Modern Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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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./1/108018/coverorgin.jpg?v=e3941471fc1076b842ba065831373cbf&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Enchanting Doctor: Will You Heal This Frozen Heart Of Mine?
An awkward urology exam led Ximena, a brilliant physician, to stumble into Aydan's most guarded weakness-the untouchably wealthy heir's humiliating secret. In public, he was a ruthless tycoon who treated romance like a liability. In private, he was her patient, battling a hidden condition-and she was the only person who could help him. A marriage contract welded their lives together. Before the wedding, he drew a sharp line. "Doctor. Boundaries." Afterward, he begged, "Babe... do you really feel nothing?" Ximena blinked. "This was supposed to be a contract. Why are you acting like it's real now?"/0/89402/coverorgin.jpg?v=072cf5c6daf5c8dae1bd02d08f6cfaa9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Body, Your Empire
The last thing I remember is my fiancé, Ethan, swerving the car. I woke up in a hospital, my head throbbing, to the sound of his voice in the hallway. He was telling his doctor friend to harvest my kidney for his other woman, Chloe. Since I was in a coma, he said, my consent wasn't necessary. When I woke up, my kidney was gone. Ethan claimed it ruptured in the crash. A lie. He then forced me to become Chloe's personal blood bank, donating twice when she needed transfusions. He framed me for sending her death threats, having me paraded out of my apartment in handcuffs for the media. At a charity gala, Chloe whispered that the "herbal supplements" she gave me years ago were to cause my miscarriage. Then she threw herself down a short flight of stairs and screamed that I pushed her. Ethan didn't even ask. He just looked at me with pure hatred and accused me of attacking a pregnant woman. That was the moment the last bit of love I had for him died. I fumbled for my phone and called his biggest rival, Noah Hayes. "Are you still looking for a COO who knows all of Ethan's secrets?" I asked, my voice shaking. "And perhaps... a wife?"/1/115527/coverorgin.jpg?v=86e86420ab04cef088d70c37d51b7089&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Bound To The Monster Who Ruined Me
Ayleen Avery was just a struggling hotel worker trying to survive her shift. But during a sudden blackout, she accidentally stumbled into the pitch-black VIP suite of a ruthless billionaire driven mad by chronic insomnia. Calmed only by her unique natural scent of roses and rain, the terrifying man attacked her from the shadows and forced himself on her. Terrified and broken, Ayleen fled at dawn, unknowingly leaving behind her late mother's antique rose necklace in his bed. Her greedy coworker found the necklace, claimed to be the woman from that night, and was instantly swept into a life of luxury. Meanwhile, Ayleen was blackmailed into a forced marriage with her attacker—Cassius Doyle—to save her adoptive father from prison. Deceived by the stolen necklace, Cassius believed Ayleen was a manipulative spy. He brought the coworker into their home and paraded her around the master bedroom. "In this house, you are lower than the dirt on my shoes." He choked Ayleen, forced her to sleep in a damp storage room, and treated her with violent disgust while pampering the thief. Ayleen was suffocating in absolute despair. She had lost her innocence, her freedom, and her mother's only relic to a vicious liar. She couldn't understand how this all-powerful man could be so completely blind. Why couldn't he recognize the very scent that had cured his agonizing madness? Staring at the dark bruises he had just left on her neck, Ayleen wiped the blood from her lip. She would endure this three-month marriage to secure her family's safety, but once the contract ended, she would expose the truth and tear down the fake savior he cherished so much./1/101917/coverorgin.jpg?v=da665cd611c51bf8b51d6c005a0930eb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Remembered Too Late
My husband, Roger Harvey, was a renowned top-tier lawyer in the industry, but he could never remember anything outside of his cases. He never remembered my birthday or our wedding anniversary. Every night he stood at the bedroom door and asked politely yet distantly, "Is this the one?" He could not even remember my name or what I looked like. To make him "remember" me, I hung our wedding photo on the wall with a label underneath. "Anniversary: May 20." I put a nameplate on the bedroom door that read "Bedroom." I even labeled everything in the house with sticky notes that explained in detail how to use each item and its background. I thought it was a side effect of his high-pressure job, so I never complained. That changed the day a multi-car pileup sent both me and his childhood friend, Sylvie Gordon, into the emergency room at the same time. He rushed frantically to Sylvie's bedside and shouted in a clear, urgent