Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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Betrayal in the Family Home
Carol and Frank, a retired principal and fire chief, were weeks away from their 50th wedding anniversary, enjoying the quiet comfort of their Connecticut home. They valued respect and genuine affection far more than material things. Then, their son Michael and his materialistic wife, Tiffany, "gifted" them an extravagant smart refrigerator. Just days later, Tiffany called, her voice sharp, flatly demanding $8,000. This "gift," she declared, was something Carol and Frank now owed them for. Carol was left utterly aghast by the audacious bill. But the true betrayal unfurled when Tiffany, brandishing stolen emails, wickedly accused Carol of secretly funneling her son's inheritance to a "secret daughter," Izzy, demanding $8,000 as compensation. The shock and venom triggered a severe panic attack, sending Carol to the hospital. How could her own son stand by, silent and meek, as his wife spewed such vile lies, claiming his mother had betrayed their entire family? The bitterness of this ingratitude, this monstrous accusation, cut Carol deeper than any pain. Lying vulnerable in her hospital bed, a cold, hard resolve began to set in. Then, Izzy herself arrived, the successful lawyer Tiffany branded a "gold-digger," casually mentioning the antique sapphire pendant she'd couriered as Carol's anniversary gift. A gift Carol had never received. This wasn't just about money or betrayal anymore; it was about theft and desecration. And Carol, the retired principal who knew manipulation when she saw it, was ready to teach a final, devastating lesson./0/83075/coverorgin.jpg?v=ade98cc850e83748d7961fade94e7a99&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Chef Who Refused to Break
Sarah Miller was the golden child of the Culinary Institute of America Prime, her perfect knife cuts and innovative dishes earning her an easy path to culinary stardom. Then, out of nowhere, Brittany, the clumsy, struggling student, presented a dish that was not just extraordinary, but impossibly perfect, far beyond her capabilities. My own critically acclaimed duck was overshadowed, then my skills mysteriously vanished, causing me to fumble even the simplest techniques. Dean Antoine, my mentor, publicly accused me of fraud, expelling me from the prestigious CIAP in front of baffled critics. I was left broken, my career ruined, cleaning grease traps in a rundown diner, while Brittany became a national sensation. How could her sudden genius be so flawless, so familiar, borrowing my very ideas before I could even develop them? Was I going crazy, or was this calculated? Then I remembered the tiny, almost invisible blinking device Brittany wore. A cold realization hit me: her "genius" wasn't her own; it was stolen. Whatever it was, it was also actively draining me. They wanted me gone, but they had awakened something far more dangerous: a chef who understood true skill wasn't about flashy tricks, it was about rock-solid fundamentals, and I would master every single one to expose the truth and reclaim my name./0/86644/coverorgin.jpg?v=2666ab8d2f82237cae5c31a78be6d273&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Unwanted Wife, Unseen Torment
Another wave of pain hit me, a familiar, gut-wrenching cramp. I was bleeding again. This was the tenth time. Each time it happened, my husband, Liam Stone, would bring a woman home. A woman who looked exactly like his first love. Tonight was no different. He stood in our bedroom doorway, a woman by his side he introduced as Maya, flatly stating, "She' ll be staying with us for a while." His eyes never met mine; they were solely on her. Then, his words like stones, he commanded, "You' ll be serving us." I pushed myself up, the fresh bloodstain on the mattress a grim testament to my latest loss. My body ached, my world felt numb, yet the familiar routine played out as I fetched the wine. I returned to find them on my bed, Liam kissing her, a scene I had been forced to witness nine times before. A single drop of red wine accidentally splashed onto Maya' s pristine white dress. She gasped, theatrically exclaiming, "My dress! It' s ruined! This is a limited edition!" Liam' s face turned to thunder. He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "You clumsy bitch," he snarled, then pulled out his phone. He started a live broadcast, aiming the camera at my face, then at Maya' s stained dress, and finally, the blood on the bed. "Look at her," he boomed to the world. "This is my wife, Chloe Miller. She can' t even do a simple task without messing it up." Then, he shoved my face closer to Maya' s dress, barking, "Lick it clean." My blood ran cold. "Liam, please," I begged, humiliation clawing at my throat. "Don' t do this." "Lick it," he repeated, his voice menacing. "Or I' ll find other ways to make you pay. Maybe you' d prefer to serve more than just one of my guests tonight?" His threat hung in the air, vile and real. