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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
A Surrogate For Billionaire

A Surrogate For Billionaire

I knew this day would come soon but I’m not ready yet, I’m just scared. I couldn’t even see anything because my eyes were covered with a long black satin and also my hands were tied up. The most scary thing is it’s raining and thundering heavily. After some time I heard someone’s footsteps coming towards me and I knew he’s the man that I’m going to lose my virginity. He came and climbed onto me as he placed himself top of me. I could feel his scent and it made my heart beat so fast. Then he removed my nightgown as my body began to tremble. “Scared?” He asked huskily against my ear. “Can.. can you remove this blindfold sir?” I asked as I heard his voice. “No. You shouldn’t see me” He said and with that I felt a sharp pain between my legs. So finally it happened. Tears came out of my eyes as he started to move. “Ca..can I touch you sir? It hurts” I found myself crying because I wanted something strong to depend so he untied my hands. “Of course” Without thinking I hugged him so tightly and buried my face against his neck. I felt I was an object that he uses to vent his desire, I felt like I was a cheap woman who sells her own body for money but I should be strong because I’m giving myself to save a life…. …………………………. Julianna Kennedy was a 20 years old university student, her parents were dead but she had a 7 years old little brother who is suffering from lung cancer. So she needed a huge amount of money to do his surgery. So the only option she had was to be a surrogate for a man who she never knew. Ryan Winston was a 24 years old billionaire, he was handsome but a cold hearted man. He had everything in his life but never had a woman or loved anyone but because of his grandparents’ need to see a great grandchild before they die, Ryan was forced to have a child with a surrogate. But both Julianna and Ryan never knew they were fated to each other……..
Her Second Chance At Love

Her Second Chance At Love

The passenger window bloomed into a spiderweb of cracks, and one razor-sharp sliver drew a searing, hot line across Amelia Hayes’s cheek. "Help me," she choked into the phone, but her husband, Ethan Caldwell, snapped: "Amelia, for God's sake, I'm in a meeting." A percussive blow, then a wave of encroaching silence. She awoke not on the hard-packed asphalt beside her car, but in her opulent master bedroom, the calendar marking three months after her wedding. Three months into a marriage that had already begun its slow work of killing her. Ethan stood by the window, his voice softening, "Yes, Jessica, tonight sounds perfect." Jessica Thorne, his true love, the shadow over Amelia's first life. The customary ache that had long occupied the space beneath her ribs did not flare, but rather receded, leaving behind a preternatural stillness—a silence so profound she could count the heavy, deliberate beats of the pulse in her wrist. For seven miserable years, she had given Ethan a desperate, unyielding devotion. She had endured his glacial distance, his brazen affairs, his emotional abuse, all for a flicker of his attention. She had become a shell, a caricature, ridiculed by Ethan's circle and condescended to by his family. The profound injustice, the sheer blindness of his indifference, was a bitter pill. The familiar, constricting tightness that had long defined her chest had vanished. In its place was a peculiar and unnerving lightness, as if some vital, heavy organ had been neatly excised, leaving behind a cavity that no longer knew how to ache. She recalled the final indignity from that first life: a vulgar scene at a gala involving Eleanor’s ashes. Ethan’s palm had struck her shoulder with such force that she stumbled two full steps backward; before her skull met the unyielding wall, she registered the faint, sickening pop of a vertebra in her own neck, his accusations echoing: "You are a disgrace." He comforted Jessica while Amelia's head reeled from the impact. That was the final insult. There were no tears, nor any tremor of rage. Her fingertips, which had so often trembled, now rested upon her knees with the weight and stillness of poured lead. She delivered a small velvet box to his penthouse. Inside: the wedding ring and a divorce decree. "I require you," she stated, her voice a thing of newfound clarity, "to be removed from my life. Permanently." She was reborn to be free.