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Modern Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Reborn: After 99 Divorces

Reborn: After 99 Divorces

I stood at the edge of the freezing pond on the Boone estate, my body trembling with a fear that rattled my bones. Across from me, Amanda Olsen looked immaculate in her cashmere coat, a sharp contrast to the jagged reality I was trying to hold together. "Why?" I whispered. Amanda just smiled, admitting she killed Grandpa Boone because he actually liked me. She pulled out a thick envelope-divorce papers Cordero had signed that morning. She told me he called me a parasite and was celebrating with her the night I suffered a miscarriage. Before I could even scream, Amanda lunged and shoved me into the icy water. My heavy wool coat acted like a sponge, dragging me into the artificial abyss. I thrashed and gasped for air, but Amanda just stood on the bank, watching me drown with her hands tucked casually in her pockets. As my lungs burned and the darkness closed in, I realized I had spent my entire marriage taking their abuse. I was the "foster trash" and the "gold digger" who let them win every single time. I was dying alone, hated by the husband I had tried so hard to love, while my murderer stood victorious on the shore. I never fought back. I just let them destroy me. Then, a violent spasm tore through my body. I sat up gasping, sucking in dry, air-conditioned oxygen instead of murky pond water. I wasn't dead. I was back in the opulent master suite, surrounded by red rose petals and wedding decorations. The digital clock glowed: October 14, 2019. I had gone back five years to the very night my nightmare began. The bathroom door clicked open, and Cordero stepped out, looking at me with the same cold disgust I remembered. But as I gripped the silk sheets, a new resolve hardened in my chest. This time, I wasn't going to be the victim. This time, the Boone family was going to find out exactly what happens when you push someone too far.
The Jilted Wife's Ruthless Wall Street Return

The Jilted Wife's Ruthless Wall Street Return

For three years, Adriene Rodgers gave up her brilliant Wall Street career to be the perfect, devoted wife to billionaire Dallin Morales. But one night, she overheard him talking to his lawyer, a confession that shattered her world. "Adriene is exactly what I need her to be. A perfect social shield to keep the cameras busy so Elaina can live in peace." Elaina was his late brother's widow. Dallin coldly admitted that touching his wife made him physically sick, and he only stomached it by closing his eyes and thinking of Elaina. From that moment, the nightmare escalated. Elaina framed Adriene at every turn—slashing Adriene's beloved dog to death and throwing herself into a pool to play the victim. Dallin blindly believed the widow. He shoved Adriene so hard she cracked her head open on the marble deck, leaving her bleeding on the ground while he tenderly carried Elaina away. The ultimate betrayal came when Adriene's father went into sudden cardiac failure. Desperate, she begged Dallin for the life-saving hospital funds. Instead, Dallin ruthlessly froze every single one of her bank accounts. "Go get on your knees and apologize to Elaina. Do that, and I will unfreeze your cards." Standing in the freezing rain while Dallin's Rolls-Royce sped off to comfort Elaina's fake panic attack, Adriene's heart finally turned to ice. How could she have wasted three years of devotion on a man who would use her dying father as a bargaining chip for a manipulative parasite? She didn't shed another tear. After borrowing money to save her father, she secretly signed the divorce papers and left them in a Hermès anniversary box on his desk. Then, she pulled out her old resume and sent it directly to his biggest corporate rivals. The submissive wife was dead, and it was time to burn his empire to the ground.
Pampered By The Ruthless Billionaire Cousin

Pampered By The Ruthless Billionaire Cousin

For two years, Chloe Sullivan lived in a gilded cage, playing the perfect, quiet wife to Ryan Astor in a loveless marriage of convenience. Until a high-resolution photo of Ryan passionately kissing actress Sienna Sterling dominated the internet. Sienna's fans launched a digital crusade, hailing the affair as true love while viciously cyberbullying Chloe as a hollow, gold-digging obstacle. But public humiliation wasn't enough for Ryan. To void their ironclad prenup and leave her with absolutely nothing, he orchestrated a sickening trap. He lured her to an exclusive club under the guise of meeting her divorce lawyer, and had a sleazy friend slip a heavy drug into her water. "Once we have photos of her in bed with another man, she'll sign anything just to make it go away." Chloe's limbs went heavy as the drug burned through her veins. She was dragged down a dim hallway, shoved into a dark restroom, and felt a stranger's hands tearing at her dress. She had endured his constant indiscretions and kept her end of their bargain, yet he was willing to completely destroy her dignity and life just to play the victim. As her vision blurred and terror consumed her, she used her last ounce of strength to whisper a desperate plea for help. But Ryan's perfect setup failed. When Chloe finally opened her eyes the next morning, she wasn't surrounded by flashing cameras in a cheap hotel room. She was safe in a luxurious penthouse, and sitting beside her bed was the one man Ryan was absolutely terrified of—the true, ruthless heir to the empire, Julian Astor IV.
Thirty Days To Marry: The Doctor's Escape

