Romance Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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The Senator's Unexpected Bride
My wedding day. Hundreds of guests, media vans outside. The Sterling family chapel, hushed, expectant. I was finally marrying Jackson Sterling, scion of a powerful political dynasty, the man I’d loved since childhood. It was meant to be my perfect happily ever after. Then he walked in. Not alone. A garish woman clinging to his arm, a wide, triumphant smirk on her face. "The wedding is off," Jackson announced, his voice steady. "I'm with Brandy now. We're leaving." My world shattered. Jilted at the altar, in front of everyone. The whispers rose, a tidal wave of shock, pity, and cruel amusement. I was Emilia Winston, the society joke. The humiliation was a physical ache. Jackson and his new "wife" continued to taunt, publicly disgracing me and demanding my inheritance, treating me like discarded property. How could the boy I adored become this arrogant, callous stranger? The endless insults, the blatant disrespect from him and his new flame. They sought to finish what they started, to grind me into dust and claim everything. I was left exposed, vulnerable, and furious. Just as I thought I was utterly ruined, a figure stepped forward: Senator Alexander Sterling, Jackson’s formidable uncle. He held out a document, his steady gaze meeting mine. "Perhaps you would consider marrying me instead?" A madness. Or a miraculous lifeline. I said yes. And that was just the beginning./0/96932/coverorgin.jpg?v=1324b912b66c1c0022dfa035151230e9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Heiress's Reckoning: Ten Years Lies
The man who once took a bullet for me stood in our living room, demanding I apologize to his pregnant mistress. He was the broke kid I'd made into a CEO, the foundation of my world. Now, that foundation was a sinkhole. But the real betrayal came from his mistress's lips. She whispered that Jacob had orchestrated the car accident that caused my miscarriage years ago, claiming he never wanted a child with a "cold, barren bitch" like me. He tried to move her into my house, painting me as the villain in our story. He paraded their love for the world to see, buying her islands and diamonds while I was cast aside as the city's ice queen. The love I had for him, built on what I thought was shared grief over our lost son, turned to ash. It was all a lie. Ten years of my life, a carefully staged play he directed. But he forgot who I am. At a grand gala meant to celebrate his new life, I crashed the party. With the evidence in hand and my allies at my side, I was ready to burn his empire to the ground and make him pay for every single lie./0/59296/coverorgin.jpg?v=8a85afc728e3afa714070de0f76a0f0c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Fallen Apart
"Do you Aria Carter Stephenson take Dave Micheal Mendez to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and cherish in times of good health and bad health, rich and poor till death do you part?" My fingers tightened on my gown as I turned to the side, searching through the crowd. I locked eyes with my brother who had a blank expression. "Aria?" The priest called my attention. Taking a deep breath, I turned back to look at Dave. "No, I don't." Aria Stephenson is a small-town girl who got an opportunity to work as a fashion designer in a big clothing company with the hope of making a name for herself in the fashion industry. Dave Mendez is a playboy who was given the chance to take over his father's company which happens to be the same company Aria got employed in. Instead of trying to impress his father, Dave got distracted by a certain hazel-eyed girl. They ended up falling in love like every other love story but what happens when a buried secret comes out and breaks them apart?/0/81683/coverorgin.jpg?v=e027af16bcf236e2545c78bb6cf3f1ab&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Brother's Ghost, My Captor