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, the taste of wine and cheap perfume filling my mouth. He laughed, a harsh, grating sound, then released my hair, and I collapsed. "Get out," he spat. "And don' t come back in here tonight." I crawled out, another sharp pain tearing through my abdomen, warm blood gushing between my legs. He left me in the yard, naked, bleeding onto the cold, damp grass. Ten miscarriages. Each time, a new woman, a new cruelty. Lying there, under the cold moon, clarity dawned. This would never end. He would only ever destroy me. As the last warmth left my body, a new resolve settled in. It was time to see Arthur Stone. My "good fortune" was broken; I couldn't give Liam a child. I was done. I had to leave. Arthur, his face etched with mirroring grief, agreed to help me. But before I could escape, Maya found it-the small, simple urn holding the ashes of my nine miscarried children. Liam, ever her protector, kicked me into unconsciousness. I awoke to a new horror: a video compilation of my most private moments with him, twisted clips set to mocking music, broadcast for the world to see. He then forced me to donate blood until my heart nearly stopped. He froze my bank accounts. I crawled home from the hospital, only to find Maya burning my mother' s jade hairpin, my last connection to her. The urn was gone, its contents scattered. The next morning, the nine pear trees I' d planted were uprooted, replaced by rose bushes for her. That was the end. With Arthur' s help, I left the country, divorce papers filed on my behalf. Liam laughed when he received them, certain I' d crawl back. He was wrong. He only realized his mistake when he discovered Maya' s lies, the truth about her, and me. He tried to win me back. But it was too late. I was gone, never coming back. His family' s business collapsed, his health failed. The last I heard, Liam Stone, once the man who had everything, was a reclusive, crippled beggar, haunting his desolate mansion, obsessively planting pear trees and crying out my name in his madness./1/109680/coverorgin.jpg?v=c892a84fd8bfc93c4b174602d5ab0581&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The CEO's Betrayal: My Escape
After eight years, I watched the man I loved, Ethan Morgan, celebrate a success he' d stolen from me. He stood on stage with his assistant, Bella, giving her the credit and the massive commission that was rightfully mine. His CEO smile, once reserved for me, was now exclusively for her. He claimed it was punishment for my mother' s engagement to his wealthy father, calling her a gold-digger and me a co-conspirator in her "scheme." Later, he texted that he was "out of town for a few days." But on Instagram, I saw the truth: a selfie of him and Bella on his private jet, on a romantic getaway. In the background of their photo was a small, silver-framed picture of us from our trip to Santorini. The violation was absolute. Our entire life together was a lie. That was it. I sent my resignation, effective immediately, and booked a one-way ticket to Oregon. I was done being his victim./0/85022/coverorgin.jpg?v=d54ee61e22e334fa0363cf851489a4cd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Love, Loss, And A Bitter Recipe
The stage lights seared, the bitterness of defeat choking me. Julian Vance, my mentor, my guide, held Chloe Davies' hand high in victory – my best friend, clutching my trophy, won with my family' s recipes. Cameras zoomed in on her tear-streaked, happy face as I screamed accusations, met only with pity. My desperate attempt at sabotage backfired, solidifying my reputation as a sore loser, my career over, my family' s legacy a joke. Humiliation burned, consuming everything until nothing was left. Then, I blinked. Harsh fluorescent kitchen lights, the metallic scent of stainless steel, the sweet aroma of butter and sugar – I was back. Back to the final patisserie presentation, clutching a piping bag, standing between Chloe and Julian. He inspected our cakes, mine flawless, hers a rich chocolate raspberry torte – the first recipe she stole. "Your technique is flawless, Ava," he' d said, "but it has no soul." Then he' d turned to Chloe, his voice dripping with paternal pride, "This, my dear, has heart. A talent that cannot be taught." Chloe had blushed, claiming it an "old family recipe." A lie. My family' s recipe. He declared her the winner, his prodigy. His proprietary gleam wasn' t just simple favoritism; it was calculated. He never just witnessed her betrayal; he orchestrated it. My ruin was his design, a deliberate elevation of her, a calculated dismissal of me. This time, there would be no screaming. This time, I knew./0/81129/coverorgin.jpg?v=cf5711d94a1a70040568df2881845561&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Reclaiming Her Crown: The Sterling Saga
