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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Dog Stays: And So Does My Revenge

The Dog Stays: And So Does My Revenge

For seven years, I was the perfect political wife, seamlessly orchestrating every gala, every public appearance. I stood behind my Congressman husband, Ethan Scott, a silent, smiling prop in our opulent D.C. townhouse. Then, at our annual fundraising event, he tapped a glass for silence, his arm draped possessively around his pregnant mistress, Sabrina. "Jocelyn and I have agreed to a divorce," he announced, his eyes cold, dismissive, while the room gasped. He expected me to nod, to accept the humiliating settlement, to stay on as a "household consultant" for her. But I refused, declaring I was leaving that night. He laughed, assuming I was dependent on him, that I' d be crawling back. Then Sabrina' s cruel sneer cut through the air: "The dog stays." Buddy, my golden retriever, my last connection to the child I lost, was yanked from my side. Sabrina feigned a bite, screamed, and Ethan, without hesitation, ordered Buddy to be put down. My world shattered. This wasn' t just about Buddy; it ripped open an old wound. Sabrina had given my premature son, Leo, a deadly teddy bear in his NICU crib. Ethan had blamed me for his death, choosing her over our grief. Now, he was literally sentencing my last piece of family to death for her. My tears were gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I was trapped, sick, and nearly burned alive in my room, thanks to Sabrina' s arson, but a hidden message from Andrew, my childhood sweetheart, illuminated a path forward. It was time to fight.
His Secret Wife, Her Public Shame

His Secret Wife, Her Public Shame

Tomorrow was our fifth anniversary, and I wanted to surprise my husband, Cleve, with a special ring. But at the jewelry store, my marriage certificate was rejected. The system said it was invalid. Confused, I went to city hall, only to be told my marriage to Cleve Drake was dissolved a year ago. And worse, he had remarried the day after the divorce was finalized, to Ivanna Mccarty, the shy orphan girl our family charity had sponsored. My world shattered. I found Cleve in his office, kissing Ivanna, who was dressed and styled exactly like me. I overheard them. Ivanna, feigning vulnerability, asked what if I found out. Cleve chuckled, saying I was becoming too independent, forgetting my place. He then gave Ivanna the exact "Five-Year Vow" ring I had tried to buy. The next day, Cleve acted as if nothing happened, even giving me an identical ring. But the lies were poison. I learned Ivanna had undergone plastic surgery to look like me, a chilling strategy to replace me. Then, the ultimate betrayal. My brother, battling a chronic illness, died from a sudden allergic reaction. An anonymous message revealed Ivanna had switched his medication. At his funeral, Ivanna deliberately shattered the urn containing his ashes, whispering, "He's with the dirt now. Just like you will be soon." I was framed for malpractice, my career destroyed, and beaten in jail on Cleve's orders. I overheard Ivanna confessing to Cleve that the car accident that fractured my wrist was planned, and that Cleve himself suggested pushing me into the table corner. They wanted me destroyed. But I wouldn't be their victim. I would disappear.
The Arrogant Captain's Regret: Chasing My Ex-Wife

The Arrogant Captain's Regret: Chasing My Ex-Wife

For seven years, I lived in the shadows as the secret wife of NHL superstar Bryant Norton, sacrificing my brilliant medical career to be a low-paid nutritionist for his team. On our seventh anniversary, I flew in to surprise him with my pregnancy ultrasound, only to find him intimately celebrating with Candice. My six-year-old son threw himself into Candice's arms, wiping cake on her couture dress. "Candice is ten thousand times better than Mom! Make her my real mom!" Instead of scolding him, Bryant smiled indulgently, letting my son call another woman mother. When I went to his office to hand in my resignation, Bryant hurled a heavy metal clipboard in a blind rage, violently striking my pregnant belly. As I collapsed in agonizing pain, he rushed past me to comfort Candice, who had merely stepped on a piece of plastic and faked a twisted ankle. "Stop pretending to be hurt to get my sympathy! Security, throw her out!" He cut off my credit cards, assuming a penniless housewife would crawl back begging in three days. He didn't know that the "genius patents" Candice used to climb into his bed were just discarded drafts I threw in the trash during college. Seven years of silent devotion had been reduced to a pathetic joke. I tore up the ultrasound, signed the divorce papers, and permanently waived all custody rights to my ungrateful son. Then, I logged into the encrypted channel of the world's top bio-lab. It was time for the real genius to take her life back.