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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Heartless Beast

Heartless Beast

Melissa is a widow; she is just 22 years old with a two year old son. Her lover , who she had not married, dies of a heart attack. His ex-wife turns up with her fiancé, and throws Melissa out, penniless. The fiancé, Trsitan Lord, is a ruthless advocate, a millionaire as he fights the cases for the Mafia mob. He does not care for anyone's feelings. When he meets Melissa, he feels a desire to dominate her, a strange attraction towards her. Although she cannot understand the way she feels towards him, Melissa does not respond to his overtures. This makes him angry. Melissa's mother dies, her father is paralyzed. He has no one except Melissa. Desperate, with a child and her helpless father to look after,, she takes up a job as a dancer at a topless bar run by the Mob. Tristan sees her there and tries to seduce her in his brutal manner. He grabbed her am, pinning her to the wall, his eyes gleaming like hot coals as he growled, 'You slut...so you can parade your naked body before the men in that room,' He jerked her to him, forcing her to feel his hard erectness that was pressing against her soft belly. "But you play the innocent with me, eh?' She pushed against him, futilely, aware that she was getting turned on strangely enough by this large man's cruel words and his punishing hold on her. His presence, his male musky aroma filled her head. "Take your hands off me,' she hissed, but for answer, he lowered his head and brought his hard mouth on her soft moist lips, displaying a hunger that seemed to burn both of them as he ravaged her mouth, his body holding her trapped...
Beyond Forgiveness: The Vanderbilt Fall

Beyond Forgiveness: The Vanderbilt Fall

I was eight months pregnant, suffocating inside a gilded cage for ten long years. My marriage to Ethan Vanderbilt was nothing but a cold, calculated transaction. His family paid for my little brother Leo's experimental, life-saving medicine, and in return, I endured Ethan's endless parade of mistresses and his cruel, dismissive taunts. My only flicker of hope, a fragile, dangerous thing in that house, was the life growing inside me. Then, a blinding flash of red on the road. A blaring horn too late. Tiffany Hayes, Ethan' s latest social media darling, caused the crash. I fumbled for my phone, fingers slick with something warm, gasping his name: "Ethan, accident! The baby..." His voice was cold, impatient, as Tiffany's giggle echoed in the background: "Don't be such an attention-seeker." He hung up. In the sterile hospital room, amidst the quiet hum of machines, the doctor' s words were a death knell: "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Vanderbilt. The baby… he didn't make it. Stillborn." My world shattered into a million pieces. Then, my phone rang again, pulling me deeper into the abyss. It was Dr. Ramirez. Due to Ethan's malicious disruption of payments, Leo' s condition had deteriorated rapidly. "He passed away an hour ago, Sarah." My brother. My son. Both gone. Numbness, a heavy blanket, descended. But then, a video message buzzed on my phone: Ethan and Tiffany, hours after the accident, laughing, kissing. "Sarah? She's probably just milking it for sympathy," Ethan slurred from the screen. The casual cruelty of it, the utter, monstrous indifference, curdled my grief into bitter resolve. How could any man be so devoid of a soul? How could a lifetime of sacrifice end in such devastating, calculated malice? That night, something inside me broke free. My baby would be buried in the Vanderbilt plot as was his right. But Leo? His ashes would come home with me. I wasn't just escaping a marriage. I was reclaiming my very soul, leaving the ashes of a destroyed life behind.
She Chose Him, He Chose Her

She Chose Him, He Chose Her

The sterile scent of the hospital corridor choked me as the doctor delivered the news: my father was gone. My world tilted, and the only person I needed was my girlfriend, Lily Chen, the woman I' d devoted three years to. When she finally answered, her voice was distant, impatient, music playing in the background. "My dad... he's gone," I choked out. Her response? A cold rustle of indifference, then "Mark is here. We're busy." Mark Davis, her charismatic, manipulative ex. The man I' d spent years helping her forget was now her priority in my darkest hour. The phone clicked dead, leaving only the roaring silence of betrayal. Three years of sacrifice, two jobs to fund her piano dreams, celebrating her every triumph and consoling every frustration-all for this. I wasn' t her partner; I was a convenient support system, easily discarded the moment her past came calling. Entering our apartment that night, an empty wine bottle and two glasses on the coffee table, Mark' s leather jacket draped over our armchair, confirmed my nightmare. A faint, unfamiliar cologne hung in our bedroom, in our bed. Her text arrived: Sorry about your dad. Things got a little crazy here. Call you tomorrow. Then, a group chat notification on our shared tablet: Mark' s photo, Lily smiling brightly, the caption Thanks for taking care of me tonight, my star. You were amazing. Followed by Lily' s heart emojis. A chilling calm settled over me. The storm of grief and anger vanished, leaving behind an empty certainty. I had been a bandage for her old wounds. Now that the wound-causer was back, I was just an irritating scrap to be tossed aside. But I wouldn' t just be tossed; I would walk away. I started packing.