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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Heiress’s Fall, Her Rise to Love

The Heiress’s Fall, Her Rise to Love

My coming-out party should have been the most glittering night of my life. As Chloe Davis, the Davis fortune' s true heiress, perched at the top of the grand staircase, I was the picture of cool, collected perfection in my silver silk gown. Then, everything shattered. The ballroom' s elegant music died, replaced by gasps as a grainy video flashed across the screens, showing me in a hotel room with a man who was not my fiancé. Humiliation burned through me, absolute and suffocating, as whispers turned to a roar of judgment. I fled, desperate for comfort, to my fiancé Liam Sterling' s penthouse, only to overhear him boast, "She deserved it," revealing the public disgrace was a calculated plan with my adopted sister, Sophia. The world spun, the betrayal a bitter choke in my throat. I escaped his apartment, returning home only to be slapped by my mother and banished to Europe by my parents, who watched with disgust. They had chosen Sophia over me. Days later, Liam appeared at my bedroom door, playing the concerned fiancé, claiming it was all a misunderstanding while Sophia texted me intimate photos of them. My last shred of hope withered when I called him, only to hear Sophia' s seductive voice in the background, telling him to "come back to bed." Then came the ultimate cruelty: Sophia' s staged fall down the stairs, followed by Liam's cold, calculating words to the guards, "Your eyes, Chloe, will be a perfect match." I woke to darkness, bandages covering my eyes. Liam spun a sick tale of my eye being donated to a blind child, while Sophia' s punishment for orchestrating everything was a single day of "grounding." The injustice was a physical weight, but the worst was yet to come. Accused of stealing Sophia' s necklace, I was dragged to an icy pond by Liam who, finding out I was pregnant, forced me into the freezing water to miscarry. I heard him confess afterwards, "Of course I did it on purpose. Now there's nothing standing in our way." The last bit of me broke, replaced by a cold, silent resolve. I called Julian Thorne.
The Wine Cellar Wife

The Wine Cellar Wife

I was nine months pregnant with twins, and my doctor gravely told me I needed an emergency C-section due to a life-threatening complication. My Hamptons mansion, built on the legacy of my husband Ethan' s old-money family, felt like a safe haven, especially after I saved his life from an F4 tornado. But as I drove home to tell him, I saw her car, Chloe' s sleek black Mercedes, parked outside. Chloe, his high school sweetheart, the "one that got away," had returned, claiming a fragile heart condition, and within moments, my urgent medical need was dismissed as "drama." Ethan, blinded by Chloe' s theatrics, accused me of seeking attention and brutally shoved me into the soundproof wine cellar, locking me in for three days to "teach me a lesson." Trapped and alone, my body began to fail, suffering a catastrophic uterine rupture as I fought to save our babies. My first twin, a tiny boy, was born still, lifeless in my arms, and then came the terrifying silence of my second child, lost before even drawing a breath. I bled to death on that cold, damp floor, clutching my stillborn son, realizing the man I loved had used my strength, my very resilience, to kill me. Three days later, my husband and his mistress were celebrating their engagement, completely unaware of the horror I endured, until my doctor, Marcus Vance, walked in, armed with the coroner's report and Chloe' s real medical history, ready to expose the truth to the entire Hamptons elite and the world.
Love After The Betrayal

Love After The Betrayal

Tomorrow was supposed to be my divorce day, marking the end of a three-year contract marriage to Olivia Hayes, the woman I hopelessly loved. But tonight, walking into Liam Peterson' s lavish penthouse, I found myself facing the man who' d effortlessly stolen my life, and the woman I called my wife. I' d just signed away my rights to her, believing it was for her well-being, only to be told by Liam that my entire marriage was a sham, a mere placeholder until he returned. He bragged about how Olivia despised my touch, how every thoughtful gesture she made-from the white roses to redecorating my office-was secretly a homage to him. Each revelation was a calculated strike, exposing me as the ultimate fool. The world tilted as I stumbled out, the image of Olivia' s social media post-her hand intertwined with his, declaring "Finally back where I belong. #truelove #reunited"-searing into my soul. I was nothing to her, less than nothing. But later, when Olivia' s grandfather beat me savagely for defending her honor, and I saw her obliviously texting Liam outside, something inside me snapped. The pain, the humiliation, the years of one-sided devotion-it all coalesced into a cold, hard resolve. I would no longer be a ghost in my own life. I would leave, taking what was left of my shattered heart, and build a new life for myself, without Olivia Hayes. Then, she called, frantic that Liam was cold. She demanded I give him the cashmere coat I bought as a symbol of my own hard-won success. The old me would have handed it over, but that man was dead. I' d give her the coat, but it would be the very last thing I ever gave her.
Twelve Years, One Stranger

