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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
A Second Chance, Fall In Love Again

A Second Chance, Fall In Love Again

The sharp pain in my head was nothing compared to my stepsister Sarah' s screams. My fiancé, Liam, already by her side, shot me a look of pure accusation: "Chloe, what the hell did you do?" Sarah clutched her ankle, twisting her face in agony, then whispered, "She was just… upset that you were holding my hand." A gentle poison. Liam' s suspicion solidified into certainty, his eyes hardening with disgust as he scooped Sarah into his arms. "Her ankle looks broken. We can' t carry her and help you walk. You' ll have to wait here." He abandoned me in the middle of nowhere, my own leg throbbing, my head pounding, leaving me utterly alone with a profound, bottomless despair. In the hospital, Sarah and her doctor brother, Dr. Evans, casually manipulated Liam, fabricating a diagnosis of a mere bruise for my fractured leg, and suggesting I was "not well." Liam, blinded by guilt and Sarah' s lies, agreed. The man I loved was gone, replaced by an angry stranger who punished me for a pain he refused to see. He pushed my wheelchair, demanding an apology, completely ignoring the new, blinding agony ripping through my leg as it jolted. A dark discoloration rapidly spread from my knee, yet Dr. Evans dismissed it as "just the bruising settling." They were going to send me to a mental institution. I looked at Liam, then at the ring he tossed to the floor-our future, discarded. Something within me broke, a cool, clear voice whispering: Let go of this life. I can give you a new one. I shed my old self, my art, my love for Liam. I was Chloe no more. As I finally walked onto the hospital rooftop, Liam' s scream cut through the air. He lunged, a desperate, impossible attempt to save me, only to fall with me.
Stupid mistake

Stupid mistake

"Whooo! Let's drink! Ali shouted. Yes, we're in the bar, been here with friends since earlier. Ali's broken; her boyfriend cheated on her. Thought he was handsome, but well, 'Whoo, let's drink!' she exclaimed, taking a swig of her beer. "Listen, Cally, never fall for handsome guys; they're all cheaters," a friend advised, and I just chuckled. "Okay, enough of that," I said. "No! Let's drink more! It hurts so much!" Ali insisted, drawing attention from others in the bar. "Stop them," I instructed Sam. "Hey, easy! I told you, I'm here for you," Tom chimed in. "Eww, Tom, we're just friends," I retorted. "Shut up," he replied. "You're just drunk, gaining confidence," Tom teased. "Well, we graduated; maybe I have a chance now, right, Ali?" Ali scoffed, ignoring him. "Handle them; I need the restroom," I said, feeling a bit dizzy. Hi, I'm Cally, short for Cllane Avarri Joy. Apologies for the length – blame my mom's preference for sophistication. We all graduated with a Business Administration degree; I didn't like the courses for the "smart" ones. I'll just find my engineer, right? We're a group of not-so-responsible friends, as you can see. We enjoy each other's company before facing life individually. My parents scold me due to my friends, fearing they might influence me. They don't know I'm the leader. Annoyingly, I'm constantly compared to my cousin Amanda, the golden child. I washed my face; alcohol works fast. Exiting the bathroom, I couldn't stand seeing couples kissing. "Why can't I find someone good-looking?" I complained. "Hey, Cally!" my friends called. "Later!" I replied, feeling a bit woozy. "Focus, Cally, I need to find someone tonight," Tim said. "Looking for someone?" I asked. "Yeah, and I was hoping to see you," he replied. "So, what do you want?" I quickly retorted. He grinned. "I'll give you the room number; follow me later." "Here we go again. Where's the number?" He handed me 143. "Okay," I said, taking a sip of his beer. "It feels like you're in the mood, huh?" he teased. "You wish," I playfully responded. He left, and I continued drinking. A few hours passed; I was a bit drunk. "Nice!" I muttered, heading towards the rooms. I found the door with the number 143, knocked, and waited. It took a while to open; I was getting sleepy. "Oh, still drinking, Cally?" I muttered to myself, entering the room. "What are you doing!?" someone exclaimed. "Let's sleep," I said, placing my hand on their shoulder. They looked at me, and my vision blurred. I burst into laughter for no apparent reason. "You're really drunk, Cally! Seeing all kinds of handsome people," they remarked.
From Fake Love to True Bliss

From Fake Love to True Bliss

For six years, our life together with Ashley was a perfectly curated social media feed: beautiful, aspirational, and utterly fake. I, Ethan Miller, the indie filmmaker, thought we were finally building something real, meticulously picking out wedding invitations with my social media influencer fiancée. Then, a bombshell. "I need to postpone the wedding," Ashley announced, tears welling up in a performance worthy of an Oscar. Her childhood friend Liam' s dying mother, she claimed, had one last wish: to see Ashley marry her son. Not only did she steal the wedding rings I designed for us to marry Liam, but Ashley-the woman I was supposed to spend my life with-also callously mocked my own dying mother for being too desperate to get married. The betrayal clawed at me, but the horror deepened when I returned home to find Liam and Ashley cozy on our couch, with my belongings being boxed up by her bodyguards. I was a prisoner in my own home, a "harmless" man she could discard at will. When I tried to leave, Liam's hired thugs abducted me in my own lobby, while Ashley' s bodyguards stood by, watching. I woke up to Ashley and Liam staging a sick charade, falsely accusing me of assaulting Liam' s "dying" mother. "You monster! How could you?" Ashley screamed, before violently slapping me. Then, with a chillingly calm expression, she grabbed my wrist and twisted. I screamed as I heard the sickening crack. My wrist was broken. "Don't ever get in my way again," she hissed, leaving me broken and alone. She even tried to buy my silence, threatening to ruin my career if I ever spoke the truth. But her theatrical sorrow, the stolen rings, the staged kidnapping, the deliberate injury-it all solidified into a cold, hard resolve within me. I was done playing her game. "Can you find me a new bride?" I asked my sister, and then, a name from my past surfaced: Chloe Peterson.
The Unwanted Pact With My Enemy

The Unwanted Pact With My Enemy

To keep her art scholarship, Vesper had to complete a life-size woodcarving for her final project. But her randomly assigned model was Slade Forrester, the arrogant basketball captain who had shattered her grandfather's priceless antique carving tools freshman year without a single apology. When Vesper blackmailed him with a ten-thousand-dollar property damage claim to force him into the studio, Slade mercilessly turned the tables. "I'll be your model, but you're going to do something for me in return." He demanded she carve a custom piece to help him woo a girl who hated his guts, and forced Vesper to act as his personal spy. The target turned out to be Vesper's own roommate. To make matters worse, Slade caught onto Vesper's terrifyingly deep, secret crush on his polite roommate, Julian. He ruthlessly weaponized her anxiety, mocking her stuttering panic and trapping her in a twisted mutual-blackmail deal that left her completely suffocated. Exhausted, humiliated, and desperate to escape this nightmare, Vesper logged onto the university portal at 2 AM to register for a quiet online elective where she wouldn't have to see anyone. But the system lagged, locking her out of every normal class and leaving only one open seat in a brutal varsity physical conditioning course. With her required credits and scholarship on the line, she had absolutely no choice but to hit register. Then the syllabus loaded on her screen. The Teaching Assistant for the class was Slade Forrester.