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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
When Love Became A Plot

When Love Became A Plot

Three years ago, Liam Hayes, the tech titan and my husband, promised to protect me. Now, I sat in the front row of his grand auction, expecting a product launch. Instead, the massive screen behind him flickered to life, not with an innovation, but with intimate photos of my deceased parents. The crowd' s murmurs turned to horrified whispers, their pity a suffocating blanket of shame. He was crucifying their memory, and I, his perfect, supportive wife, trembled with silent agony. When I pleaded with him to take the photos down, his eyes, once so full of warmth, were chillingly empty. "Everything has a price, Ava," he said, holding out a kidney donation consent form. "Donate a kidney to Skylar Vance, and I' ll end this. Their honor for her life. A fair trade." My breath hitched. He was using my dead parents, my most precious memory, to blackmail me, and I had no choice. As I signed, I remembered a secret vow we' d made-a desperate promise to defy a "plot" that dictated he'd leave me for Skylar. He' d sworn he' d fight it, that his heart was always mine. But now, as I was wheeled into surgery, I saw him kiss Skylar' s hand, a look of sacred devotion in his eyes-the same look he used to give me. The mask came down, and I knew: the plot had won. When I woke, alone and empty, the first call I heard was not from him, but from my heartbroken housekeeper. My parents, humiliated by Liam's stunt, had taken their own lives. The man I loved, the man who was supposed to be my protector, had destroyed everything. Now, standing at their desecrated graves, watching him cuddle Skylar, I knew my only path was to disappear forever.
My Wife, My Tormentor

My Wife, My Tormentor

For five years, my wife Seraphina' s 'purity' defined my existence. My days were a relentless cycle of scrubbing, proving I was 'clean' enough for her. This pristine, empty marriage felt like a lifelong sentence. Then, a faint love bite on her collarbone sparked a flicker of doubt, quickly replaced by horror when I overheard her chilling phone call. My wife wasn' t just cruel; she was auctioning me off. The 'Ethan Experience' she chirped, chilling me to the bone. Those excruciating 'cleansings' weren't about her mysophobia; they were about erasing me for her lover, Julian. My raw, burning skin wasn't from clumsiness, but industrial-strength soaps meant to wipe away any trace of me. They filmed me, naked, for a pre-auction 'preview,' inviting a crowd of socialites to watch. My wife, the woman who claimed disgust at my touch, was selling me like property. The night arrived, and I found myself sedated, stripped, and pushed into a glass room, the auctioneer's voice already booming my 'unveiling.' How could the woman I vowed to protect turn me into a living spectacle, a commodity of contempt? The betrayal was a physical ache, the humiliation a crushing weight. Was this truly my fate, to be auctioned off, utterly broken and shamed? All for a man who claimed to be 'allergic' to me, a lie she orchestrated for five years. Just as the curtain began to rise, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the haze. My godmother, Eleanor Vance, a formidable force, burst in, holding the annulment papers I thought I'd never need. My escape began not with a fight, but with a signature, as my dignity was finally restored. That night, I didn't become a spectacle; I became free.
I Once Loved My Foster Brother

I Once Loved My Foster Brother

For ten years, I lived a lie, pretending to be part of the wealthy Peterson family who took me in after my parents died. I, Scarlett Hayes, the orphan they graciously adopted, secretly cherished a forbidden love for their son, Brandon. My carefully guarded world shattered on my eighteenth birthday when I finally confessed my feelings. "I… I love you. Not like a sister," I stammered, only to be met with his cold, dismissive laugh. "Scarlett, don' t be ridiculous. You' re my sister. That' s all you' ll ever be." His words clipped my wings, but my foolish heart clung to hope for four more years, enduring his casual cruelties. The final blow came when his new girlfriend, Tiffany Chen, publicly humiliated me at his birthday party, accusing me of something I didn' t do. Instead of defending me, Brandon slapped me across the face in front of everyone, his act a brutal testament to his indifference. The pain, both physical and emotional, was a constant throb. How could the boy who once promised to protect me become my tormentor? How could I have been so blind, so foolishly devoted to someone who saw me as nothing more than a burden, a "guest" in his perfect life? And why did he give away the last piece of my dead parents to her, the music box, as if I simply didn't exist? But that slap, that utter dismissal, became my turning point. I had to choose myself. With a full scholarship to London for art, my true passion, I packed my single suitcase. I was done loving him. I was leaving, a one-way ticket to a new life where I would finally be free.