Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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His Obsession, My Baby's End
Eight days after my c-section, my husband left me and our hungry, premature newborn alone. He rushed to his manipulative ex-girlfriend, Cassidy, who was faking another one of her "panic attacks," just as he always did. His obsession with "saving" her had already caused our son's premature birth. This time, it got him killed. In a jealous rage, Cassidy slammed her car into us, and my baby was gone. But when I woke up in the hospital, Kevin was protecting her, not me. He told me it was an accident, that her diagnosed mental illness made her not responsible. He even had our son cremated without my consent, erasing all the evidence. He begged me to forgive them, to let it all blow over so we could be a family again. I looked at the man who had destroyed my life and smiled. "I called the police, Kevin," I said, showing him my phone. "And that medical certificate you're holding? It's a fake."/0/60586/coverorgin.jpg?v=2a31fbe83dddb819c38f8a9c2de87dbc&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Deceased Unborn Nephew
My sister-in-law was pregnant. She said that in our village, giving birth was just a matter of spreading your legs and pushing. But I was worried and insisted that she go for a check-up. It turned out that she had a high-risk pregnancy and needed a C-section to save her and the baby's lives. My nephew was born weak and sickly, and every time he got sick, my sister-in-law would blame me for making her go to the hospital and causing him to be born prematurely and injured. He grew to hate me and eventually killed me by poisoning my water. When I woke up, I was back at home and asked for my opinion on the matter. This time, I won't interfere. I want to see what kind of thing she can give birth to./0/90054/coverorgin.jpg?v=d2f54031e570e62bdb478270e14ce941&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Fiancé Chose His Ex On Our Wedding Day
My hands were my entire career, the key to my life as one of New York's top hand models. My fiancé, Chase, had plucked me from a small town and given me a world of glamour. I thought I owed him everything. Then his high school sweetheart, Karis, gave me a "luxury" treatment at her salon that left my hands with chemical burns, destroying my ten-year career overnight. Chase called it an "accident" and defended her. He told me Karis was so upset she might have to join him on our honeymoon to St. Barts to feel better. At our rehearsal dinner, when Karis suggested I'd hurt myself for attention, Chase publicly shamed me for upsetting her. His bachelor party turned out to be a private date with her. I found the prenup he wanted me to sign: if we divorced, I'd get nothing. But the final blow came the night before our wedding. As he slept, he grabbed my arm and whispered her name. "Karis... don't go." I realized then I was just a stand-in, a warm body in the dark. My love for him had been a survival strategy in a world he built for me, and I was finally suffocating. The next morning, on our wedding day, I didn't walk down the aisle. I walked out the door with nothing but my passport and made a call I hadn't made in fifteen years. An hour later, I was on my way to a private jet, leaving my old life to burn behind me./1/111408/coverorgin.jpg?v=76f637f44ef09dc0b92443668b451581&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Reborn After Dying with My Child
In my previous life, I, Claire Holloway, was eight months pregnant, kneeling in a storm, begging Lucas Ashford to save the bankrupt Holloway family. But he held his first love, Vanessa Wren, in his arms, looking down at me with cold disdain. "The Holloway family's downfall was orchestrated by me. Did you really think I'd fall for a spoiled rich girl like you? If it weren't for getting my revenge today, I'd have found even touching you disgusting." In despair, I died that freezing night—two lives lost with me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I was diagnosed with pregnancy. Lucas was gently peeling shrimp for me, smiling as he asked what kind of diamond ring I wanted. I looked at his hypocritical face and let out a quiet, cold laugh. This time, I wouldn't make the same mistake again./0/58460/coverorgin.jpg?v=19a4fea0e89d1ad8e3aa67c4c116bdef&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Remarried To The False Heir
Tristan is the real young master in the drama. His father said, whoever between him and his brother first has a grandson, will be able to inherit billions of assets from the family. Three years after getting married, he was honest and sincere: "If you can't get pregnant, but she is pregnant, I can only choose her. You know how important a child is to me, right?" I twitched at the corner of my eye, but still didn't tell him the truth. Later, I married his brother and went to his house for dinner while pregnant. He said, "How is this possible? You clearly can't give birth!" Everyone looked at each other, and finally I broke the silence: "Tristan, why don't you go check it out?"/0/62130/coverorgin.jpg?v=8f1df742dd8c16e970a0a380142c52e3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rebirth: Settling Past Life's Scores
Here's the translation: "The girl I sponsored, Chen Qing, insisted on marrying a man who had just been released from prison and was a twice-married 'super man.' When I disagreed, the two of them killed me and claimed it was a suicide. After being reborn, I once again faced Chen Qing's request to be with Li Qiang. This time, I pretended to agree, but secretly manipulated the situation to take revenge for my past life."/0/79558/coverorgin.jpg?v=c840453ae8b47b2f0b7e06885d4304e9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Husband's Other Woman, My Stolen Life
