Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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Six Years Buried: The Daughter I Never Forgot
Six years ago, U.S. Marshal Sarah Miller vanished. She was buried under a new identity and a surgeon's scalpel, believed dead after a top-secret mission. Now, she's back, a ghost in her old life. But her heart hammers for one person: her daughter, Lily. Arriving at Lily's elite boarding school, Sarah expects a reunion, not a nightmare. She watches, horrified, as Lily is slapped and publicly humiliated by a vicious, spoiled girl named Isabella. All while the very people Sarah entrusted Lily's care to—her late husband's best friend, a respected Judge, her childhood companion, and her former housekeeper—stand by, comforting the attacker and calling Lily "Izzy." Her "guardians," dripping in designer labels and fake concern, have not only renamed Lily "Izzy," but have crowned Isabella "Lily Vance," heiress to Sarah's vast estate, openly referring to Sarah as "deceased." Her own child is kicked, ridiculed as a "charity case," and a "bad seed," while the imposter thrives on stolen wealth and affection. The monstrous, calculated betrayal cuts deeper than any physical wound; how could those she trusted most twist her meticulously laid plans into such a vile deception? But then, a raw, desperate whisper from her daughter, "Mommy?" shatters Sarah's disguise and ignites the rage of a mother scorned. The U.S. Marshal is back, and she's activating "Phoenix Protocol" to reclaim every stolen piece of her daughter's life and make every single betrayer pay./1/115541/coverorgin.jpg?v=de97b05ee6a42824a94fc043726aff19&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Reborn From Flames: His Secret Triplets
Five years ago, Alisson Ford's adoptive family drugged her and offered her to a repulsive old investor to save their failing company. She escaped the trap, only to accidentally stumble into the bed of Jake Yates, the most terrifying and powerful billionaire in the city. Months later, while she was painfully giving birth to triplets in a freezing basement, her adoptive sister Bella tracked her down. Bella violently snatched Alisson's firstborn son to pass off as her own ticket into the Yates family. Then, Bella smiled as her men poured gasoline over the mattress and set the room on fire, leaving Alisson and her two remaining newborns to burn alive. Shielding her fragile babies with her own blistering skin in the roaring inferno, Alisson's despair turned into absolute, blood-soaked hatred. She couldn't fathom how the family she had trusted for years could steal her flesh and blood and condemn her to such a horrific death. Five years later, Alisson returns to the city as a powerful trauma specialist. She steps right into Jake and Bella's grand engagement banquet, watching coldly as her five-year-old daughter runs straight up to the untouchable billionaire and hugs his leg. "You are a bad daddy! You abandoned Mommy and us, and now you are going to marry an ugly old witch!"/1/103212/coverorgin.jpg?v=aca3416ce19903134b10736fdb744c91&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Choosing The Forgotten, Finding My King
For five years, I was blindly devoted to my fiancé, Austen Griffin. My family's power was the only reason he was about to be named heir to the entire Griffin fortune. But on the night of the announcement, he arrived late with my sister, Dennie, a fresh hickey on his neck. He cornered me, demanding a prenuptial agreement. "No shared accounts. No shared bedroom. And no questions about my life," he whispered. "You get the name, I get my freedom." In my past life, their public betrayal broke me. He used my love to secure his power, then cast me aside, leaving me to die alone while he and my sister enjoyed the fortune I handed them. But when I opened my eyes, I was back at the gala, moments before the decision. This time, when the family patriarch asked me to name my choice, I looked past Austen' s triumphant smirk and smiled. "I choose Kolton Griffin," I announced, my voice clear and cold, selecting the crippled, forgotten cousin he despised most./0/84394/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106204601&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Secrets of a Killer Father
My daughter, Molly, lay frail in the hospital bed, her future hanging by a thread. The doctor's words were stark: an incredibly expensive experimental therapy was her only hope. My ex-husband, Matthew, stood by, his charming facade crumbling as he refused to pay, citing "scam" and "natural remedies." My heart ached with a familiar, searing pain. I remembered this scene – the same cold refusal, the same sweet-sounding lies that doomed her, and me, in another life. He stood there, the man who had abandoned us before, the man who ultimately murdered us. This time, however, I was ready. This time, I had a plan. My voice, unnervingly calm, cut through the tension. "If you won't pay, Matthew, I understand. We'll go to Oregon. They have a law there – the Dignity with Death Act. Physician-assisted suicide." The room plunged into shocked silence. Gasps. Disbelief. Even Molly, my sweet, brave girl, looked stunned. How could a mother even suggest such a thing? What monstrous desperation, or sheer madness, would drive her to this unthinkable act, to choose death for her child? But they didn't know what I knew. They didn't know the dark secret Matthew was hiding, the true horror he had planned. And this time, I wouldn't let him get away with it. This time, I' d drag his true intentions into the light, even if I had to burn down everything around me to expose him./1/117488/coverorgin.jpg?v=d6cdd3008c3a40105dbd5959d4e78dd5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