The positive pregnancy test signal was a secret in a three-year marriage built on a silent debt. My husband, Ethan Cole, asked for a divorce again this morning-his ninety-ninth time. I married him because I owed him, after he supposedly saved me from a capsized canoe years ago. Then the news broke: Ethan's older brother, Marcus, was dead from a boating accident. Ethan miraculously survived, feigning severe injuries and memory loss, now believing he was Marcus. But I overheard them. "The memory loss is perfect, Mother," Ethan whispered. "Olivia will finally be mine. Marcus is gone. And Sarah… Sarah will be easy to get rid of now." My blood ran cold. The man I married, the supposed hero, was a monster. My pregnancy? An "inconvenience." He was using his brother' s death, manipulating everyone. The debt wasn't paid; my life was being stolen. I made a horrifying decision. I terminated the pregnancy, desperate to break free. But my nightmare was just beginning. Framed for a hit-and-run, I found myself in county jail, then stabbed in a brawl, ending up in a hospital bed. Ethan, still playing Marcus, hovered, his concern a sickening lie. Soon, his mother, Eleanor, offered me juice. My nursing instincts screamed: she was drugging me. Later, "Marcus" slipped into my room, his eyes predatory, confessing their plan for me to bear the Cole heir. Adrenaline surged through the fog in my brain. As nurses rushed in during the chaos, I grabbed my phone, and with trembling fingers, dialed an international number. My last resort. "Ben," I sobbed, "Help me!"/0/85901/coverorgin.jpg?v=51bbb6eacc7878e21b6b5c1b8f820d95&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Contract Marriage With That Ruthless CEO
My life was a perfectly curated dream. Three years with Ethan, a diamond on my finger, and a wedding just a week away-timed perfectly with my family's groundbreaking AI launch that he was a key part of. I, Ava Riley, the brilliant architect, had given him everything-my heart, my connections, my family' s influence. Then, he walked into our penthouse, his face grim, and shattered it all. "It' s Chloe," he said, his ex-girlfriend. "Her mother is dying. Her last wish is to see Chloe get married. To me." My fiancé was going to marry his ex-girlfriend days before our wedding, and he told me with clinical detachment, as if discussing a logistical minor issue. He said it was "filial piety," just "a ceremony, a piece of paper." He expected me to accept this monstrous betrayal, to be "reasonable." My heart didn' t just break, it congealed into ice. I was not his partner; I was a business asset, a temporary stepping stone in his grand design. The humiliation thickened when he had the audacity to suggest using our pre-paid waterfront wedding venue for his impromptu ceremony with Chloe. And then, his true colors emerged. As I refused, his charm vanished, replaced by ugly entitlement, culminating in his fingers digging into my arm. "You have until Saturday to come to your senses," he snarled. "You can either accept this with grace, or you can fight it and lose everything." That physical threat, the raw intimidation, was the final severance. The man I loved was gone, if he ever existed. Only a calculating, abusive stranger remained. I wouldn' t be his victim, nor a footnote in his story. No, I would not cry. I would not scream. I calmly called my brother, Liam. "The wedding is still on for next Saturday," I stated. "Find me a different groom." There was only one man who could make a statement, someone Ethan feared, someone who held a grudge as deep as mine: Lucas Thorne, my family's fiercest rival, a ruthless tech mogul. My brother had one simple question: "Are you sure? He's ruthless." My answer was already forming: "So am I, now." I would play his game, but I would win./0/38207/coverorgin.jpg?v=a7469922b22c7908034f813c8938c00e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Flash Marriage, Overbearing Love
Eight years ago, because of the drastic changes in her family, she was painful to part with him, and was willing to be misunderstood by him. Eight years later, the two met again at a classmate's reunion, after which they met again and again. She thought he hated her, but he unexpectedly proposed to her. She thought he was still affectionate to her, but they esteemed each other as strangers after they married. Finally, she couldn't stand a marriage without love, she left a divorce agreement, and went away again .../0/44696/coverorgin.jpg?v=233973f976cbff39241a82147cf77e23&imageMogr2/format/webp)
THE THRONE
I am an orphan not born of tittle or a good home. My aunt took me in and raised me as a servant in her home until she kicks me out of her house one evening and there my destiny will begin. I was all alone with no purpose and no direction when fate led me to the three princes of our land and the sons of our majesty the king. One of the prince will hate me, another will have sympathy for me and the other one is going to fall in love with me. When all the tricks, lies and politics are over, There is only one seat at the throne and one ruler of the kingdom. And i am going to take that seat./0/86550/coverorgin.jpg?v=222226cc5686b8c4229b7e9d0aa1f857&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Shattered Love, Deadly Revenge
