icon 0
icon TOP UP
rightIcon
icon Reading History
rightIcon
icon Sign out
rightIcon
icon Get the APP
rightIcon
closeIcon

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Ashes of a Golden Anniversary

Ashes of a Golden Anniversary

The smell of smoke and burning memories filled my lungs on our golden anniversary. Fifty years of what I thought was love, a shared history, was going up in flames around me. Then, terror: Sarah, my wife, screamed not for me, but for David, my best friend, trapped under a beam. She shoved me-not away from the danger, but directly into a wall of fire, clearing her path to David. As the fire consumed me, I saw her scramble past where I' d just stood, without a single backward glance. Our children, our very own children, rushed past my agonized screams, ignoring their burning father to free the man their mother truly loved. I survived, a testament to the fire' s fury: a landscape of scars and melted skin. In the sterile hospital room, she finally came, with a chilling resolve I' d glimpsed but never comprehended. "Ethan, let' s get a divorce," she said, her voice flat. "I want to spend whatever time I have left with David. It' s always been him." My own children, our children, then stood at the foot of my bed, faces twisted in a mixture of pity and impatience. "Dad, just let her go," my son urged, "Mom and David… they deserve to be happy. You were just… in the way." Fifty years of sacrifice, of putting dreams aside, of loving, and I was just "in the way." They remarried the very next day, a grand affair splashed across media headlines mocking me, the burned, pathetic old husband cast aside for an "epic romance." But as I lay there, I knew one thing they didn' t: if I had the chance, I' d never, ever marry Sarah Reynolds. Then I closed my eyes. I opened them to the scent of lilies, standing in a grand ballroom, unburned. Opposite me, a young Sarah Reynolds, eyes shining with excitement, at our engagement party. Before a toast could be made, she looked right at me, clear and brave: "I' m sorry, everyone. I can' t do this. Ethan, I' m calling off the engagement." A wave of whispers spread, expecting my humiliation. But all I felt was the crushing weight of fifty miserable years lift from my shoulders. It was a clean break, an unexpected gift. My eyes scanned the crowd, past Sarah' s bewildered parents, past a smirking David Chen. I found her near the orchestra, a guest who barely knew us: Dr. Olivia Hayes, a woman of quiet grace and intelligence. "Olivia," I said, my voice clear and steady, cutting through the noise. "I only want to marry you. Will you take me away?"
His Wife's Venomous Betrayal

His Wife's Venomous Betrayal

The pregnancy test showed two pink lines, and pure joy surged through me. I, Ethan Miller, was finally going to be a father. But then my wife, Sophia, dropped a bomb that shattered everything. "The child isn't yours, Ethan. It's Liam's." The world tilted. My perfect life, a fragile lie built on Sophia' s deceit, crumbled. Tragedy compounded days later: Sophia was in a car accident, a miscarriage. Liam, her lover, was behind the wheel. Then, at a company gala, Sophia, radiant and cruel, seized a microphone. Her eyes, cold and furious, locked onto mine. "My husband, Ethan Miller," she announced, her voice dripping with venom, "is a monster." She publicly accused me of sabotaging her, of causing her miscarriage out of jealousy. The accusation was so monstrous, so far from the truth, I could only stand paralyzed. Her final blow: "I'm making him get a vasectomy. He will pay for what he did to my baby." They forced me into it, stripping me of my rights, my future, my very manhood. I returned home, a ghost in my own house, only to find Liam brazenly occupying my study. He flaunted his victory, mocking my pain, even using my Pritzker Prize as a coaster. Then, he shattered my most prized possession: my mother' s music box. "Oh, that old thing," Sophia said, unconcerned. "It was gathering dust. I gave it to Liam." Something inside me broke. My hand bleeding, heart shattered, I watched Sophia fuss over a supposedly ill Liam. She shrieked, "What did you do to him? What did you put in his drink? You want to take everything from me!" The doctor' s diagnosis: Liam just had a bad hangover. My pain was real, her accusation a baseless lie. Sophia offered a fleeting, empty apology, but the chasm between us was too deep. I decided then: no more. I had to fight back for my sanity, for my future, for myself.
Her Miscarriages, Their Dark Secret