"Ethan, this is unethical. It's criminal. She hasn't consented." Those chilling words, whispered in the sterile hum of an operating room, were the first thing I heard as consciousness flickered back. My heart pounded, cold dread snaking through my veins. Dr. Ben Carter, Ethan's old friend, was arguing with him. "She's my girlfriend, Ben. Practically my wife," Ethan scoffed, his voice laced with a terrifying casualness. "Chloe needs this kidney. Ava is a perfect match." Kidney. Chloe. My blood ran cold. The beautiful, fragile Chloe Vahn, who had always haunted our relationship, was now taking a piece of me, quite literally. I tried to scream, to move, but my body felt like lead, my throat raw. I felt a sharp tug, a searing line of fire on my side-the scalpel. Ten years of love, of sacrifice, building Ethan Reed and his company back from nothing, all for this. To be carved up like an animal for the woman he truly loved. When I finally regained full awareness, Ethan was by my bedside, a practiced look of concern on his face, spinning a lie about a ruptured ovarian cyst. But then, the overheard nurse's whispered conversation confirmed my nightmare: "Chloe's kidney transplant... he barely left her side." The pieces slammed into place. My despair solidified into a cold, hard resolve. No more. I grabbed my phone, scrolling to one contact I hadn't dared to call. Noah Hayes, Ethan's rival, a man of integrity. My finger trembled as I typed. "Noah," I managed, my voice raspy. "Are you still looking for a COO who knows Reed Innovate's strategies... and perhaps, a wife?" The silence stretched, then his voice, calm and serious, cut through the noise of my crumbling world. "My jet, seven days. LaGuardia."/1/110716/coverorgin.jpg?v=cd621d07bfa2b3af7d7bbbb4a81d1c81&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Seven Years of Devotion: He Left Me to Die, I Left Him for Good
On the seventh anniversary of my marriage, I, Clara Hart, received two "gifts." One was an urgent alert from the embassy-armed conflict in Arkania was imminent, and all citizens were advised to evacuate immediately. The other was a message from my husband, Adrian Foster, "Pack your things. Wait for me downstairs. Ten minutes." I quickly packed an emergency kit and rushed downstairs. People around me were already evacuating in a panic, yet Adrian was nowhere to be seen. I called him, my voice trembling, only to be met with a cold, clipped response. "The car's packed with confidential company documents. There's no room left. Sophie has a severe fear of war. I need to get her out first." My blood ran cold. "What about me?" I asked, barely believing what I was hearing. Adrian clicked his tongue impatiently. "Clara, stop being so dramatic. Just take the embassy bus. It's the same." Explosions thundered in the distance, shattering everything I had believed in over the past seven years. Whatever love had once existed between us crumbled to dust. I stopped waiting. Slinging the emergency pack over my shoulder, I turned and walked away into the chaos of war./0/81154/coverorgin.jpg?v=366f4f81c09f6eeec5e9c4de03827095&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Billion-Dollar Dirt Farm
The air in the Oakhaven County Courthouse records office was thick with the smell of old paper. My pen hovered over the sales agreement for the little house on Elm Street, my entire inheritance from Grandma about to be invested, mostly in my boyfriend Mark' s name. I envisioned our future, eager to make his big dreams a reality. Then, a cold dread washed over me – a memory both utterly foreign and terrifyingly real. I had signed these papers before. In that forgotten life, Mark, emboldened by newly discovered fracking rights on the land, took my money, left me for Brenda, and abandoned me. I was left with nothing, ultimately dying alone from pneumonia in a brutal winter. My eyes snapped up. Across the room, Mark leaned against the wall, whispering to Brenda. She giggled, glancing at me with a sly, triumphant smirk. "We'll paint the kitchen yellow," Brenda declared, her voice carrying, "That awful blue Sarah likes has to go." Mark chuckled, "Anything you want, Bren. It's gonna be our place, after all." My place. My inheritance. A sickening punch to the gut. This was it – the exact, soul-crushing moment of betrayal, relived. How could this be happening? Was I insane? But then, a fierce realization ignited within me. I wasn't dead. I was here. My heart hammered, "A second chance!" The naive Sarah was gone, frozen to death in another timeline. This Sarah remembered everything. My hand, trembling no longer, closed into a fist. And with a defiant roar of paper, I ripped the sales agreement in half./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?/1/102564/coverorgin.jpg?v=b2af4a893266111e27d9e50e3d2085cb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Finding Freedom In A Small Town