No Longer His Walking Blood Bank
For two years, Chloe played the perfect wife to billionaire Julian Sinclair to save her family's business. But she quickly learned she was nothing more than a walking blood bank for his childhood sweetheart, Ava, forced to donate her rare blood under the threat of her family's financial ruin. Julian publicly humiliated Chloe by bringing Ava to her birthday party, letting the mistress flaunt the custom diamond necklace meant for Chloe's anniversary. When Ava deliberately smashed her own head into a table to frame her, Julian didn't hesitate to protect the other woman. "What the hell is wrong with you? I never want to see you again!" He even left a check on the nightstand after a loveless night, coldly ordering Chloe to take a morning-after pill to erase any chance of a child. Chloe couldn't understand why he never took off his wedding ring, or why he tenderly kissed her and begged her not to go when he was drunk. Why give her a fragile spark of hope, only to rush back to Ava the next morning over a faked pregnancy? Staring at his dead eyes as he ordered the butler to throw her packed bags out, the illusion finally shattered. Chloe simply nodded, picked up her suitcase, and walked out into the biting snow to reclaim her life./0/99319/coverorgin.jpg?v=bbb4eed9d09d931cfd44a8fb2babf87f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Love Built On Silent Lies
For ten years, my world was silent. Bryan was my protector, my voice, my everything, shielding me from a world I couldn't hear after my parents died saving him. But when a new girl, Astrid, arrived and started a cruel war against me, I suddenly regained my hearing-only to discover the horrifying truth. Bryan wasn't my protector; he was the mastermind. "He loves seeing you squirm," Astrid sneered, her voice a venomous whisper I could now hear perfectly. "He told me he gets off on it. He hates your blank face." Their twisted game was to make the "emotionless Elinor" cry. My pain was their entertainment. The boy I trusted, the family I loved-it was all built on a foundation of guilt and deceit. He thought I was a silent, helpless victim he could control. He thought I would endure his betrayal forever. He was wrong. So, I jumped from the third-floor window, orchestrating a public "suicide" to expose their crimes. As the world erupted in chaos and his perfect life shattered, I knew my real story was just beginning./1/112297/coverorgin.jpg?v=dd4b2598d8e34bb6161e0790fb75aa0b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Reborn Heiress: Betting On Chaos
I woke up gasping for air, my fingers clawing at a neck that was smooth instead of bruised. The air smelled of lavender and expensive starch, not the metallic tang of blood and the mold of the basement where I had just died. A text flashed on my phone from Derrick, the man I thought was the love of my life: "Good morning, my angel. I can't wait to see you tonight." The heart emoji mocked me, a remnant of a girl who was once stupid, blind, and pathetically in love. In my past life, I was the perfect, submissive fiancée. I didn't realize the "vitamins" Derrick gave me were actually a cocktail of drugs designed to keep me foggy and compliant while he and my own uncle dismantled my father’s company. I stood by him as my parents died in a "car accident" that I now know was a murder he orchestrated. By the time I realized I was married to the devil, he had already stripped me of my wealth, my family, and finally, my breath. I stared at the gold-embossed calendar on the vanity: June 12, 2014. The day of our engagement party. The day I originally signed my life away to a monster who saw me as nothing more than a bank account to be drained. I felt a cold, sharp rage replace the terror. I wasn't going to be the victim this time. I wasn't going to take his pills or wear the modest, pastel dress he chose to make me look like a saint. "I need a match," I whispered to the most dangerous man in the city, Branch Brewer, as I gripped his tie in a hotel hallway. "I want to spend your money until Derrick chokes on it. I want to watch his empire crack." Reborn on the morning of the gala, I’ve traded my white lace for black silk. The guest list is set, the press is waiting, and Derrick thinks he’s about to win it all. He has no idea that the "fragile" girl he murdered is back to burn his world to the ground./1/116515/coverorgin.jpg?v=0fbca5c5dea83e92c9c62ef84f6e061e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
I No Longer Pick Up Trash