Sarah Miller was the quiet, scar-faced tech genius at Apex Innovations, engaged to the charming CEO, Ethan Hayes. She just wanted to build something amazing, leading Apex' s most critical project, Nightshade, her professional pride and joy. Then, Ethan introduced Brittany Evans, a bubbly, blonde "coding prodigy" intern. Tasked with mentoring her, I quickly saw through Brittany's dazzling smile: she was utterly incompetent, yet constantly slipped into Ethan's private office. My honest performance review, highlighting her lack of technical depth, became my corporate death sentence. The next day, Ethan publicly stripped me of everything. My lead role on Nightshade, my groundbreaking project, and even my earned Apex Innovator Fellowship-all given to Brittany. He then stood before the entire engineering department and, with icy words, accused me of "pettiness" and "jealousy." The applause for Brittany was a hammer blow, each clap echoing my humiliation and betrayal. How could the man I loved, the man who supposedly protected me, do this? The injustice was unbearable. All my loyalty, my years of work, thrown away for an intern who spent two weeks charming the boss. It made no sense. Why would Ethan sacrifice his company' s future for her? My mind reeled, desperate for an answer that wasn't just "he's a fool." As I walked out of Apex, leaving my old life behind, something shifted. The glasses came off. My mousy facade crumbled. The quiet engineer was dead. Because the truth was far more complex: Sarah Miller was a carefully constructed lie. And now, the real Sarah-a Sterling heiress, a spy with a score to settle-was finally ready to play./0/85347/coverorgin.jpg?v=cbd68d59ad9d952769cddc55b8016380&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Betrayal, Her Unborn Child
My family was a masterpiece, but underneath, it was rotting. We were the envy of the art world, with my formidable mother, respected father, and charming brother. And then there was me, Chloe, the sensitive artist they cultivated like a prized orchid. But I felt the chill of a long-buried secret, making me a stranger in my own home. Then I met Liam, an architect who built solid things, and for the first time, I felt seen. His love was a warm room in my cold house, and when I became pregnant, I imagined our perfect future. "We're pregnant," I whispered to him, and his face lit up with overwhelming joy. He became the doting husband, planning our child' s future, a warmth I' d craved my whole life. Life was perfect, until the prenatal genetic screening results arrived. He stood rigid, staring at his computer, the warmth draining from the room. "Liam, what is it?" I asked, my voice trembling as he turned, his face a mask of cold fury. "We have to get rid of it," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "The baby?" I stammered, unable to process his words. "Don't call it that," he snapped back, demanding I terminate the pregnancy tomorrow. Before I could react, my family walked in, and I rushed to them, crying, "Liam… he wants me to have an abortion! He won't tell me why!" My mother' s perfectly manicured nails dug into my skin, her voice like chipping ice. "He's right, Chloe," she said, her grim resolve mirroring Liam's. "You have to do this," my father added, his tone leaving no room for argument. My brother sneered, "Don't be stupid, Chloe. You can't have this… thing." They closed in, calling my child "unnatural" and "tainted." Their persuasion turned to force, dragging me towards a car that would take me to a clinic. I fought, screamed, and clawed, a wild animal fighting for its young. I escaped into a labyrinth of city alleys, their footsteps pounding behind me. I slipped, crashing hard, and felt a sharp, searing pain. A crimson stain spread across my dress; my baby, my innocent life, was slipping away. My family stood over me, their faces impassive, utterly devoid of love, as I blacked out. I awoke in a sterile mental institution, committed by them. For months, I was a ghost in a white gown, drugged, tormented, chipped away until I died, alone, my family' s secret safe. Then, I opened my eyes. I was in my bed, whole, my stomach flat. I scrambled for my phone; it was the day the genetic test results were due. The day my world had ended. And it was all about to happen again. But this time, I had a memory, a prophecy. I had died, and now I was back, filled with a cold, clear purpose: to get the report, to understand why, and to make them pay./1/109681/coverorgin.jpg?v=b442710f10428727b976da2aefa8a729&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Eight Years Of His Cold Betrayal