I used to believe my life with Liam Miller was a fairy tale, a future filled with hope and love. Then, six months into my pregnancy, at a corporate party meant to celebrate our impending engagement, a video of our most intimate moment flashed across a giant screen, broadcast to hundreds. My world didn' t just crumble; it exploded. My mother, in a frantic call after seeing an anonymous text exposing the horror, died in a car crash rushing to me. My father, seeing the shame and grief on my face, succumbed to a cerebral hemorrhage. Why? All of it, a brutal revenge meticulously planned by the man I loved, fueled by a twisted lie about my mother' s past. Five years later, stripping away my dignity as a cocktail waitress, I finally found the leverage I needed. My son, the last piece of my shattered heart, needed a miracle-a bone marrow transplant I couldn' t afford. Liam was a match. He would be my unwitting savior, or so I hoped./0/51834/coverorgin.jpg?v=f0e87ba40c25db9b56e272c614b3cbe0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Mr. Billionaire's Contract Wife
A conspiracy by her best friend led to Shirley losing her first time to a strange man. The once-sweet relationship was ruthlessly destroyed by her boyfriend. "Since you are carrying my child, let's get married. It just happens that I don't love you, and you don't love me either," Mr. Billionaire said heartlessly. He threw a contract on the table, saying, "We are just contract spouses." They got secretly married. None of their colleagues knew that Shirley was the wife of their CEO, and they envied why Mr. Billionaire treated this little assistant so specially. Just as Shirley was about to relax, she unexpectedly found out that the man who signed the contract completely ignored her resistance and declared to the whole world that she belonged to him. "What are you trying to do?" "My dear wife, I love you! Let's have another child."/0/90119/coverorgin.jpg?v=bbaf3b4b53db817f30ca7de77d64a18b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His First Love, My Last Goodbye
The world came back in a blur of twisting metal and the horrifying screech of tires. One moment, we were driving. The next, a truck had run the red light. In the passenger seat, my head throbbing, I watched my boyfriend, Adrian, scramble to comfort his first love, Cassie, who was crying in the backseat. He didn't even glance back at me, his girlfriend of five years, as he helped her out of the wrecked car. Paramedics arrived. Through the haze of pain, I watched Adrian hover over Cassie, refusing to leave her side for a second. It was like I wasn't even there anymore. He didn't remember my birthday, never knew my favorite food, and never cared that I was allergic to the flowers he bought for me, the same ones Cassie loved. I had been a side character in their love story, a placeholder until the real star of his life returned. I had been obsessed with Adrian Payne, but it wasn't love; it was a sickness, a trauma bond I had mistaken for devotion. Why did I do that? Why did I let him mold me into someone so submissive, so unlike myself? It felt like I was being controlled by some invisible force, a plot that wasn't my own. The spell was broken. The obsession vanished. All that was left was a cold, empty feeling and a sudden, desperate longing for someone else: Kellen Campos, my childhood sweetheart, the boy I had left behind five years ago. I booked the first flight to New York./0/21985/coverorgin.jpg?v=e8fb0f662233e9f7bdc67a3f71e70138&imageMogr2/format/webp)
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Hell with Roman
Seven years ago, Layla ruled. The Queen Bee of university life, she toyed with hearts-until Roman. He was supposed to be just another conquest, the quiet engineering student who didn't care about her games. But when she made him fall, she never expected to fall harder. Then everything shattered. Layla left him broken, and just days later, his little sister died alone. Now, Roman is no longer the bookish boy she knew-he's a ruthless billionaire, powerful, untouchable... and out for revenge. When Layla, drowning in debt and desperation, seeks his help, he offers her a deal: five years as his. His to command. His to break. She refuses. Roman smirks. Then you're not desperate enough yet. But when she has no other choice, Layla signs away her freedom, stepping into a game of obsession, pain, and something far more dangerous-old desires that refuse to die. He swore he'd ruin her. She swore she'd never love him again. But the past has secrets, and when they surface, neither will ever be the same. In a battle of love and vengeance, the heart is the deadliest weapon of all./0/79737/coverorgin.jpg?v=99d17e43181ac55ea16d60112d93fa9f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Fiance to Fury: The Gala Betrayal