voice, "She has tachycardia. She caught a cold last month but no fever." The nurse handling the rescue grabbed him and asked, "Sir, your wife is also seriously injured. Does she have any medical history or allergies?" He turned his head, looked at me covered in blood, and shook his head blankly. "I don't remember." In that moment I finally understood. He was not forgetful. His memory was astonishingly sharp. He simply reserved that precise, precious memory for someone else. Everything about me he had never cared to keep in his heart. This was a dramatic tug-of-war between love and betrayal. It was a heart-wrenching journey of self-redemption. Yet when I decided to leave, he was suddenly filled with panic.../1/103325/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106223138&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Fatal Mistake, My Sweet Revenge
Trapped 3,000 meters beneath the sea, the submersible I designed was my coffin. The air was turning to poison. But my fiancé, Jeffery, gave our only long-term life support-a CO2 scrubber I invented-to his social media star mistress. "You're strong, Elaina," he said. "You can figure something out." When I tried to use the emergency comms, he broke my wrist and smashed the console. He and his mistress sealed the hatch, leaving me to die alone in the crushing dark. He chose his career over my life. He chose her over me. The man I was supposed to marry would rather I suffocate at the bottom of the ocean than face a failed mission. But as the blackness closed in, I remembered a secret. A tiny, personal emergency pinger I' d built into my glove. With my last bit of strength, I tore the seam with my teeth and slammed my hand against my head. A faint click echoed in the silence. My revenge had just begun./1/105828/coverorgin.jpg?v=c0e4f26e42ee60e38e197fd8e79ad0c9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Billionaire's Blind Bride: No Mercy
I married Clive Harrington, the coldest billionaire in Manhattan, under a strict contract that forbade any emotional burdens. When I needed a high-risk surgery to save my sight, I checked into the clinic alone, hiding the procedure from a husband who saw me as nothing more than a legal asset. I thought I could handle the darkness in silence. But while I was blind and bandaged in my hospital bed, my biological mother called, screaming that if I didn't produce a Harrington heir by the end of the fiscal year, she would cut off the life-saving treatments for my disabled sister. I was crawling on the cold hospital floor, desperately feeling for a cane I had dropped, when I touched a pair of expensive leather shoes. It was Clive. He was supposed to be in London closing a multi-million dollar deal, but there he was, watching his "contract wife" groveling in the dark like a beggar. He didn't walk away in disgust. He carried me to a five-thousand-dollar-a-night VIP suite and sat by my bed, listening in chilling silence as another voicemail from my mother filled the room, calling me a "useless broodmare" who was only worth the trust fund disbursements my marriage secured. I expected him to remind me of Clause 34B or hand me divorce papers now that I was "damaged goods." Instead, I felt his thumb brush a stray tear from my cheek, his presence shifting from a statue of ice into a predatory shield. "I thought I was just currency to you," I whispered, my voice trembling behind the gauze. "Just an investment." Clive didn't answer with words. He picked up his phone and called his head of legal with a single, terrifying command: "Kill the Douglas family’s credit lines. Every debt, every lien—trigger them all. If they want a war, I’ll give them a massacre." As he leaned down to kiss my bandaged forehead, I realized the contract was dead. My husband wasn't protecting an asset anymore; he was hunting the people who had dared to touch what belonged to him./1/115840/coverorgin.jpg?v=73a05f3beedd50cf1a12d48df22ecc2c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Jilted Bride's Billion Dollar Revenge
On our wedding night, celebrating a billion-dollar family merger, my new husband Coleton stepped out of the shower. Suddenly, his phone rang. It was his dead brother's widow, Hana, crying that her five-year-old had a fever. Without hesitation, Coleton shoved me hard into the wall to get out the door. "Are you seriously jealous of a sick five-year-old kid?" he spat. He abandoned me in the bridal suite. I immediately filed for divorce and leaked it to the press. To save the merger and their stock prices, both our families rushed in to force me to back down. My own father raised his hand to slap me for my "petty female jealousy." Coleton's grandfather brutally beat him with a heavy wooden cane right in front of me, trying to use a twisted debt of honor to guilt-trip me into staying. Through a hidden dumbwaiter shaft, I overheard their secret meeting. They were plotting to use Coleton's bloody photos to paint me as a cold-hearted villain to the media, trapping me in the marriage through public shame. My own brother nodded along to this plot just to secure his CEO bonus. Coleton only begged for my forgiveness because he was terrified of losing his trust fund to an illegitimate heir. In their eyes, my dignity was just a cheap commodity with a price tag. But I am a Pennington, raised in a world where trust is a liability. I calmly saved the audio recording of their plot, packed my Hermes suitcase, and emailed the most ruthless divorce litigator in Manhattan./0/80016/coverorgin.jpg?v=348675f092fbc87b045c557f770fb51f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Day My Daughter Lied: I Knew My Marriage Was Over