After eight years in a cold marriage, I watched my husband, Damian, run past me during a raging fire. He ignored my screams, his only focus on saving another woman. That night, he coldly admitted he never loved me. Our entire marriage was just a business deal he was forced into. But his betrayal didn't end there. His mistress, Aida, framed my innocent younger brother for a crime he didn't commit. Damian believed her lies without question. He stood by as she had my brother murdered in his hospital bed. He even forced me to crawl over broken glass to apologize for "upsetting" her. The final blow came when he threatened me with my mother' s heirloom box, not knowing it held my brother' s ashes. He had taken everything from me-my love, my family, my dignity. He thought he had broken me. But he only forged me into a weapon. Now, I'm back. And as the new majority shareholder of his company, I'm here to make him pay for every last sin./0/22080/coverorgin.jpg?v=0fef1b0e62b94a2cd66b5a0394c2bd05&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Loving an alien
An experiment resulted in entry of two alien human hybrids to Earth. They fell in love with the human girls. Rowen: I think I love her. I think I can't continue living without her. But I must leave this planet soon. I should leave her alone in grief. Can she be happy if I leave? Should I continue loving her and leave without a notice? Is it right? Hazel: I have fallen for him without knowing anything about him. Should I confess my feelings and be together with him or continue staying as his friend? Does he love me back when I confess or leave me shattered by rejecting me? Will they overcome their confusions and live a lovely life together or go in their separate paths? What is their destiny which brought a human and an alien together? After knowing his identity, will the love still continue? Read the story to find out the love story of them./0/67179/coverorgin.jpg?v=92820b55ddaf3bc2d667aca57b1777e7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Scorned Bride Turned Out To Be Legendary
Rumors claimed that Fernanda, newly back with her family, was nothing more than a violent country bumpkin. Fernanda just flashed a casual, dismissive grin in response. Another rumor suggested that the usually rational Cristian had lost all sense, madly in love with Fernanda. This frustrated her. She could tolerate gossip about herself, but slander against her beloved crossed the line! Gradually, as Fernanda's multiple identities as a celebrated designer, a savvy gamer, an acclaimed painter, and a successful business magnate came to light, everyone realized they were the ones who had been fooled./1/109682/coverorgin.jpg?v=f9a5860fbeaadba019c69f34a5b84643&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Prison To My Billionaire's Embrace
On the anniversary of my mother's death, I found my husband in our bed with my best friend. The betrayal shattered me, just as a similar affair had driven my mother to suicide years before. Consumed by a blinding rage, I exposed their secrets to the world and destroyed her career. My vengeance was swift and brutal, but it was I who ended up behind bars for a year and a half. They watched as I was dragged away, their faces a mask of disgust. They built a life on the ruins of mine, while I was left with nothing but the four walls of a prison cell. But in that desolate place, my anger finally burned out, replaced by a quiet resolve to rebuild. Five years later, I walked out a new woman. I had found peace, a new family, and a love I never thought possible. I thought the past was buried, until I ran into him again. He looked at my simple dress with pity, offering me money and a ride home, completely unaware that the man waiting for me there could buy and sell him a thousand times over./0/84375/coverorgin.jpg?v=bc8410fbae472bbd8497aca8cf12a6ce&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Stolen Kidney: My Husband's Betrayal
Six months ago, our perfect family shattered. My son, Leo, suffered a profound brain injury, and I lost a kidney in a traumatic hit-and-run. My husband, Andrew, was my rock, always there with a soothing hand, a comforting word. But then, I heard it. A whispered confession from his office. Andrew, my loving husband, orchestrated Leo' s accident to gain an inheritance for his secret son. My hit-and-run was a setup, designed to harvest my kidney for his mistress, who needed a transplant. The man I married, the father of my child, tried to murder our son and carved me up like an animal for his other woman. He forced me to be a human blood bag for her, then threatened to bleed Leo dry and replace him with his illegitimate child. The ultimate horror struck at a party, when Andrew, consumed by rage, shoved Leo, causing a severe head injury. His ultimate act of betrayal? Leaving our bleeding son to fuss over his mistress' s minor scratch. How could the man I loved be such a monster? How could he betray us so utterly? The rage, the grief, the sheer disbelief threatened to consume me. But as he walked away, abandoning our child on the floor, something within me snapped. I would not break. I would play along, biding my time. My son was not an accident; he was a target. And now, so was I. But they had underestimated this mother' s rage. I was going to fight back./0/80482/coverorgin.jpg?v=6a0ffc6efc11decfcde419a3a1b39d2f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Hidden Founder's Fury