Twelve Years, One Stranger

On my 30th birthday, I stood in a grand gala, believing I was celebrating twelve years with Ethan, the man I loved, and his big project win. But my "celebration" was a pathetic banner and a wilting cupcake, while the main stage projected a smiling tribute to Ethan and his "brilliant protégé" – his intern, Madison. Ethan, oblivious, pointed to the cupcake, "Madison arranged that. Sweet, right?" His intern's "adorkable" hug felt like a trap, her eyes gleaming with malice. The betrayals escalated: abandoned on a dark train platform for Madison's "panic attack," our anniversary skipped for her "lost keys," and the ultimate insult – being asked to give her my concert ticket. The final blow came when Ethan, in a fit of rage, weaponized my deepest shame, snarling, "You' re just like your father, always putting your hands on things that don't belong to you." In that crushing moment, my twelve years of love for him disintegrated into ash, leaving behind only chilling emptiness and the realization he was a stranger. Ethan, full of arrogant certainty, winked, "Give her a week. She' ll come crawling back." He had no idea I'd just accepted a promotion to Program Director of my non-profit' s international branch – in London. I quietly packed two suitcases, deleting him from my life as I hailed a taxi to Logan International. When he frantically called, yelling, "What is wrong with you?", I simply said, "It's over," then blocked him and turned off my phone, finally free. But my past wasn't quite done with me, and soon, Ethan and Madison would confront a terrifying truth that would change all our lives forever.
Unraveling Fifty Years of Silence

Unraveling Fifty Years of Silence

At seventy, my body failed, but my mind was sharp with the bitterness of a fifty-year marriage to a woman I was certain never loved me back. My final words, a rasping confession of lifelong regret, were, "If I could do it all over again, I would never love you." Then, darkness, a profound silence, and suddenly, light flooded my vision as I shot awake, an eighteen-year-old in my childhood bedroom, strong and healthy. This was my second chance, and I vowed to rewrite my bitter past, starting with Jocelyn Anderson, the ice queen who had unknowingly broken my heart for half a century. I meticulously planned to shun her, using my knowledge of the future to build an empire, while deliberately acting aloof and uninterested, pushing her away at every turn. But then, she inexplicably transferred to my school, sat next to me in class, and shockingly appeared on the football field with Gatorade. My carefully constructed aversion shattered as I accused her of loving another, blinded by the phantom pain of my first life's perceived betrayal. Just as I walked away, broken-hearted and accepting my fate, her trembling voice hit me like a physical blow: "You think you're the only one who remembers?" "You were my husband for fifty years, Ethan," she whispered, her words confirming the impossible. But then Wesley Fowler, whom I believed was her lover, arrived, pulling her away and reigniting the crushing certainty that she was still lying, still choosing him. How could this be happening again, even with a second chance, even with her claiming to remember? The universe seemed to be playing a cruel joke, ensuring my sorrow spanned two lifetimes, leaving me with an agonizing question: if we both remembered, why was she still choosing him, still living the lie that destroyed us? I fled, seeking escape in Maine, only for her to follow, confronting me with a truth so profound it would either heal my soul or shatter it completely, forcing me to confront the fifty-year misunderstanding that defined my existence.
The Pranking My Boss

The Pranking My Boss

"Sir is already there." Venus immediately approached me to alert me that the manager of the coffee shop where we worked was coming. Venus is my cousin and we are friends. "Is my face okay Mars?" He fixed his messy hair at the same time. I'm telling you, Venus is really dead to our boss. I don't know about that. The perfect figure of the man we were expecting entered from the main entrance. As usual, there was no expression on his face and his big arms, chest and stomach were clinging to his clothes. "Mars, pranks are the trend now, can you try to prank Sir." My cousin whispered while sniffing at the man. "What are you? Prank your face." Who's a fool to play pranks on that? I might be splashed with hot coffee because I'm so angry. "Hurry up, let's just try bro. All right, this way, I'll pay for the groceries and bills in our condo unit and then you won't pay the debt to me anymore." "What are you? I still don't want it, you're the only one who has a crush on you, sir." "Even so, I already have jowakels so we have no hope of that real thing. That's why it's easy to prank hahaha." Venus can be real, it seems like she is not an employee of her jinajudge. "Porke ni prank will become jowa immediately? Alright, alright, I'm willing as long as it's a deal?" I really need money, so Venus' help is a blessing. I want to enroll in the entrance. "Oh, really !" He covered his mouth because of his scream. "I didn't expect you to say yes, but go ahead. Do it like this, it's your prank. You should make the customers believe that you're joking and then pretend he's crazy hehe. I'll make a video." "Game, as long as the conversation is" "Natasha." Remember, he made the first move on both of us. Yes, my boss calls me Natasha. Full of fierceness, I walked in front of him and I really felt that I was acting for money. It's up to us if we get fired, we'll just look for another coffee shop to apply to. I slapped him, not just one but three more. All the customers gasped because of the loudness of my slapping him. My knees softened because sir's face and neck were red for some reason I don't know. Anger or because of the pain he feels? I don't know, maybe both. "How dare you cheat on me?" I screamed loudly as I poked him. "What?" "You don't have the right to explain. I saw it with my two eyes when you kissed your woman!" "yield?" "Are you going to deny your sin until this point? You're a human being. I hit him on the chest at the same time. Shock, the hardness ah. All I could hear around me was whispering and the person in front of me now was a statue. He widened his eyes at me to signal that I stopped my foolishness but I made my acting even more intense. "You said you love me, you said I'm just me. I kept on shouting and asking for help while I punched his back as hard as a rock. "bring medown!" I don't know where this man is taking me but we left the coffee shop and he held me like a light thing that he didn't waste his strength because he only used one hand to hold me. "Let's just talk girl." and he put me inside his.
The Wife Who Died For Me