Dying, physically and emotionally bankrupt, I watched my wife, a celebrated Air Force Major, accept an award. Decades sacrificed for her career and our daughter, Lily, had cost me everything. Katherine praised her unit’s psychologist, Dr. Vance, as her “confidant,” utterly ignoring me. Then Lily’s chilling bedside whisper: “Mom and Dr. Vance are so good together. Maybe let go. So Mom can finally be happy with him.” My heart gave out. Darkness. I jolted awake, young and healthy, reborn 20 years earlier in 1993. A second chance! Yet the betrayal replayed. Katherine planned her Greenland deployment with Vance. Soon, Lily, barely six, clung to Vance, asking, “Can Dr. Vance be my new dad?” My world crumbled. The betrayals escalated. At school, Lily publicly introduced Vance as her “Dad.” The ultimate blow: after Lily fell (due to Vance’s neglect), she lied. “It was Dad’s fault! Dr. Vance saved me!” Katherine raged, “You did this on purpose! You’re a failure!” This was a cold, calculated erasure. My past agony solidified my resolve. “Fine,” I stated, emotionless, “Let Dr. Vance be her father then.” I walked straight to the courthouse and filed for divorce. The doormat they knew was gone. The man who dreamed of piloting jets was finally flying. This time, I'd reclaim *my* life./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./1/100040/coverorgin.jpg?v=b0203c4cf7801f7f57115606d8bd54ec&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Empire, My Son, My New Love
While I was fighting for my life in the delivery room, my husband was on the front page of every tabloid, caught in a scandalous affair. He never came to see me or our newborn son. Instead, he whisked his actress mistress away to a luxury resort in the Swiss Alps, dismissing his betrayal as a mere "business arrangement." When his mistress brazenly appeared in my home, she taunted me, claiming my husband wished I had died in childbirth. Then, she revealed a paternity test claiming my son wasn't his. My husband believed her. He believed the lies of the woman who secretly snuck into our nursery to pinch and bruise our helpless, sleeping baby. He took her side, shielded her from me, and even tried to take my son away to raise with her. I had lost my parents and my brother, and now I was losing everything else. I was an orphan, a betrayed wife, and they were trying to take the only thing I had left: my child. But they underestimated me. They thought Kane Powell was the most powerful person I knew. They were wrong./1/114276/coverorgin.jpg?v=e4c751ffdb0e81f787d6927379d0345c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Addicted To His Fake Sugar Baby
While packing up her cheating ex-boyfriend's belongings, Giselle found an encrypted black smartphone hidden beneath his old textbooks. Curiosity made her guess the passcode, only to uncover a horrifying secret. Her ex had been using stolen lingerie photos of her beautiful roommate to catfish a man named "Oero" out of $1.5 million. And Oero wasn't just a gullible sugar daddy. He was Dereck Campos, a ruthless Wall Street billionaire known for making his enemies permanently disappear. The phone suddenly buzzed in her hand with a terrifying message. "Don't be late. You know what happens when I'm kept waiting." Giselle's blood ran cold. The lethal trap had snapped shut. If she showed up, Dereck would see she wasn't the blonde in the photos and kill her. If she ignored him, his private security would hunt her down anyway. Her ex had drained the offshore accounts and fled, leaving her as the ultimate scapegoat to face a monster's wrath. She was just a broke engineering student on a full scholarship. She hadn't taken a single cent of that dirty money. Why should she pay with her life for a deadly scam she knew nothing about? But Giselle wasn't going to just curl up and wait to die. Her analytical mind kicked into overdrive. She sent him a voice note faking a severe illness, and deliberately refused his massive cash transfer to play the proud victim. She was going to outsmart the most dangerous predator in New York, one calculated lie at a time./0/31208/coverorgin.jpg?v=f631b526d5d2f138137a7ebc61f6baf3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Lame Husband Is A Mysterious Mogul