Thirty Days To Marry: The Doctor's Escape

I was Ethan Dejesus’s "glorified roommate" for eight long years. Even though I was a successful doctor, I lived in the guest room of his luxury penthouse and spent my mornings making his coffee like a servant while waiting for a ring that was never coming. The breaking point came when Ethan forced me to give his mistress, Delisa, a medical exam in the VIP wing of my own hospital. He didn't just want to break my heart; he wanted to destroy my professional dignity in front of the woman he was cheating with. During a paparazzi swarm at his estate, a heavy camera lens hit me in the temple, leaving me bleeding on the floor. Ethan didn't even flinch. He stepped over my body to protect Delisa, making sure he looked like a hero for the cameras while I struggled to stand. That night, I overheard him laughing at a bar, telling his friends I was like a "stray dog" that would always crawl back for scraps no matter how much he starved me. When I finally stood up to him, he shoved me out of his SUV onto a dark highway in the middle of a rainstorm and threw my purse into the mud. I walked for miles in the freezing rain, only to get home and find Delisa already moved into the penthouse, sitting at my vanity and wearing my clothes. "You'll be back in a week when the money runs out," he laughed as I packed my only suitcase. "You're a nobody from Queens. You have nothing without me." I looked at the man I had loved for nearly a decade and realized the woman who worshipped him was dead. He had murdered her on that highway, and he didn't even care. I blocked his number, dropped my key card on the floor, and walked out into the night without looking back. I wasn't going to be his "stray dog" anymore. I was heading to a small house in the suburbs to meet Carleton Schmitt—a total stranger I had agreed to marry in a moment of drunken desperation who was now my only way out.
The Fallen Ugly Girl: Her Epic Comeback

The Fallen Ugly Girl: Her Epic Comeback

I used to be the "Princess of Cohen Pharmaceuticals," but now I'm just a girl in a soaked coat trying to hide the rolls of fat that came with the stress of my family's bankruptcy. My fiancé, Kody, was the only thing I had left to hold onto. I walked into Kody's office looking for a shred of comfort, but he slid a "Termination of Engagement" form across his mahogany desk instead. He didn't just break up with me; he looked at my size sixteen body with pure disgust and told me I was a liability to his corporate image. Before I could even process the heartbreak, his "secretary" walked in, rubbing her flat stomach and asking about their lunch plans. They had been together for six months-the entire time I was at my father's legal depositions. Kody didn't stop there; he took the keys to the Porsche I bought him, claiming it was a company asset, and drove off with his pregnant mistress, leaving me standing in the gutter. Then my phone rang-my father had collapsed from heart failure, and the hospital refused to operate without a $200,000 deposit because our insurance was frozen. I stood in the hospital lobby, bankrupt, betrayed, and watching my father die through a glass window. Kody had stripped me of everything, and the world was laughing at the "fallen princess." I was desperate, humiliated, and out of options. But I still had one thing left: a black obsidian ring given to me twelve years ago by a boy I saved from drowning. I tracked Christ Collins to a private Hamptons gala, a place where the air smells like old money and dark secrets. He didn't offer me a check; he offered me a sick game. "Swim ten laps in the outdoor pool," he whispered, his eyes icy blue and predatory as a freezing November storm raged outside. "Five million dollars if you finish. Or you can go back and watch your father die." I kicked off my heels and walked toward the frigid water.
Married To My Ex-Husband's Billionaire Uncle