The Wife Who Died For Me

The sterile hum of the hospital room was my last lullaby. I was Alex Miller, a game developer, fading away after a hit-and-run crash. My wife, Sarah, had spent three years turning my life into a living hell, her words sharper than any blade, all to push me away. Divorce papers, a constant reminder of my failures, sat untouched on our counter. I believed her staged betrayals and cruel jabs until the very end, telling the nurse to ensure Sarah knew I was finally gone, free from my burden. But death offered no escape, only a spectral front-row seat to my own funeral. I watched Sarah, her face a mask, her eyes raw, remain long after everyone left. Then, a terrifying truth unfolded: she hunted down my killer with relentless fury, breaking his limbs before calling the police. A week later, at my grave, under a full moon, she whispered words that tore through the veil of death. "Alex, I'm here to stay. I'm so sorry. I just wanted you to live, to be happy, without me." She revealed a medical diagnosis: Glioblastoma. Terminal. Then, she climbed into my casket, swallowing pills, choosing to die with me. The world fractured, then slammed back together. I gasped, sitting at our kitchen table, the scent of coffee and Sarah's perfume filling the air. She slid divorce papers across the table, her voice flat. "I've found someone else, Alex. He's successful. He can give me what you can't." It was the day it all started, her cruel, self-sacrificing performance beginning anew. But this time, I knew the script. With trembling hands, I ripped the papers to shreds, then pulled my terrified, lying wife into my arms. "Are you crazy?" I whispered, tears welling. "Hiding a terminal illness? Do you think that's cool?"
He Said He Loved Her, But She Kissed Me

He Said He Loved Her, But She Kissed Me

My life was falling apart, much like my Brooklyn apartment with its persistent leak. Then, I stumbled back into the life of Gabrielle Chadwick, the woman who' d ripped my soul out three years ago, only to find her in my best friend' s bed. She was now a ruthless tech CEO, engaged to the same insidious man who' d convinced me I was just her "project." My old wounds bled anew, and I tried to escape, even inventing a fake girlfriend. But Gabrielle wouldn't let me go; she trapped me, demanding answers, which I met with accusations of her playing games. At a lavish industry event, to finally sever our toxic tie, I publicly declared my love for someone else, shattering her. Hours later, she found me, furious, desperate, and after slapping me, kissed me like her life depended on it. We reignited, but then she vanished for an "emergency meeting," leaving me with that familiar sinking feeling. The next day, news broke: Gabrielle was merging her company and marrying her fiancé, and I was fired, my project snatched away as a condition of their deal. Heartbroken, I deleted her number, booked a flight to Berlin, ready to erase her from my life for good. But as my boarding call echoed, the airport screens flashed: "Merger Off! Chadwick Innovations Stock in Freefall!" Then, I heard her scream my name, saw her running towards me barefoot through the terminal, tears streaming down her face, telling me everything was a lie and a fight for us.
The Billionaire Heiress's Revenge

The Billionaire Heiress's Revenge

The first sign was a text message glowing on Liam' s phone screen. "I miss you. When can I see you again?" it read, from a woman named Sarah. I was sitting on the edge of our bed, waiting for him, clutching the phone that held a history of his secret intimacy. When he walked out of the shower, naked save for the towel around his hips, I didn' t scream. I just held up the phone and said, "Her or me, Liam." He chose me, deleted her number, and swore it was a mistake. But the silence in our penthouse grew louder, his touch became a habit, and his eyes looked through me, not at me. I felt myself disappearing, desperate and pathetic, despite being the heiress to a real estate empire. So, I proposed to him, clutching at a phantom hope at a charity gala, only for his forced "Okay, Ava. Let' s get married" to ring hollow. The wedding preparations were a blur of my efforts, conspicuously absent of him. My friends and family saw the pity in my eyes, but I pushed on, convinced the vows would banish Sarah' s ghost. Then, on our painfully beautiful wedding day, as the officiant prepared to pronounce us, a small voice cut through the air. "Daddy?" A little girl, no more than five, stood at the aisle's entrance, huge tearful eyes fixed on Liam. His face went ashen. He dropped my hands as if burned, turned, and ran-away from me, our vows, everything-scooping the little girl into his arms. Sarah stood behind her, a triumphant, sorrowful look on her face. He abandoned me at the altar, humiliating me for the world to see. Deep down, a cold clarity told me this was always a possibility, and I was not unprepared. Taking the microphone, I announced, "The groom has a prior commitment. Enjoy the food. Consider it a celebration of my newfound freedom." I ordered security and called my lawyer. They had robbed me of my dignity, but I wouldn't let them rewrite my story. It was time to fight back.