"Abandoned by her mother the night she was born, Layla was taken in and raised by her grandmother in the countryside. Her life was peaceful and uneventful until one day, right before she turned twenty, a group of men came to her home and told her about her true identity. It turned out that she was the daughter of the wealthy Reed family, and her parents suddenly wanted to take her back. She thought that they were going to make up for lost time, but to her horror, they only wanted her back for one reason: for her to marry a disabled man instead of Sandra, their other daughter. They even went so far as to use her vulnerable grandmother as a bargaining chip to force her. Clark was the heir of the powerful Smith family, but his family was on the brink of bankruptcy. As if that wasn't enough, thanks to a car accident, the grumpy man was now also wheelchair-bound. Desperate to get out of this plight, he married Layla. However, on their wedding night, Clack and Layla signed an agreement, agreeing to get divorced after two years. Would this marriage really last two years? Would Clark find out that his wife was not a rich pampered princess but a simple country girl? Between her persistent pursuer and her cold husband, who would Layla choose?"/0/71256/coverorgin.jpg?v=9c1984c06e2e4179c9f747bd0f607fcb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Medical Martial Legend
Michael Yang, the bar waiter, was kind-hearted to save people but was humiliated instead. On the verge of death, he inadvertently got the inheritance of the immortal doctor and started a different life from then on. He obtained the miraculous medical skills of Chinese medicine, and used it to cure diseases and save lives. He was getting stronger and stronger, all kinds of beauties wanted to gather around him, and he had become the person most hated by men. They wanted to assassinate him, but they didn't know that in addition to medical skills, Michael also obtained super martial arts. He used silver needles to save and used martial arts to kill evil people. Not only did he sweep away people's contempt and ridicule, but he also won the heart of a beautiful woman./1/115997/coverorgin.jpg?v=72a93fc23ce1eb9d4c80fd56e04ab75c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Jilted Wife's Billionaire Heiress Comeback
I woke up alone in a cold hospital room after a near-fatal car crash. My husband of three years, Bryant, claimed he was too busy with back-to-back meetings to visit me. But when I dragged my bruised body into the hallway, I caught him pinning his pregnant mistress against a vending machine. "As soon as my company IPOs next month, I'm dumping my useless wife." "She's so pathetic. She'd be living on the streets if it wasn't for my charity." For three years, Bryant and his mother had humiliated me for being an orphan, treating me like a penniless burden while he secretly bought a multi-million-dollar townhouse for his new family. A cold knot formed in my stomach. I had almost died in that wreckage, yet my husband was disgusted by my very existence, eagerly waiting to throw me away. But Bryant didn't know about the damp, sealed envelope the paramedics had recovered from my wrecked car. The DNA report inside proved I wasn't a nobody from the gutter. I was the biological daughter of the Beaumonts—New York's wealthiest, most ruthless billionaire dynasty. I didn't scream or confront them. Instead, I calmly pulled out my phone, recorded their affair in high definition, and dialed a Wall Street financier I hadn't spoken to in years. "I'm done playing the happy housewife. Pull his algorithmic backdoors and drain the accounts."/0/81268/coverorgin.jpg?v=174bc38323f75d8a058dda7a21bd9b31&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Last Surprise
My seven-year relationship ended with a deepfake, meticulously crafted to ruin my indie game developer career. Then my mother's health rapidly declined, baffling doctors. My childhood best friend, Liam, emerged as my rock, supporting me through profound grief. Three years later, married and eight months pregnant with his child, I overheard a horrifying truth: Liam, my doting husband, orchestrated everything. He had my mother murdered for a lung transplant for my stepsister, Chloe, and engineered the deepfake to isolate me. I was just a pawn in his sick obsession with Chloe. The man whose child I carried was a monster. My life was a meticulously constructed lie. Then, Chloe, the fragile invalid, confessed more: Liam had caused my two previous miscarriages and planned to give our baby to her. When I confronted her, she staged a fake miscarriage, and my own father, encouraged by Liam, broke my hand for it. My art, my solace, shattered. The pain was unbearable, but a steel resolve hardened within me. How could the man I trusted, loved, orchestrate such depravity? Why was I, my mother, my children, mere collateral in his twisted game? The injustice burned. I ended my pregnancy, enduring unbearable agony, then placed the preserved fetus in an ornate gift box. I donned a prosthetic belly, began divorce proceedings, and secured a new identity. On the day of my "delivery," I walked away, leaving him a chilling surprise, ready to forge a new life as Grace Jordan, a survivor reborn./1/113807/coverorgin.jpg?v=f876cedf99ff2264040cdee593d8aa16&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Phantom Heiress: His Secret Obsession