My Napa estate glowed under the California sun. The Aura Foundation gala was meant to be my legacy, a chance to pour my tech success into something truly meaningful. My fiancé, Brandon Maxwell, was the charming, supportive partner by my side, or so I thought. Then the encrypted email arrived, a grainy photo of Brandon with another woman, Cassandra Rourke, a notorious PR shark. The caption chilled me to the bone: "He's not who you think." My heart hammered, a cold dread spreading through me like poison. This couldn't be real; Brandon loved me, didn't he? But then I remembered the hushed calls, the gifts bought with my cards, the subtle isolation from friends. I overheard him at a pre-gala dinner, his voice low and conspiratorial, calling me "clueless" and this gala "a goldmine." He laughed about how I trusted him completely, how he'd urged me to hire Cassandra's firm. Devastation hit me like a physical blow. My world shattered when I later found their vile texts and photos on his iPad, mocking my naivete. "Evie's so naive, thinks this gala is about charity. It's about us, baby." Even as I bled from a shattered decanter, he worried about the cost, not my injury. He gaslighted me, telling me he loved me, yet defended his mistress publicly when she attacked me. He watched me walk away, believing I was broken, that he had won. I was branded the unstable, jealous woman, while he and his mistress paraded their "love." Whispers followed me, painting me as a "psycho" ruining her own event. I felt a profound shift, the naivete burning away, replaced by a cold fire. I was no longer the victim, but the architect of my own ending. The gala would indeed be unforgettable, but not in the way they imagined./0/86226/coverorgin.jpg?v=c05baa9d67eca0390f116a3d8084fae6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Betrayal, Her Unveiling
The plane descended, and a familiar sense of accomplishment swelled in me. Three months of hotel rooms and construction sites were finally over. I' d just closed the biggest deal of my architectural career in Tokyo, and now, all I could think of was Liam. It was his birthday, and my early return was a secret, a surprise I couldn' t wait to unveil. I clutched the vintage watch for him in my carry-on, imagining his joyful face, picturing us finally back home. But the solid oak door to my sanctuary, my apartment, met me with a sharp, negative beep. Denied. I frowned. My worn fingers fumbled, I must be tired. I typed our anniversary code again, slowly, precisely. Beep. Red light. Denial. A cold unease crept up my spine. This was my home, my code. Liam wouldn' t prank me, especially since he didn' t know I was coming. Then, just as I reached for my phone, the door swung open. A heavy slam to the side of my head. Pain exploded. The world tilted. A young woman, maybe early twenties, stood in my doorway, holding one of my own art books. "Who the hell are you?" she shrieked, panicked, a delicate, handcrafted silver gingko leaf hairpin tucked into her messy blonde hair. My hairpin. I stumbled past her, into my apartment, and the world fell away. My minimalist, elegant space was gone, replaced by a nightmare of vibrant pink and fluffy textures. Cheap pop star posters covered my walls. My custom Italian leather sofa was replaced by a lumpy, glittery monstrosity. The air reeked of cheap perfume and burnt sugar. My home office was a makeup room. My blueprints, my life's work, shoved into a corner, stained and crumpled. My mother' s priceless antique lace wedding dress, wine-stained. Torn photos of Liam and me, our memories, scattered in the trash. "Get out!" Chloe shrieked, shaking my arm. "This is my home! Liam will be back any minute!" Liam. The name was a key, unlocking a torrent of horrifying possibilities. Then, her sleeve slid back, revealing a sleek, modern watch with a distinctive blue face. The men' s version of the matching couple' s watches I'd bought for Liam' s birthday, still gift-wrapped in my luggage. My eyes scanned the unrecognizable living room. My gallery wall of our life together was gone. In its place: Liam and Chloe kissing under the Eiffel Tower, on a boat, at a family barbecue with his parents. Every single picture of me was gone. I had been erased. "I hope you like what I' ve done with the place," Chloe purred, her voice brimming with proud ownership. "Liam said the old style was so cold and impersonal. He loves how warm and cozy it is now. He says it finally feels like a real home." Each word was a deliberate blow, telling me I was inadequate, replaced. She picked up a framed photo of them. "Liam was so tired of everything being so perfect and professional. He needed someone to just… take care of him. A soft place to land." The implication was clear: I, with my career and independence, was his stress. She, this cloying woman, was his "soft place." For a moment, I felt nothing but a vast, hollow emptiness./0/83955/coverorgin.jpg?v=0197f6b07bbfd37eadec514c859b80df&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late For Apologies, Andrew