My daughter, Lily, just won the Grand Prize at the California State Youth Tech Challenge, securing a coveted spot at MIT’s summer program. Pure joy lit up her face after years of dedication to her "Eco-Clean Bot." But the applause died instantly as a woman, Jessica Hayes, announced her intention to buy the award for her son with a $500,000 donation. The organizer, citing a "sponsor’s priority clause," surprisingly agreed. Jessica and her smug son, Brandon, mocked Lily, sneering that her hard work was useless against their family’s money. Then, the man I trusted, Mark Olsen, CEO of *my* company and Lily’s father, brazenly sided with them. He publicly declared Jessica the "love of his life" and abandoned us, choosing his mistress over his daughter’s dream. My heart shattered watching Lily’s face crumple, seeing her future stolen by this betrayal. How could the man whose career I built, using my own money, so cruelly humiliate us both? But as he sealed his fate, denying his own family, I knew this charade had served its purpose. The time for the true power behind Nova Dynamics to step into the light, and exact a cold, precise vengeance, had arrived./0/81131/coverorgin.jpg?v=cfd4ead049de097a019484eb26aa749e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Servant to Sovereign
Thanksgiving Day dawned, and like every year, I, Sarah Miller, had toiled alone since dawn, preparing a lavish feast for my ungrateful family. As we finally sat down to eat, my mother, Eleanor, announced her estate plans: her house, her cabin, and all her savings went to my brothers, Mark and Ben, and their families, while I was simply assigned, openly, the "daughter's duty" of becoming her live-in caregiver. My brothers chimed in, echoing how it "made sense" because I was "good at taking care of people" and didn't have a "demanding job," effectively erasing my sacrifices and our own family' s small life. Years of quietly giving everything, from quitting my job to care for my father alone, to secretly funneling our meager savings to my brothers, culminated in this brazen dismissal of my worth, leaving me with a bitter, burning question: what exactly had my mother ever done for me, besides exploit and ignore me? As their smug faces expected my silent submission, something inside me snapped, and with a guttural cry, I heaved, sending the entire Thanksgiving dinner-turkey, mashed potatoes, shattered china-crashing to the floor, marking the explosive end of my servitude and the beginning of my fight for freedom./1/103518/coverorgin.jpg?v=421b1207be2a6d94e3a47abc5cd13e0c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Political Wife To Power Player
I was the perfect political wife, the brilliant strategist behind my husband Hamilton' s mayoral campaign. Our life was a masterpiece of ambition and domestic bliss. Then, a single message on his laptop shattered it all: a hotel key card, a winking devil emoji, and a note about their next "policy discussion." My first thought was our rebellious daughter, Bryanna. But the truth was far worse. The affair was with a young staffer, Kalie. And Bryanna wasn't a victim; she was an accomplice. I overheard her telling Hamilton that Kalie "gets him" and that I was just a "drama queen." She was covering for them, idolizing the woman destroying our family. My own daughter saw me as an obstacle, a burden. She and my husband were in on the lie together, laughing at me behind my back. They thought I was a fool. They were wrong. They broke the wife, but they unleashed the strategist. On election eve, in front of the entire city and live television cameras, I decided I would introduce the world to the real Hamilton Fields./0/81780/coverorgin.jpg?v=7064f4841f2fbd9ed9899c794ef4196a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Happily Ever After, Without You
Five years ago, I drove away from Boston, vowing never to look back at the city that had shattered my world. I had meticulously rebuilt my life in Portland, nurturing a freelance design business, a loving marriage with my supportive husband, David, and a joyful life with our son, Leo. But a mandatory design conference now pulled me back, forcing me to confront the ghosts of a past I had believed were long buried. The first ghost appeared in the form of Jessica Bellwether, a former sorority sister, whose familiar laugh cut through the convention center's buzz. She approached me with that same pitying smile, mentioning "him." "He still talks about you," she whispered conspiratorially, her words a deliberate jab. "If you just admitted your mistake, he' d take you back." Mistake? That singular word plunged me back into the nightmare of my own rehearsal dinner. I was there, in a beautiful white dress, standing before two hundred of Boston' s elite, when Ethan Hayes, my fiancé, produced a sheaf of printed messages. He publicly branded me a deceitful woman, twisting my most