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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Broken Bonds, New Bloom

Broken Bonds, New Bloom

The judge' s voice was a low drone, stamping out the last echoes of a life I barely recognized. "Divorce granted." My husband, Daniel, wasn' t there, called away by "duty"-a last-minute training, his lawyer smoothly explained. It was always duty, always Olivia, his "fragile" niece, who overshadowed everything. My last day at the fire station, a small comfort, was shattered when Daniel appeared, asking me to drop the papers. He even tried a surprise birthday gift, only to abandon me when Olivia had another "panic attack." I filed for divorce, expediting my transfer to a small town. But before I could leave, Daniel burst in with Olivia, whose innocent eyes hid a smirk. They' d invaded my last sanctuary. Then, I overheard Olivia, the so-called fragile niece, passionately kissing Daniel while begging him to choose her and "let me go." My world crumbled. This wasn't a family; it was a sick, twisted drama. I was the villain, destroying their codependent world. And then Olivia, in a dramatic display, ran headfirst into a wall, collapsing in a pool of blood. Daniel scooped her up, his eyes accusing me. My fault. Always my fault. I didn' t understand. How could I be blamed for her manipulative antics? How could he be so blind? This wasn't just about an affair; it was a decade of emotional suffocation. I was drowning, and he was too focused on her tears to notice. I picked up the divorce papers, the ones he hadn't received because Olivia had intercepted them. The true nature of their warped bond finally became horrifyingly clear. I drove away, toward a new city, a new life, finally ready to let go of the man who had loved duty more than me-or so I thought.
Fake Dating the Secret Billionaire Hockey Star

Fake Dating the Secret Billionaire Hockey Star

My sister-in-law didn't want me to marry for love. She wanted me to marry rich-so she could turn my husband into her personal ATM. So I did the one thing guaranteed to ruin all her plans. I got myself a broke hockey player. At least, that's what everyone was supposed to believe. Beckett Hayes needed a girlfriend badly. The Chicago hockey star had a reputation problem, angry sponsors, and too many headlines painting him as arrogant, reckless, and impossible to settle down. I needed a man convincing enough to stop my family from arranging my future for me. Our solution was simple: fake date. His rules were even simpler. Live in his shabby apartment. Help sell the struggling-player act. Smile for the cameras. No real feelings. Easy. Until my family showed up to mock the "loser" I'd chosen-and Beckett stepped between us like they had insulted something that belonged to him. Until he put a no-limit black card in my hand and told me to stop sacrificing my dream of becoming an artist just because I was afraid to spend money. Until our fake dinners started feeling domestic, his hand started finding mine under the table, and I began forgetting that every protective look and possessive touch was supposed to be part of the contract. Then Beckett's grandfather arrived at our tiny apartment wearing cashmere, flanked by bodyguards, carrying a priceless Hayes family heirloom for me. Apparently, pretending to be broke was the easy part. Pretending I wasn't falling for my fake boyfriend was becoming impossible. Especially when his grandfather took our only bedroom and left Beckett and me with one pullout sofa, one night, and absolutely nowhere left to hide.
Married to Escape Her Grasp

Married to Escape Her Grasp

For five years, the hum of servers was the only soundtrack to my quiet exile in Havenwood. I' d traded city lights for a beige cubicle in a tech support call center, a far cry from the life I once knew, after a spectacular fall from grace orchestrated by my ex-fiancée, Sophia Davis. I found a strange peace, a quiet contentment, building a new life from the wreckage of the old. Then, Sophia, flanked by her new fiancé, Mark, waltzed into my office, their expensive city clothes a stark violation of my humble world. She sneered at my surroundings, then offered me a "chance" to return to the city-as her pet project, if I' d just apologize. The entire office fell silent, my colleagues watching, seeing my only escape. I finally looked up, calm, and delivered the blow: "I'm married." Sophia froze, her face contorting in rage, shrieking about me lying, about who I could possibly marry in "this wasteland." Mark mocked my hypothetical wife, suggesting some "desperate single mom." My jaw tightened. "You don't get to talk about my wife," I growled, standing to tower over him. Sophia, furious, spotted a box of clumsy friendship bracelets my colleagues' children had made for my wife, and deliberately stomped on them, grinding them into the dirty floor. "Pathetic," she spat, her vicious satisfaction palpable. As she and Mark left, I stared at the crushed innocence, and for the first time in five years, a cold, hard anger began to burn. How could I have let myself be so naive, to truly believe I had escaped her?