Her Miscarriages, Their Dark Secret

For three years, I endured four miscarriages, each a crushing reminder of my failure, while my husband, Axel, played the part of the grieving spouse, whispering comforting words and promising a different outcome next time. This time, it was different. Axel's concern morphed into control, isolating me in our gilded cage, claiming it was for my safety and the baby's, due to the stress of being married to the protégé of Senator Dennis Clarke-my biological father. My trust shattered when I overheard Axel and my adopted sister, Adeline, in the garden. She was holding a baby, and Axel's soft smile, a smile I hadn't seen in months, was directed at them. Adeline's feigned sadness about my "miscarriages" revealed a horrifying truth: my losses were part of their plan to secure Axel's political future and ensure their son, not mine, inherited the Clarke dynasty. The betrayal deepened when my parents, Senator Clarke and Barbara, joined them, embracing Adeline and the baby, confirming their complicity. My entire life, my marriage, my grief-it was all a monstrous, carefully constructed lie. Every comforting touch from Axel, every worried look, was a performance. I was just a vessel, a placeholder. Adeline, the cuckoo in my nest, had stolen everything: my parents, my husband, my future, and now, my children. The realization hit me like a physical blow: my four lost babies weren't accidents; they were sacrifices on the altar of Axel and Adeline's ambition. My mind reeled. How could they? How could my own family, the people who were supposed to protect me, conspire against me so cruelly? The injustice burned, leaving a hollow, aching void. There were no more tears to cry. Only action. I called the hospital and scheduled an abortion. Then, I called my old dance academy, applying for the international choreography program in Paris. I was leaving.
His Toxic Love, Her Escape

His Toxic Love, Her Escape

I used to think I was the luckiest girl in the world, a high school dropout who' d somehow landed Liam Hayes, the kind of guy straight out of movies. For six months, I believed his sweet words, falling so hard that I couldn' t see anything but him. Then, at an exclusive club, with a positive pregnancy test stick tucked in my purse, ready to surprise him, I overheard Liam telling his friends I was just a "fun distraction." The dream shattered, leaving me heartbroken and humiliated as he coldly denied even knowing me when I bravely confronted him. Back in his luxurious apartment, Liam's possessiveness surfaced. He forced himself on me, then casually suggested an abortion when he found my prenatal vitamins. A flicker of hope ignited when a doctor told me my positive test was false, a "second chance" to escape his toxic world. However, his relentless pursuit and violent behavior revealed he wouldn't let go easily. During a brutal confrontation, Liam physically assaulted me, fueled by his rage and control. My world crumbled as I realized the cruel truth: he wasn't the man I loved but a monster. He had broken me, leaving me utterly alone. But in that moment of despair, something primal ignited within me. As he pinned me to the bed, threatening to keep me trapped, I found the strength to fight back. I lashed out, screaming that our twisted relationship was over, and from the floor, he could only watch in disbelief as I walked out, leaving his abusive grip forever behind.
The Affair, The Baby, The Betrayal

The Affair, The Baby, The Betrayal

My flight from Geneva was long, fueled by the anticipation of seeing Ethan and picking up our lives. My surgical fellowship was finally complete. But as I cleared customs, a text from an unknown number shattered my world: "Ava, don't go to Cedar View Birthing Center. Ethan is there with Chloe. The baby has arrived." Chloe. His high school friend, the one he always said he owed a life debt. Then, another text: "Eleanor and Richard hired them. They said to keep you from 'causing a scene'." His parents, who once called me the daughter they never had, were complicit. My hands went cold. I went to our house, where the nursery light glowed softly. The air was thick with baby powder and Chloe’s cloying perfume. Ethan was there, holding the baby, Chloe beside him, his parents beaming. His mother’s voice was icy: "Your career kept you busy, Ava. Ethan needed a family." Then Ethan, my husband, looked at me, offering a grotesque explanation. "Chloe is terminally ill. This was her dying wish. And after your… difficulties… this could be painless motherhood for you." Painless. He called my infertility a "difficulty" and expected me to accept this child of an affair? They wanted me to cooperate, to become the silent accomplice in my own humiliation and erasure. “Okay,” I said, seeing the relief on their faces. They had no idea the ice in my eyes, or the secret plan that had just clicked into place.