On the eve of my lavish New York wedding, my partner of ten years, Holden Ferguson, informed me the ceremony was just for show. The marriage license, he explained with a smirk while his mistress lay in our bed, was for her. He was leaving me at the altar, confident I was trapped after a decade of him systematically taking credit for my architectural brilliance. He called me his "dependent asset," a woman whose career and reputation were built on the platform he provided. "You have no choice, darling," he taunted, reminding me I'd given up my wealthy family for him. "You're nothing without me." He expected me to crumble, to play the part of the humiliated bride and wait for him to return after securing his new future. He thought he had planned my destruction perfectly, underestimating the quiet woman who secretly controlled a fortune. But as he left, I picked up my phone and dialed my fiercest professional rival. "Jaxon," I said calmly, "I need you to marry me. Today."/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./1/115218/coverorgin.jpg?v=6452e0440505ab4d76d4171a8605a4ec&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late For Regret: The Surgeon Heiress
On our third wedding anniversary, I waited in our empty penthouse until twenty minutes past midnight. When the private elevator finally opened, my husband stepped out, followed closely by a younger woman who was practically swallowed by his oversized suit jacket. He coldly announced she was staying the night because her apartment lock was broken. When I calmly pointed out her building had armed security, she immediately dropped to the floor, faking a hysterical panic attack. "Don't touch me! Please, keep her away!" she shrieked. Without a second of hesitation, my husband violently shoved me to protect her. My spine crashed hard into the sharp edge of the marble kitchen island. A blinding, white-hot pain knocked the breath completely out of my lungs. "You are vicious! You have absolutely zero sympathy!" he roared, his eyes full of disgust. But as I gasped for air, I saw the crying woman peek out from behind his broad shoulders. Her lips slowly curled up into a triumphant, mocking smirk. The agonizing pain in my back suddenly faded into absolute, freezing numbness. For three years, I had hidden my true identity to play the gentle, loving wife, only to realize my marriage was a pathetic joke. I pulled off my heavy diamond wedding ring and threw it directly at his feet. "I want a divorce." I walked straight out into the freezing rain, where a massive black Maybach was already waiting. It was time to stop playing house and return to my throne as the billionaire heir of the Stephenson family./1/125276/coverorgin.jpg?v=c8aa22359124d178fbaa81f2256f68a1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Marrying His Rival: The Heiress's Sweet Revenge
For seven years, I hid my identity as the sole heiress to the Carlisle fortune, running a small bakery in Brooklyn to secretly fund my boyfriend's hockey career. Just as he became a star player, I checked our joint account to plan a celebration, only to find the balance sitting at exactly $1.37. He had secretly wired millions of my money to his mistress and their three-year-old son. When I confronted him with the evidence, he didn't even try to apologize. "Scarlett is my savior. Let's just part on good terms. Name your price, how much do you want?" He scoffed at my silence, mocking me as a broke baker, and ruthlessly kicked me out of the luxury penthouse—completely unaware that I was the one who had paid for it. I had dropped out of an Ivy League school and sold my grandmother's jewelry to support him through his lowest points, only to realize I was just a walking ATM and the unwitting backdrop for his real family. Looking at his condescending face, my shattered heart finally turned to dust. I didn't scream, cry, or beg like he expected. I simply packed my suitcase, walked out into the cold night, and dialed a number I knew by heart. "Mom, I'll agree to the marriage with the Montgomery family." It was time to marry his biggest rival and show him exactly who he had crossed./1/115867/coverorgin.jpg?v=24fd82613fec41f5cbbafeba5e2cfcf9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Absolute Dominance: The Billionaire's Vengeance
For three years, I hid my identity as the sole heiress of a multi-billion dollar tech empire to live in a cramped apartment and support my boyfriend, Ben. But the day before our engagement, I stood outside a meeting room and overheard him talking to his wealthy boss, Haylie. "She's just a stepping stone," Ben laughed, his voice full of contempt. "A poor, ambitionless distraction while I work my way up to where I really belong." He mocked the cheap silver ring he gave me, calling it a necessary prop to keep a naive fool happy. He bragged about the multi-million dollar merger proposal he was presenting, planning to use it to secure his promotion and build a future with her. He had no idea that I had secretly negotiated that entire deal using my real connections just to give him his big break. I had sacrificed my family's comfort, my true identity, and my own career just to watch him rise. I poured my heart and soul into our humble beginnings, only to realize he saw my love as a pathetic joke and me as disposable trash. I calmly picked up a pen and voided the merger agreement, tearing my hard work into tiny pieces. I went home, slid the cheap ring off my finger, and dropped it into his mug of cold coffee. "Soon, you'll find out exactly who is nothing." Walking out the door, I pulled out my phone and texted my billionaire father. "I'm in. Announce the merger."/0/83098/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106202037&imageMogr2/format/webp)