I was a billionaire's trophy wife, but when I fell ill, I had to beg my husband, Adam, for fifty dollars just to buy tampons. He refused, humiliating me for mismanaging my meager allowance. Minutes later, my phone lit up with photos of him on a yacht, gifting his ex-girlfriend a five-million-dollar necklace. The messages from other wives were brutal: "Poor Aubrey. Always second best." He had forbidden me from working, from having any independence, calling me an "ornament." I was a possession he'd bought, worth less than the jewelry he gave another woman. The humiliation burned hotter than any fever. He controlled my life, but he wouldn't control my escape. Standing drenched in the rain, I made a decision. If money was freedom, I would earn it myself. I pushed open the heavy door to The Velvet Lounge, a high-end club where secrets were sold and fortunes were made. My new life was about to begin./1/109685/coverorgin.jpg?v=a7e47fb1896ac808a5a6123946b175ca&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Chose Her, I Chose Us
On our tenth anniversary, I found the divorce papers my husband, Drake, had secretly filed a year ago. That same night, I watched him walk into our favorite restaurant, his arm wrapped around his pregnant campaign manager, Chelsea. I soon learned his plan was more monstrous than a simple affair. He had tricked me into signing the papers, intending for me to raise his mistress's child as my own-a perfect political cover for the wife who couldn't conceive. When Chelsea later faked a fall and blamed me, the hatred in Drake's eyes confirmed everything. "If anything happens to her or my child," he snarled, shoving me aside, "I will never forgive you." He didn't know my secret. After twelve agonizing rounds of IVF, I was finally pregnant-with twins. He had made his choice, and now I was making mine. I would disappear with my children, and he would never see us again./0/67664/coverorgin.jpg?v=aae7c1981b7bb4745a863d25fc156d43&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Revenge in Rebirth
Here's the translation of the text into English: "I mistakenly listened to my in-laws and entrusted my assets to my ungrateful nephew ahead of time. After I was in a car accident, my nephew said he had no money and left me to die without medical treatment. I was reborn and opened my eyes, discovering that I had returned to 1990, before my son was harmed by my in-laws. This time, I took all the firecrackers that my sister-in-law had bought for my son and returned them to my in-laws. That night, their home exploded, and as I watched my parents crying for money, I pointed directly at the door: 'Didn't you say that being wealthy was worthless? Then go out and beg!'"/1/101980/coverorgin.jpg?v=90bfd03be8a6acefae5497be869735ee&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Barren Wife To The Don's Queen
I was reviewing the laundering accounts when my husband asked for a hundred thousand dollars for the nanny. It took three seconds for me to realize the woman he was trying to pay off was wearing my missing vintage Chanel earrings. Damian looked me in the eye, using his best doctor's voice. "She is struggling, Ainsley. She has five boys to feed." When Casey walked in, she wasn't wearing a uniform. She was wearing my jewelry and looking at my husband with intimate familiarity. Instead of apologizing when I confronted them, Damian protected her. He looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. "She is a good mother," he sneered. "Something you wouldn't understand." He used the infertility I had spent millions trying to cure as a weapon against me. He didn't know that I had just received the investigator's file. The file that proved those five boys were his. The file that proved he had gotten a secret vasectomy six months before we started trying for a baby. He had let me endure years of painful procedures, hormones, and shame, all while funding his secret family with my father's money. I looked at the man I had shielded from the violence of my world so he could play god in a white coat. I didn't scream. I am a Pierce. We execute. I picked up my phone and dialed my enforcer. "I want him ruined. I want him to have nothing. I want him to wish he was dead."/0/89720/coverorgin.jpg?v=38061431b7c3a5b1d745a0368512b074&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Regret Cheaper Than Dust
Everyone in Seavelt knew that Dr. Ethan Caldwell, the city's top gynecologist, never got close to women. No matter how many youthful figures stood before him, he never so much as glanced their way. I always thought I was different, even after ten years together, when he wouldn't let me touch him. If my fingertips accidentally brushed his sleeve, he'd snap, "Don't touch me." After another failed attempt to climb into his bed, he sent ten men to sleep with me. Afterward, when I cried and lashed out at him, he said flatly, "I can't let you live like a nun forever." The eleventh time he arranged for someone to pin me to the bed, I lost it and swallowed two hundred sleeping pills. When I woke up, Ethan, for the first time ever, allowed me to touch him. I thought I could slowly win him over. But the next day, at his private villa, I caught him holding another woman in his arms. He kissed the top of her head, his eyes burning with a passion I'd never seen. When I confronted him, Ethan looked at me coldly. "Clara's not like you. She doesn't have those filthy thoughts or try to seduce men." I bit my lip until I tasted blood. "Fine, Ethan. Let's break up."/0/83396/coverorgin.jpg?v=78f3eec69bf669eb84fd5a06de25c42b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Hidden Heir's Revenge