After eighteen years, I finally returned to the billionaire Warren family, only to be treated like uneducated, rust-belt trash. My stepmother shoved me into a freezing, windowless room, and my half-sister Kelly bought me an $89 plastic dress to humiliate me at the family's high-society gala. When her petty bullying failed, Kelly took it a step further. Standing at the top of the grand marble staircase, she grabbed my wrist, screamed, and intentionally threw herself down the steps in front of hundreds of elite guests. Lying in a pool of her own blood, she pointed a trembling finger at me. "She pushed me! Corrie tried to kill me!" The entire ballroom erupted in disgust. The guests called me a psychopath. My biological father, purple with rage, raised his hand to strike me, while my stepmother hid a victorious smirk behind her fake tears. They thought they had perfectly framed the feral country bumpkin. But they had no idea who they were dealing with. They didn't know I was "Night God," the dark web's most legendary underground surgeon and hacker, currently being hunted by New York's most ruthless billionaire. I didn't panic. I didn't cry. I calmly pulled out my heavily encrypted phone and projected a crystal-clear, un-hackable security feed onto the ballroom's massive LED screen. "Let's see the replay," I said. Watching the color drain from their faces was just the beginning. I was going to tear this entire toxic family apart to find out who really burned my mother alive./1/102700/coverorgin.jpg?v=2e274acd524427f2de3ce85c950a2e51&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Marriage: A Million Lies
My marriage to the cold New York tycoon, Eli Drake, was supposed to be an impossible love story. I was the rebellious artist who had chased him across continents, believing I' d found my soulmate. Then I overheard a conversation that shattered everything. Our three-year marriage was a lie, a charade designed to protect his fragile sister-in-law, Kala. I was just the "lightning rod," strong enough to take the hits meant for her. The worst part? He' d secretly had a vasectomy, letting me endure his family' s scorn for being "barren" while he knew the truth all along. It all clicked into place: the public humiliations, the framed financial crimes, the "accidents" that left me scarred. They systematically broke me, forcing me to give a piece of my own skin to heal Kala and staging a car crash that landed me in prison. Eli' s justification was always the same: "Kala is delicate. Not like you." He thought I was strong enough to take it, that my defiance was a tool he could use. He exiled me, thinking I was broken and forgotten. He was wrong. I reinvented myself as the celebrated artist 'Lark.' And when he came crawling back, begging for forgiveness on a global stage, I knew my moment had come. My revenge would be a masterpiece./1/106611/coverorgin.jpg?v=39fb3a6dbe1ba1bcd2231302d860131e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Bought By The Man Who Hates Me
I sat at a mahogany table in River Oaks, clutching the strap of a pilled black dress from a life I’d lost five years ago. I was an exile in a world of old money, just trying to survive a dinner party I didn't belong in. Then the doors opened, and Baron Lowery walked in. He was no longer the boy I’d loved, but a powerful man with eyes like a storm front. When the host asked if we’d met, Baron didn't even blink. "I don't know her," he said. The erasure was a physical blow. His new girlfriend spent the night mocking my "quaint" legal aid work and calling me a washed-up gold digger. Baron didn't defend me; he watched my humiliation with a cold, predatory stillness. During a game of Truth or Dare, he stared me down, waiting for a confession. To protect his career and the secret of my father’s federal crimes, I looked him in the eye and told the ultimate lie: "No regrets." He retaliated by pinning me against a concrete wall in a dark stairwell, crushing his mouth to mine in a kiss that felt like a punishment. He told me I wasn't worth the effort and left me. I retreated to my real life—a moldy trailer and a blackmailer named Harvey who was forcing me into a marriage to save my father from prison. I thought I’d hit rock bottom until Baron’s silver Bentley pulled up to my slum. He didn't come to apologize. He flipped open a checkbook, scribbled fifty thousand dollars, and held it out like I was a common streetwalker. "One night," he demanded. "Do whatever I say, and it's yours." I looked at the man I’d sacrificed my entire soul for and realized he’d finally become the monster I'd tried to save him from. I shoved the check back in his face and ran into the rain, leaving the billionaire staring at the trailer park, unable to understand why the "gold digger" he hated so much wouldn't take his money./1/114120/coverorgin.jpg?v=d48d8d2d45c9ada8c336529892c386d2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
