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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Divorce, Design, and True Freedom

Divorce, Design, and True Freedom

The scent of expensive perfume and cheap ambition hung heavy in our penthouse, a silent testament to David' s reign. He paraded aspiring influencers through our home like trophies, their bright young faces a constant reminder of the life he flaunted. I, Sarah Miller, the successful interior designer, was merely an accessory, observing from the periphery as he draped his arm around a blonde named Tiffany, asking me to help her pick a profile theme color. My reflection in the glass showed a stillness, a silent defiance to his polished, empty smile. Later, after the glitter and champagne spills were gone, he cornered me, not with affection, but with business: "We need to be more aggressive with fertility treatments. I' ve scheduled you a new consultation for Monday." Three years of invasive tests, painful injections, and crushing disappointment, now weaponized against me. Then came the ultimate blow: he wanted to use a surrogate, one of them, for his legacy, expecting me to manage it. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest as he pulled me into a hollow embrace, whispering, "You' re the only one I love, Sarah." The very next day, a new girl, Emily, was paraded through the penthouse, her wide, innocent eyes mocking my reality. He kissed her, deeply, passionately, right in front of me, then looked straight into my eyes before turning back to her with a whisper that made her giggle. That night, sitting in my design studio, the last piece of this life that was truly mine, I drew a line. A final, absolute line that would redefine everything.
When Love Dies: A Spy's Escape

When Love Dies: A Spy's Escape

"You will be declared dead, Gregoria." That's what Agent Christian told me. My life as an FBI agent was about to end, replaced by a ghost. No contact with my past, not even my husband, Darwin. But then, a week before my staged death, I walked into our home office and saw it: Darwin's laptop, open, displaying a live video feed. My husband, shirtless, with his assistant, Elyssa Daniel. They were kissing. My world tilted. I watched, frozen, as he kissed her. The sounds they made were obscene. I recognized the unique lines of his body, the watch I gave him for our anniversary. I stumbled back, my hand shaking as I reached for my phone. I had to confront this nightmare. I hit the call button. On the screen, Darwin froze, then answered my call. "Hey, honey. What's up?" His voice, so normal, so full of lies, broke something inside me. The phone slipped from my grasp. My heart, my love, my entire world had been a lie. I spent the night on the office floor, replaying the video. The evidence of his betrayal was a digital tombstone for our marriage. Each time I watched, disgust and pain grew. I looked at my wedding ring, a mark of my foolishness, and threw it across the room. He thought I was weak, predictable. He thought I loved him so much I'd believe the sky was green. But the woman who loved Darwin Mcintosh died on that office floor. And in that moment, my mission, my fake death, felt like an escape.
Caged Love

Caged Love

The camera flashes were blinding, a storm of light. My fiancé, Ethan, stood at the podium, his hand clutching mine, whispering sweet nothings for the reporters. He declared his eternal love, sacrificing his ambitions for my "crippled" self, the pianist whose dream was tragically cut short. But an hour earlier, I'd overheard him and my best friend, Bella. "Her hands… are they permanently damaged?" Bella whispered. "Completely," Ethan confirmed, his voice chillingly cold. "The 'accident' was flawless. She\'s a cripple, Bella. You have nothing to worry about." My world shattered. The car crash, the botched surgery-all a meticulously planned lie. My supposed recovery was overseen by Dr. Ben, who had helped Ethan ensure I would never play again. I lay in a hospital bed, my bandaged hands a testament to their cruelty, left to grapple with the shocking betrayal. How could the man who promised me forever, the one I loved, orchestrated such a heinous plot? The deeper I looked, the more horrifying truths unravelled: I was drugged for months to appear unstable, and the tragic miscarriage I suffered wasn\'t natural-he had murdered our unborn child. The love I thought was real was a delusion, a carefully constructed cage. With nothing left to lose, and fueled by a cold, searing rage, I stopped merely existing. I was no longer a victim. I was a survivor, and I would make them pay. My escape wasn't just about leaving; it was about orchestrating their downfall, piece by agonizing piece.
Love With The Emotionless Killer