I, Ethan, had one rule: make it on my own merits, no family help, despite my parents being Silicon Valley legends. For three years, I poured my soul into "Project Prometheus," a project meant to launch my career to new heights, all while planning a future with my fiancée, Chloe. Then, a single LinkedIn notification shattered my world: Chloe's smirking intern, Leo, was taking credit for my project, my invaluable work. When I confronted Chloe, she looked at me with tired annoyance, not guilt, casually dismissing it as "just a title" for Leo's career, before brazenly asking me to endorse his fake "contribution." My furious refusal only made things worse; suddenly, I was the subject of office whispers and Marcus, my director, inexplicably sided with Chloe, burying my name on the project and putting me on a death-sentence Performance Improvement Plan. Chloe publicly smeared me as "non-collaborative," then privately texted: "You lost." How could the woman I planned to marry so casually steal my life's work, mock my integrity, and try to make me an accomplice in my own professional execution? The unfairness was a physical weight, suffocating me, watching them twist the truth while my irrefutable evidence was ignored. My integrity was utterly worthless against her malicious lies. Backed into a corner, my reputation destroyed and career hanging by a thread, I finally made the call I swore I never would: "Mom, Dad," I choked out, "I tried to handle this myself, but I can't anymore. I need your help."/0/82855/coverorgin.jpg?v=bdb304562ed9ad5c0dd20a42884b47f7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Framed No More: My Vengeful Rebirth
I was at that awful class reunion, the air thick with fake smiles and bitter memories. Jessica' s sneering laughter echoed in my ears, and then, a crushing pain in my chest. Darkness. I was dead. Not a peaceful passing, but a final, bitter end to a life they' d stolen. Mike Johnson, my childhood friend, and his toxic girlfriend, Jessica Smith, had meticulously orchestrated my downfall years ago. They framed me for hacking, shattered my dreams of a Stanford scholarship, and left me with dead-end jobs and a broken spirit. My death at that reunion was just the cruel crescendo of their lifelong amusement at my expense. The injustice burned hotter than any physical pain. Why did I have to suffer for their venomous games? Why was my future stolen, and they got away scot-free? The sheer, unfair waste of it all. Then, sunlight streamed through my bedroom window. My old room, exactly as it was before everything went wrong. My hands, seventeen again. I wasn't just back in time, I was back, a second chance. But a chilling notification on my phone confirmed my worst fear. "Did you see it? Mike and Jessica at the game last night!" They were back too. And they remembered. They thought they had a cheat code to life. They were wrong. This time, I was ready./1/102288/coverorgin.jpg?v=13cb3de4adb34c0b83b5ac2301500372&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Fiancé's Ultimate Deception
After seven years of devotion, I finally became pregnant with my fiancé Coleton's twins. But he secretly terminated the pregnancy, claiming it was for my health. The real reason? His ex-girlfriend, Annis, suggested it. He came to the hospital late, a fresh hickey on his neck, and instead of comforting me, he forced me to post a public apology to Annis for causing her "drama." He even used my phone to flirt with her, planning their dinner date right in front of me while I was still bleeding from the procedure he ordered. When I refused to play along, he abandoned me at the hospital exit, causing me to fall and get a concussion. Later, I found them in our bed, and he had the audacity to invite me to their "celebratory" dinner. "You're doing this for me, right?" he asked, a hopeful smile on his face. "So I can finally be happy with Annis?" I looked at the man I had given my life to, the man who had just stolen our children from me, and saw a stranger. This time, there would be no tears, no second chances. I took the pre-nup he signed years ago-the one that gave me a huge chunk of his company if he ever betrayed me-and walked away for good./1/101413/coverorgin.jpg?v=ef63f60c7ccef5ceb598c72a226fea21&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late To Beg: The Unwanted Wife Is An Heiress
I gave up my twenty-billion-dollar inheritance to become a nobody, just so my husband Ignatz could shine without being overshadowed. But after five years of silence and sacrifice, he held my hands across his desk and begged me to go to prison. "I need you to say you were driving the car," he pleaded. His mistress, Everleigh, had committed a hit-and-run. To save her career, he wanted his pregnant wife to take the fall. When I told him I was carrying his child, he didn't celebrate. He just looked annoyed and asked me to protect "us"—by which he meant her. The stress and the secret abuse from his mother caused me to miscarry alone in a freezing apartment. While I was bleeding out, losing the only thing that mattered, Ignatz was on a live broadcast, proposing to Everleigh with a diamond the size of a quail egg. He didn't know that Everleigh had a hysterectomy years ago and could never give him the family he claimed to want. He didn't know he had just killed his only real child to protect a liar. I didn't cry. I simply placed the ultrasound photo and my diary on the cake table at his engagement party. Then I accepted a job in Florence and vanished. Five years later, when he finally found me and slashed his own wrist to prove his regret, I looked at him with dead eyes. "You're at the wrong house, Ignatz," I said, closing the door. "There is nothing here for you to fix."/0/84045/coverorgin.jpg?v=0ef914a676dcfc7d37a1965418bf466f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