intimate expressions of grief for my beloved, deceased brother, Mark, into fabricated evidence of a secret lover. Chloe Vance, his ambitious colleague, had orchestrated the deception, and he, in his blind fury and pride, had cast me aside without a single question. My world disintegrated on that elegant ballroom floor, a public execution orchestrated by the man who had promised me forever. How could he have so easily devoured such a monstrous lie, so readily destroying me and the memory of my brother? The sheer unfairness and the profound pain of his betrayal had lingered for half a decade, a scar hidden beneath my newfound peace. Now, Ethan, hearing whispers of my quiet happiness, has tracked me across the country. He' s invaded my serene Portland life, demanding answers, accusing me of abandoning him. His audacious presence has rekindled a righteous anger I swore I' d never feel again. This time, I won' t just walk away; I will speak my truth, and he will finally hear the brutal reality of what he truly did./1/114550/coverorgin.jpg?v=1e4522fa7c7f9802d080bd64568dad15&imageMogr2/format/webp)
She Vanished: His World Froze Over
My husband, Christopher Kramer, was Manhattan's most notorious playboy, famous for his seasonal affairs with nineteen-year-old girls. For five years, I believed I was the exception who had finally tamed him. That illusion shattered when my father needed a bone marrow transplant. The perfect donor was a nineteen-year-old named Iris. On the day of the surgery, my father died because Christopher chose to stay in bed with her instead of taking her to the hospital. His betrayal didn't stop there. When an elevator plunged, he pulled her out first and left me to fall. When a chandelier crashed, he shielded her body with his and stepped over me as I lay bleeding. He even stole my dead father's last gift to me and gave it to her. Through it all, he called me selfish and ungrateful, completely oblivious to the fact that my father was already gone. So I quietly signed the divorce papers and vanished. The day I left, he texted me. "Good news, I found another donor for your dad. Let's go schedule the surgery."/0/81132/coverorgin.jpg?v=bb6dc549e8f9b4283273d7fa769d501c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Bride Who Vanished: His Public Humiliation
I woke up to the acrid smell of smoke and the piercing screams from the university's burning arts building. My twin sister, Chloe, was trapped inside. My boyfriend, Ryan Ashton, stood poised to run, a heroic silhouette against the licking flames. But a memory, sharp and cold, sliced through me – my first life, a nightmare I' d lived and died. I remembered him shoving me, my hand smashing against debris, crushing the bones and ending my promising violin career. Chloe died anyway, yet he blamed me, publicly shaming me. He then married me. Not for love, but for a twisted, prolonged revenge. He systematically broke me down, convinced everyone I was a monster, even my own parents who coldly agreed, calling me selfish. My existence became a quiet, constant hell until he locked me in a suffocating room, leaving me to die. Now, it was happening again: the fire, the screams, Ryan ready to play the savior. Every agonizing moment, every betrayal, every whispered accusation from my family hammered in my mind. The sheer, burning injustice of my first life fueled a new, chilling resolve. But this time, I knew. This time, I would break the cycle. I stepped aside. He charged headlong into the inferno, screaming Chloe' s name, never once looking back at me. My hands remained perfect, unscathed. My future was mine alone. This time, destiny would be rewritten. This time, my revenge would be a symphony./1/102546/coverorgin.jpg?v=4bf56ad1b06588716bab275aedf5df23&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Discovered His Will, Faked My Death
After seven years of marriage, I discovered my billionaire husband Grayson' s will. He was leaving his entire fortune not to me, but to his young protégée, Kira. My life was a lie; I was just a placeholder, a womb for the heir his mistress couldn't carry. When I demanded a divorce, he laughed. "You're pregnant, Elyse. And you think you're just going to walk away with my child?" He tore up the papers, threatening to use his immense power to take our baby. Then Kira, his mistress, showed up at my door, confirming my worst fear: Grayson wanted my child to raise as his and hers. She even sent me a photo of him asleep in her bed, wearing the pajamas I bought him, with a chilling message. "He hopes our baby has a dimple too. For me." I was chosen because I resembled her. My son was meant to be her child. That night, I vanished. The news later reported a pregnant woman, identified by my wedding ring, had died in a clinic fire. But I was already on a plane, my hand on my belly, escaping to a new life./0/83404/coverorgin.jpg?v=1160cc9331f8896ec62aba1351c60ff2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