My husband, Andrew, a promising politician, asked me for a divorce for the eighth time. It was always the same drill: his 'childhood best friend,' Gabby, would throw a tantrum, threaten his mayoral campaign, and he' d oblige, promising to "fix it later." This time, the exhaustion was bone-deep, but when we sat in our lawyer' s office, something felt different. Chloe, the paralegal, grimly asked if she should schedule the reconciliation filing for next month, as usual. "There won't be a next time," I heard myself say, shocking even myself. But Andrew, ever the politician, just gave a weak, placating excuse about calming Gabby, just like always. Later, I walked into our brownstone to find Gabby and Andrew in the kitchen, laughing amidst a flour-dusted mess. My obsessively neat husband, covered in flour, asked if I could whip up Gabby's favorite coq au vin. "No," I said, a word that felt foreign on my tongue. Andrew' s face flushed; he shoved me, then dragged me by the arm and locked me in the dusty pantry, telling me I' d stay there until I learned to be "a supportive wife." Hours later, Gabby opened the door, sneered, and drenched me with a bucket of ice water. Something inside me, long dormant, snapped. I lunged, swung the empty bucket, and caught her head with a dull thud. Andrew rushed in, saw Gabby crying, grabbed a handful of my wet hair, and roared, "You crazy bitch! Apologize to her, or get the hell out of my house right now!" "Okay," I said, pulling out my phone. He looked confused. "Okay, what?" "Okay, I'll get out." I finally dialed Wesley, my old architecture mentor, the man Andrew had demanded I cut out of my life years ago. "Wesley?" I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. "Can you... can you come get me?" He didn' t ask why. "Send me the address. I'm on my way." This time, there was no turning back./0/84604/coverorgin.jpg?v=b8d31123164936f3727d34ce6c7c1915&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Regent's Secret
The world was a blur of pain, and Kael, my fierce protector, was there to sweep me into his arms, just like always. He was my anchor, the man whose life was bound to mine by a rare, ancient Soul-Link—a sacrifice I'd made without a second thought to save him from poison years ago. I trusted him with my life, literally. Then I saw her. First in a terrifying nightmare, then in Kael's study, a cloaked figure handing him a mysterious ornate box. Her cold, regal eyes haunted my waking thoughts, but Kael swore I was dreaming, soothing my fears with familiar warmth and a tangible clue about my missing sister, Seraphina. He couldn't be lying, not when our very souls were linked. My trust shattered when I saw Lyra again, stepping out of a gilded carriage, announcing her engagement to Kael. They'd been engaged for years, uniting two powerful families. I was nothing but a temporary amusement, a pet he'd picked up. His betrayal sent a searing pain through my chest, amplified by the Soul-Link—a physical manifestation of my broken heart. How could he cause me such profound emotional agony, yet share my physical pain so deeply? The contradiction tore me apart. He looked at me with genuine worry, yet continued to lie, continuing this elaborate deception. Why? What was this bond to him? Just a burden? I found my answer, not in his words, but in the truth. The man with Lyra was his twin brother, a calculated deception to manage his political life. I wasn't just a secret; I was a fully separate life he was living. My heart shattered. I learned then that the "medicine" he gave me daily wasn't a cure for the Soul-Link's pain, but a slow poison, ensuring my dependence, my control. He blamed me for the link, twisting my sacrifice into a curse. So I ended it, plunging a letter opener into my own heart, severing the Soul-Link, and sending him an agonizing final message of shared oblivion./0/82333/coverorgin.jpg?v=03b7d8de7e10e3f297e300bf44466639&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Platinum Bands of Betrayal