No Longer Their ATM
Thanksgiving rush, the usual chaos of life with my daughter, Jessica. For years, I' d been their quiet support, their free childcare, their endless ATM. My late husband' s heroism left me one asset: our fully paid-off home. Then, a towering display of canned goods began to fall, directly on my grandson, Brayden. Without a thought, I shoved him clear, and the world went dark under a crushing weight. Instead of concern when I woke in the ER, dazed and concussed, my daughter Jessica' s voice cut through the fog. She wasn' t worried about my stitches, only Brayden' s scraped knee and her "ruined Thanksgiving." Then came the demand: While I was still hurting, Jessica, backed by Kevin' s sniveling mother, insisted I sign over my house. My house, the anchor my husband provided, their latest target. When I refused, their true colors showed. They locked me in my own former room, seizing my phone, a prisoner in my own daughter's house. My own flesh and blood, willing to go to such lengths-accusing me, then holding me captive-all for a piece of property. The betrayal was a deeper concussion than any physical blow. How could the daughter I raised, the grandson I saved, become instruments in such a cruel play? But as my son Michael and his wife Emily burst through the flimsy door, a cold clarity settled over me. This wasn't pity-this was war. I was done being their victim, their dogsbody, their endless resource. This was the moment I stopped being Sarah the doormat, and started fighting back for Sarah./0/84396/coverorgin.jpg?v=237aeac23f5a41293f2f3faf0acf047c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Michelin Star, Her Mad Pursuit
My promotion to sous-chef was supposed to be my moment. Finally, validation for years of grinding in Chicago's cutthroat restaurant scene. But then he walked in: Ryan Blakely, Nicole's high school sweetheart, flaunting a vintage Mustang key. "I figured you'd look better in the passenger seat of this than his sensible sedan," he sneered, a direct shot at my hard-earned life. Then Nicole, my girlfriend, took the key and looked at me with pity. "He just doesn't get it. Too serious all the time," she dismissed, right in front of everyone. Later that night, she raged at me for walking out, only to abandon me on the curb when Ryan got a DUI. The next morning, she demanded breakfast, casually calling me "useless." Then, I saw them together, intimate, picking out appliances like a new couple. She handed me her car keys, asking me to drive her car home because "Ryan's giving me a ride." Worst of all, she set me up in a fancy restaurant, baiting a confrontation between me and Ryan. How could the woman I loved humiliate me so publicly, so repeatedly, for another man? Why was everything always about Nicole, even my own success? I picked up a pen and signed the lease release agreement. My choice was clear: embrace betrayal, or walk away and build a life of my own./1/119761/coverorgin.jpg?v=4b3defdb74b2e13ac9cebce4a89e93e8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Seven Years of Mismeasured Love
My step-brother twisted my love confession for his best friend, Elliott, branding me a manipulative social climber. For seven years, a glowing "Disgust Meter" above Elliott' s head confirmed his hatred, forcing me to flee New York. When I returned, I woke up in his apartment to a shocking truth. He confessed the meter was a malfunctioning "Pure Love System"-the rising numbers had always been a measure of his love, not his disgust. But just as hope bloomed, my step-brother sent me a screenshot from a group chat: "Elliott's Marriage Bet." His friends laughed about me being a "side quest," a pawn in a cruel game to get him to marry someone else. My heart shattered. Was his confession just another lie? Was I nothing more than a toy to be broken for their amusement? But when Elliott dropped to one knee in a Parisian boardroom, publicly declaring war on my brother and swearing his love was real, I knew the truth was far more complicated than I ever imagined./1/113921/coverorgin.jpg?v=c8934c9ca172c1d2ccc2caf8d37bb4c0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The CEO's Runaway Cinderella Returns