Married To My Ex-Husband's Billionaire Uncle

To celebrate the end of her ten-year marriage, Isabelle Wells got blackout drunk and used a hotel keycard gifted by a friend to find an "escort." She poured out her heart about her husband Bradford cheating on her with her best friend, then dragged the handsome stranger into bed. But the next morning, the "escort" was wearing a tailored Armani suit. He wasn't a paid professional. He was Grayson Lloyd, the ruthless billionaire head of the Lloyd empire—and her ex-husband's untouchable uncle. Grayson trapped her against the door, showing her the scratch marks on his back, and coldly demanded she marry him as "compensation." Terrified, Isabelle fled, only to receive a devastating phone call. Bradford had framed her mother's small business for food contamination, threatening her with prison time. When Isabelle desperately rushed to beg Bradford for mercy, he and his mistress laughed in her face. "Get on your knees and tell everyone how you failed our marriage." Bradford sneered in the crowded bar, demanding she take the blame publicly just to save her mother. Isabelle stared at the man she had loved and supported for a decade. He didn't want to help; he just wanted to completely break her spirit and prove she was nothing without him. The despair burned away, leaving behind cold steel. Instead of kneeling, Isabelle poured a glass of champagne over Bradford's head, doused her former best friend, and walked out. Pulling out Grayson Lloyd's black business card, she dialed the devil's private number. She was going to marry the uncle, and they were all going to pay.
The Runaway Wife's Billion Dollar Secret

The Runaway Wife's Billion Dollar Secret

I was the high-society "fixer" who traded my freedom to pay off my father’s debts, living in a gilded penthouse as the perfect wife to billionaire Flint Harrington. My world was a silent, expensive cage until a mistress sent me a photo of my husband’s cufflinks on a generic hotel carpet. "He's not coming home tonight," she messaged, attaching a picture of a positive pregnancy test. The timing was lethal. Flint’s grandmother had just promised a multi-billion dollar stake in the family empire to the first heir born. When I confronted him, Flint didn't apologize; instead, he claimed he’d had a secret vasectomy years ago and that the mistress was a fraud. The room spun as the truth hit me. I was actually pregnant, and if Flint believed he was sterile, he would use the adultery clause in our prenup to brand me a liar and strip me of everything. In this family, a baby wasn't a child—it was a corporate asset that the Harrington Trust would legally seize the moment I gave birth. I stood there, watching my husband argue about his virility while I carried the very secret that would make me a fugitive. I was trapped in a marriage where my own body was a crime scene, and my husband was the judge and executioner. Then, my hidden burner phone buzzed at 3 AM with a melody I thought was buried in a grave. "Jo? It's me. I'm alive." It was Caleb, my first love who had been declared dead in action years ago. Flint smashed the phone in a dark rage before I could answer, but it was too late. I grabbed my passport and walked out of the penthouse. I was done fixing things for the Harringtons. I was taking their heir, and I was going to find my ghost.
Flash Marriage To My Dead Husband

Flash Marriage To My Dead Husband

To pay for my sister's life-saving heart medication, I sold myself to the notoriously ruthless Roman family as a surrogate bride for their crippled, scarred heir. But the moment the one-million-dollar check cleared, my grandfather froze the medical account. He ordered me to steal the Roman Group's financial secrets, threatening to cut my sister's life support if I refused. I thought I was just a desperate girl trying to save her family, but my grandfather sneered and revealed the horrifying truth. I wasn't a bride; I was a sacrificial lamb. Twenty years ago, my family allegedly murdered the Roman patriarchs. My marriage was just the Romans' sick revenge plot to torture a Hayes bloodline. When I refused to be his spy, my own parents begged me to submit just to save their wealth. They watched coldly as my grandfather's guards dragged me toward the basement to break my spirit. I thrashed against their iron grips, suffocating in absolute despair. Why was I the one paying the price for a blood feud I knew nothing about? Was I just going to rot in the dark, a discarded pawn for both families? Before they could lock me away, the heavy mahogany doors exploded inward. The Roman estate's terrifying, breathtakingly handsome "executor"-the man who was supposed to be just a bodyguard-stepped through the dust with an armed tactical team. He pulled me behind his broad back, his dark eyes locking onto my grandfather with lethal amusement. "Who gave you the nerve to touch the Roman family's bride?"
After Divorce:My arrogant ex-husband regrets