Love With The Emotionless Killer

LEILANI. I'm an orphan who was picked up by the roadside and left on the gate of a convent when I was a baby. I was raised by Reverend sisters and I spent all twenty three years of my life in the convent. I went to school there and did everything in the big convent, I've never been on my own until six months ago. When I told the sisters that I want to go out on my own, Sister Bernadette was scared because I've never been on my own before. Six months later, I'm doing fine. In a small quiet town, everything is great. The people are good. All was going really well.....until the day he showed up. The scariest man I've ever seen. And the way he looks at me? It's a look I don't understand but it never fails to send shivers down my spine. Who is he? What does he want from me? ZERO HE IS DARKNESS.... I am the bad guy of this story. Every story has a villain, and I am that villain. You can call me, Number Zero. Or Zero, for short. Frankly, I don't care. I am a born killer and I'm called The Killer Machine in the dark world, the part of the world do-gooders don't see. Think of every name you would call a professional killer, and give me that name, because you wouldn't be wrong. I would like to tell you that I try to do good, to do the right thing but that would be a lie. I don't see any need why I have to lie here. I am a very bad man, don't go searching for good because it's not there. I have so much darkness in me that if you stay in my mind for a long time, you go dark too. Don't mistake this for a confession because it is not. I'm not seeking for forgiveness and if you give it, I won't accept it. I'm not seeking for redemption here. My sins are my own. The first day I saw her, I just knew something. My new fascination. My first fascination in all my thirty three years of life. I must have her. I must make her mine.
You Can't Afford My Happiness Now

You Can't Afford My Happiness Now

My wedding day. The music swelled at the Boston Yacht Club. I stood at the altar, eyes fixed on the aisle, waiting for Sarah, my fiancée. The woman I' d built my tech career around. The doors opened. There she was, beautiful, but her face was a hard mask I didn' t recognize. She took the microphone from the officiant. "Ethan," she announced, her voice amplified for everyone to hear. "I can' t marry you today." The silence was physical. "I' m pregnant," she continued, a small, triumphant smile on her lips. "And the baby isn' t yours, Ethan. It' s Mark' s." Mark. Her high-school boyfriend. A collective gasp swept through the crowd. "But don' t worry," she added, her voice dropping intimatel, yet still heard by all. "You' re a good man. I need that for my child. So, you wait for me. I' ll have the baby, Mark and I will get this out of our systems, and then, once my child has a stable home-your home-I' ll marry you." She was using my love as a weapon, demanding I be her reliable wallet after she was done playing house with the man she actually wanted. She was humiliating me in front of everyone, assuming I was that weak. That I was that devoted. The all-consuming fire of my love was extinguished, replaced by a profound, chilling emptiness. I turned, walked past the shocked faces, and didn' t look back. Hours later, a powerful man and his brilliant daughter made me an insane offer. Marry her. A cold, calculated business transaction to erase my public disgrace. It was exactly what I needed.
His First Love, My Last Hope

His First Love, My Last Hope

My marriage to Ethan was a practical arrangement, but I secretly longed for true love. When I unexpectedly discovered I was pregnant, a fragile hope blossomed-perhaps this baby would finally forge a real family. That hope shattered instantly. Outside the clinic, I found Ethan tending to his college sweetheart, Chloe Vanderbilt, dramatically faking a migraine. He dismissed me entirely, ordering me to run errands for her, treating me like an errand girl, not his wife. Chloe's return was a relentless, calculated campaign. Her carefully curated social media posts, featuring Ethan's relaxed smiles and comforting embraces with her, became a constant public humiliation. He'd rationalize his growing closeness, always prioritizing her "fragility" over my very existence. The final blow came via a video: my husband, kissing her deeply at a gala I was told I was "too tired" to attend. Overwhelmed, I confronted him, signing the divorce papers he' d pre-signed years ago. But Chloe wasn't done. She set a vicious trap, coercing a former friend to falsely accuse me of plotting against her. Ethan, blinded by Chloe's performance, instantly believed I was capable of malice, dismissing my desperate pleas. The ultimate devastation struck: Chloe deliberately pushed me down the stairs, resulting in a brutal, agonizing miscarriage. Ethan, finding us, rushed to Chloe's side, cradling her fabricated injuries, utterly abandoning me as I lay bleeding, my child slipping away. In that harrowing moment, all love and hope died, replaced by an unyielding resolve to uncover the truth and finally, irrevocably, reclaim my life from their poisonous lies.