Ten days from our wedding, I planned a surprise for Izzy: custom platinum bands. For five years, I' d been her "supportive husband," putting my own life on hold for her skyrocketing marketing career. Then I overheard her Instagram Live. "Ethan? He' s sweet, but he' s basically my well-kept house husband. My career pays for this lifestyle, he just makes good coffee." The rings crashed to the floor. Five years of sacrifice. Five years reduced to a sarcastic joke. Her intern, Liam, was far more than just a colleague. Soon, his arrogant social media posts confirmed my worst fears: their late-night "work sessions" and private jokes. She repeatedly lied to my face, dismissing me while planning our wedding. A vast, cold emptiness settled in my chest. My entire life with her felt like a cheap movie set, and I was merely an uncredited extra. How could I have been so utterly blind to her contempt and betrayal, to the true nature of the woman I was about to marry? But the emptiness became a catalyst. I typed a text to my estranged billionaire father: "Dad, I' m ready to come home. I' m in on the merger. Cancel Izzy' s company' s contract with us." This wasn't the end; it was my beginning./0/85902/coverorgin.jpg?v=468b8b9225489c544818f78a1dfd5750&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Price of His Control
The rain that had veiled Emily' s funeral still clung to my black dress as I approached Mark' s gleaming penthouse, a place that now felt like a tomb. The elevator opened directly into the living room, and the first thing I heard was Mark' s easy laughter, a sound that felt like a physical blow. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, oblivious, while I, his fiancée, had just buried my little sister. His eyes swept over me, from my damp hair to my scuffed shoes, and disgust flickered across his features. "Sarah. What are you doing? You didn' t follow protocol," he hissed, stepping back as if I carried a plague. Then, he grabbed the worn leather purse Emily gave me, holding it like a dead rat before dropping it into his high-tech trash chute. "Now go," he commanded. "Get out. And don' t come back up until you' re clean." That' s when I saw it. He wasn' t afraid of germs. He was afraid of losing control. He never touched my dying sister, citing "contamination risk," but freely shared mai tais with his assistant, Lisa, and her family in Hawaii, while Emily withered in an impersonal hospice. Every humiliating cleansing ritual, every compromised dream, every sacrifice I made for this man-it was never about love. It was about breaking me, about proving I was worth nothing. Something inside me, long dormant, finally shattered. I didn' t go to the sanitation suite. I walked out of that building, leaving behind his sterile, loveless world. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I was never going back./0/32368/coverorgin.jpg?v=8c777475a3845ee70cf873388771ab0f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Lethal Obsession
DARK ROMANCE "Sir, I am in a dire need of loan. Its very important, my friends life is at stake. I assure you I'll try my best to return the loan asap." She breathlessly said it all. Her eyes were filled with hope and expectations. He was her last hope. "Miss Sheharzaad," Shehryaar said, while standing up from his chair causing her to instantly stand up. "Yes sir" she replied, her voice troublesome yet confident. He walked towards the other side of the table and sat on the chair parallel to her. "Keep sitting, please." He said, like a gentleman and she sat down. She tightly held her hands together. A life could be saved by his single yes. "Sir please," she pleaded. "I agree. You can have the loan, but I have a condition." "I agree to your every condition sir" she replied with a little smile of victory on her face. "Think before you speak, Miss Sheharzaad." "I trust you." "I want a one night stand with you." He dropped the bomb. ............ "Every women is nothing but a whore, a slut and you're also one of them." He said making her wriggling double against the ropes, which tied her. "You're wrong." She replied with a sheer determination in her eyes. He harshly gripped held her chin and bobbed her head up towards him. "Oh, I'll prove it to you then." He spoke with an immense intensity and a promise in his eyes. "You'll now serve me as my personal escort, Sheharzaad." He declared and threaded his fingers into her silky locks, pasting his lips on hers, kissing her brutally. He didn't trust womankind and she was a strong woman. He wanted shatter and break her into pieces so he could satisfy himself./0/42426/coverorgin.jpg?v=8503502515efaba9c1f2a901ab77e24a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