After Divorce:My arrogant ex-husband regrets

I sat alone at my long marble dining table, staring at a plate of cold truffle risotto. My husband, Jere, was late again, claiming he was stuck in a "war zone" of a board meeting for a multi-billion dollar merger. A single Instagram notification shattered the silence. It was a photo of a candlelit birthday dinner, featuring a man's hand resting on a white tablecloth. I recognized the slight veins, the jagged scar on the thumb, and the navy-faced Patek Philippe watch I had spent six months tracking down as a wedding gift. Jere wasn't in a boardroom; he was celebrating his ex-girlfriend Irina's birthday while texting me to "don't wait up." The next morning, I followed him to a VIP hospital wing. I watched through a cracked door as my husband cuddled a five-year-old boy and whispered tender promises to Irina. When he came home, he tried to buy my silence with a rare pink diamond bracelet, but I found the receipt: he had bought two identical ones. He had branded his wife and his mistress with matching jewelry, using hidden trackers to keep us both on a leash. When I confronted him, he didn't flinch. He coldly reminded me that he owned my father's massive debts and could send him to prison for insolvency fraud with one phone call. "Stop with the attitude, Deliah," he said. I felt like a ghost haunting my own life, trapped in a gilded cage by the man who paid for my mother's heart surgery while keeping a secret family across town. The humiliation peaked at our rescheduled anniversary dinner when Jere received a text, threw a stack of hundreds at me like I was a stranger, and abandoned me in a crowded restaurant to rush back to her. "Pay the bill," he commanded before walking out. Standing in the wreckage of a shattered crystal vase back at the penthouse, I realized my silence was the only thing keeping his empire standing. I pulled the crumpled divorce papers from my purse and signed my name with a steady hand. I wasn't just walking away; I was calling his sister to help me burn his perfect world to the ground.
Rejecting The Tycoon: My Secret Billionaire Life

Rejecting The Tycoon: My Secret Billionaire Life

Arlie Solomon walked into her grandfather's funeral in faded jeans, ignoring the disgusted stares of her elite family who viewed her as a forgotten country outcast. But the grand hall froze when the lawyer read the final will. Her grandfather had left his entire billionaire empire—and an irrevocable marriage contract with Kerr Ward, the city's most powerful bachelor—solely to Arlie. The family erupted in venomous rage. Her uncle and cousins relentlessly tried to humiliate her, banishing the new billionaire to a dusty servant's room and mocking her lack of a high school diploma. When petty bullying failed, her uncle slammed a contract on the desk, threatening to publicly disown her if she didn't sign over the company. "You are tearing this family apart. Sign this, or we are done with you!" They thought she was just a helpless, uneducated girl they could easily crush. They had no idea that her five-year absence was a complete void—a "digital ghost" status so heavily encrypted that even Kerr Ward's top-tier intelligence network couldn't find a single trace of her existence. Faced with their ultimate threat, Arlie didn't panic. She calmly pulled a pre-drafted legal document from her backpack to permanently sever their family ties. "Once you sign this, you are legally strangers trespassing in my private residence. I will have you escorted off the property by the police." The charade of the ignorant country girl was over; it was time to clean house.
On Her Knees

On Her Knees

The back of his hand hit my face for the third time but this slap really stung. The force of it rocked my head back but it wasn't enough to knock me off my feet. "Kneel," he commanded again, his voice thick with fury. I brought the back of one of my hands, that were bound in front of my body by rope, to wipe away the trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth. "I do not kneel," I whispered. I know what kind of things they made girls do on their knees. He would have to beat me senseless, kill me even to get me to do those things. The man's green eyes, the only thing I was able to clearly see in the darkness of this windowless room, glinted. He nodded, an unsettling evil grin stretching across his pale face. "Then you will stand." His fist hit me in the center of my chest and I hunched over, trying to breathe past the pain. Then he bent to whisper in my ear, grabbing a fistful of my dark curls, "But I promise you will wish you had gotten down on your knees." For Teryn Gardener, the truth behind human trafficking and the sex trade was far darker than she could have imagined; as if the institution wasn't terrible in and of itself. Behind the prostitutes are their pimps and behind it all are monsters beyond her wildest imaginations: bloodthirsty vampires who kidnap and enslave human girls in cheap brothels. They plan to use Teryn; to break her will but she refuses to cry. She refuses to bend the knee. She refuses to submit. She is intent on staying alive and getting out of there without having anything to do with the monsters she has come to despise. But what is she to do when her resistance leads her into the arms of one of the monsters? Will their senses of will clash or will Giovanni be the one to bring her to heel?