of unconditional love./0/86498/coverorgin.jpg?v=e482d81d9139bf52eb2064a6bdfeefb3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rejected By Family, Reborn By Love
Dr. Chen looked at my patent transfer agreement, concerned. "Ava, are you absolutely sure? This patent is your life's work." I was sure; it was my only way to shield it from my family. They saw my success not as pride, but as a resource for Willow, my foster sister, who masterfully painted me as selfish to my father, Richard, and brother, Ethan. My cherished belongings vanished, ending up with Willow, while my room-the one with the best light-was given to her for her "artistic sensibilities," banishing me to the cramped attic. Then came the day I signed the patent away. I returned home to a surprise party for Willow, celebrating her art grant. They had forgotten it was the anniversary of my mother's passing. My fiancé, Liam, usually my partner, stood by Willow, his arm possessively around her. My father, beaming, said, "Ava, perfect timing! Willow needs your help. You're going to give her the patent." I stared, disbelief chilling me. "It's a medical patent. It has nothing to do with art or business. And it's not for sale." Willow burst into tears, claiming Liam said I'd agreed to surprise her. Liam mumbled a pathetic "It's for the family." Then, Willow brought out a mango mousse cake-a deadly allergy for me. Liam, irritated, snapped, "Just for once, can you not make everything about you?" Willow, the kicked puppy, apologized, claiming forgetfulness, and turned to my father, who raged at me. "Look what you did, you ungrateful child! You will sign over that patent and apologize to Willow!" When I refused, he slapped and shoved me. I fell, my face landing squarely in the cake. Anaphylaxis set in immediately. I gasped for air, crawling for my EpiPen, as they watched me-my father, Ethan, Willow, and Liam-all stood by, watching me die. As blessed air trickled back into my lungs, one thought solidified: I'm leaving, and I am never, ever coming back./1/104019/coverorgin.jpg?v=eafc5acf33deafe499bdd9dd6cd6eabc&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Ex Became My Sister-in-Law
On the day Izabella Dobson learned she was two months pregnant, she was also diagnosed with terminal liver cancer. Sitting in the taxi, the doctor's words echoed in her ears again. "Miss Dobson, your body is weaker than most. An abortion now would accelerate the cancer. You have only three months left. Why not go home and discuss chemotherapy with your family? You're still so young..." Izabella folded the report and slipped it into a hidden compartment in her bag. She let out a soft, bitter laugh. Ever since her father pressured her into a marriage of convenience with Carson's brother, a terminally ill man, for familial obligations, she had lost her family. Her husband had long passed away, and Carson harbored a deep-seated resentment towards her. As revenge, he publicly declared he would marry her stepsister. He was eager to witness her suffering, waiting for her to express regret. Yet, little did he know that on their wedding day, Izabella, frail and serene, lay in her hospital bed with her eyes gently closing. Carson, we can finally release each other from this pain.../0/55993/coverorgin.jpg?v=732dc082db4bd16d94ef12f4c90c92f9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Her Hacker Husband
Zohra has been living all her life in daydreaming, whether she is awake or sleep. She has always dreamed. Dreamed of something better when nightmares would chase her. Daydreaming was always her coping mechanism for everything. Until, everything changes and she was announced to marry a psychiatrist as a alternative bride. Who is a real man, and breakes the beautiful wall she has made from daydreaming. Waqas Rehan was a man of his words and is adamant to make Zohra Hayat believe that she has been eating lies from a silver spoon. Will Zohra Hayat let Waqas Rehan lead her life after all she went through?/0/89627/coverorgin.jpg?v=3eabd9110d9613164d5835844e7a2e05&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Chose Lies, I Chose Leaving
I went through many trials and tribulations and finally found my husband's long-lost younger sister. But by the time I found her, she was on the brink of death. In my haste to get her to the hospital, I accidentally crashed into a red sports car. The female driver demanded that I apologize, as well as pay a million for repair costs. I argued, "It was clearly your reckless lane changing that caused the accident. Why should all the blame fall on me? Besides, in a life-or-death situation, can't you let me take the injured to the hospital first?" The woman ruthlessly pushed me to the ground. "Shut up, you low-life! My husband just bought this car for me today, and running into people like you is such bad luck! My husband is the heir of the Blakely family, the wealthiest family in the city. We wouldn't care if it cost a dozen lives!" I was stunned for a few seconds. The heir of the Blakely family? So, this arrogant woman in front of me was my husband Nixon's mistress? Should I just walk away from his sister? But her grandfather had been desperately searching for her/1/104645/coverorgin.jpg?v=ac4ab0653b0c31411d0448cc1af43e74&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Barren Wife's Revenge: It Was You
On our seventh anniversary, my husband Dante tossed divorce papers onto the desk. He looked at me with cold indifference, his hand resting on the swollen belly of his nineteen-year-old mistress. "You are barren, Seraphina," he spat. "She carries my legacy. You carry nothing but ghosts." When I tried to argue, he shoved me. I fell hard, my back slamming against the concrete floor of the studio. Pain tore through my abdomen, and warm blood began to pool beneath my red dress. The tragedy wasn't just the violence; it was the truth he didn't know. The IVF hadn't failed. I was pregnant with the son he had desperately prayed for. And in his rage to protect a mistress carrying a stranger's baby, he had just killed his own flesh and blood. He stepped over my bleeding body and took her to the Commission Auction to celebrate. He thought I was broken. He thought I was finished. But he forgot that I knew all his secrets. I woke up in the hospital, signed the papers that froze his entire fortune, and walked straight into the gala. I stood before the most dangerous men in New York and threw a medical file onto Dante's table. "You killed your real son today when you pushed me," I said, my voice slicing through the silence. "As for hers? It can't be yours, Dante." "Because according to this, you have been sterile for seven years."/0/81336/coverorgin.jpg?v=32851f01f31d8027b8287e2652be4985&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Not My Kids, Not My Life
Michael Thompson, a shell of a man at 58, lay dying in a sterile nursing home bed. His wife, Brenda, had passed a year prior, but her final words were still a fresh wound. "Michael," she' d whispered with a chilling, triumphant smile, "The children… David and Sarah… they' re not yours." "They' re Rick' s. It was always Rick." His rival, the man he despised, the one she supposedly hated with him. His entire life, every sacrifice for their family, every dream deferred, was a cruel, elaborate lie. He' d given everything, only to be drained emotionally and financially by the woman he loved. After her funeral, the children he' d raised had swiftly and efficiently stripped him of his assets, leaving him abandoned in this desolate place. Deep regret, a bitter acid, burned in his chest. If only he could go back, know then what he knew now. His last, ragged breath escaped into the silence of the room, followed by darkness. Then, a jarring burst of music blared. "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley. His eyes snapped open. This wasn't the nursing home. He sat on a worn vinyl couch, the familiar smell of coffee and exhaust fumes filling the air. His hands were strong, unblemished by age. A calendar on the wall screamed June 1988. He was young. He was back. And then Brenda walked in, her deceptive sweetness a sharp contrast to the calculating gleam in her eyes. She spoke of the GM position, his promotion, and how he should withdraw for Rick. But this time, he knew everything. He had a chance to rewrite his fate./0/83057/coverorgin.jpg?v=d8902c1555f3c8a9e05aa464330e78c3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