At the project kickoff party, Isabelle casually mocked the new capital representative, calling him a suit with a trust fund. A low, magnetic voice spoke from the shadows right behind her. It was Bennett Lloyd, the man holding the purse strings for the entire project. But as Isabelle turned around, her blood ran cold. He wasn't just her new boss. He was the stranger she had a desperate one-night stand with five years ago. The man she had fled from before dawn, leaving only a fake name. In her panic to escape him, Isabelle tripped on the marble stairs and left behind a single, custom-made diamond heel. Bennett found it, but instead of exposing her, he began a terrifying game of cat and mouse. He forced her to be his exclusive on-site consultant, vetoed her vacation time, and isolated her from her team. He trapped her in his office, his touches lingering just enough to remind her of that night, slowly suffocating her professional life as payback. Pushed to the brink of a breakdown by his relentless torment, Isabelle sat in a hotel bar, drowning her panic in vodka. She pulled out her phone, intending to send a voice memo to her best friend to confess the suffocating guilt she had hidden for years. "I can't do this anymore. I'm a sinner. I killed her... I killed my mother." She hit send, only to realize her screen didn't show her friend's name. The confession had gone straight to Bennett Lloyd./1/101592/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106221838&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Vicious Family's Cruelest Deception
I handed my resignation to my husband, Charles, ending seven years of being the secret genius behind his jewelry empire. I thought I was just leaving a cheater, but then I learned the horrifying truth. My stepsister, Haylee, hadn't just stolen him; she had tampered with my medication, deliberately causing every single one of my previous miscarriages. When I tried to escape, the nightmare truly began. Haylee killed her own poodle and framed me for it. To "teach me a lesson," Charles locked me in a pitch-black closet for hours, ignoring my severe claustrophobia. He dragged me out, forced my pregnant body to kneel, and slammed my head against the marble floor until I bled. Then, he made me dig the dog's grave with my bare hands while my own mother watched and sneered. Lying in the dirt, broken and bleeding, I realized they thought they were destroying Charles's heir. They were wrong. I dialed the number of the billionaire tycoon who had been waiting in the shadows. "Grayson," I whispered through cracked lips. "The baby is yours. Come get us."/0/83423/coverorgin.jpg?v=8e67257b92cac89fa3d3addb27d97215&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Husband's Other Woman
The fluorescent hum of the ER was my world, a demanding but predictable rhythm. I was a dedicated doctor, a loving wife to Julian, a university professor, and a proud mother to Lily. I even funded a scholarship for bright students from my hometown, like Chloe. Then, a pager call shattered that peace. It led me to cubicle three, where my husband, Julian, was intimately comforting a sobbing young woman: Chloe, the student I' d proudly sponsored. Anonymous whispers from nurses confirmed my worst fear: an affair. His frantic lies, her chilling taunts about my 'unfeminine' career, and later, the explicit photos and a voice memo of him mocking me and praising her, all twisted the knife. But the real horror began when this student, Chloe, started bullying my six-year-old daughter, Lily, at preschool, spreading vicious rumors that caused physical and emotional harm. My blood ran cold with a rage so pure it froze my veins. How could the man I built a life with, and the girl I selflessly helped, conspire in such a cruel, public dismantling of my family, systematically using my child as a weapon? The humiliation was suffocating, the injustice unbearable. When Lily, through tears, told Julian she didn't want him as her Daddy anymore, something snapped. Right there, amongst the whispers and lies, a new resolve solidified within me. I was divorcing him, and I had the evidence to ensure he wouldn't fight it./1/104837/coverorgin.jpg?v=e01a1d576d339913a6181911680a7bc8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Unwanted Wife's Fiery Rebirth
My husband of five years, a ruthless New York mogul, paraded his affairs while refusing to touch me. My existence was a public humiliation, a constant, quiet ache in a gilded cage. To finally get a reaction, I staged a fake affair of my own. His response wasn't jealousy. It was violence. He stabbed me with a letter opener and threatened to destroy the one thing I had left: my late mother's memorial garden. At his mistress's birthday party-held on the anniversary of my mother's death-he forced me to my knees. I had to publicly apologize to the woman he was cheating on me with, my own half-sister, Aubrey. But the ultimate betrayal came when I discovered a secret video from a decade ago. It proved Aubrey hadn't just been there when my mother fell from a balcony. She had pushed her. And my husband-the man who swore he'd find her killer-had helped cover it all up. As I knelt on that cold floor, broken and defeated, he made his final choice. He pressed a button on a remote, and my mother's garden exploded into dust and ash. In that moment, the woman he thought he knew died, and someone new was born from the wreckage./1/101917/coverorgin.jpg?v=da665cd611c51bf8b51d6c005a0930eb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
