icon 0
icon TOP UP
rightIcon
icon Reading History
rightIcon
icon Sign out
rightIcon
icon Get the APP
rightIcon
closeIcon

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Dying Billionaire's Secret Contract Wife

The Dying Billionaire's Secret Contract Wife

I stood in the ballroom of the Plaza Hotel, clutching a crystal flute of champagne that felt like a lead weight. It was my engagement party, the night I was supposed to be the happiest woman in New York. Then my phone buzzed with a link that shattered everything. I watched a video of my fiancé, Jed, tangled in the arms of my roommate while he laughed about how I was just a "boring, safe little girl" he needed to tolerate until my family's stock transfer went through. When I confronted him and walked out, I thought the nightmare was over, but my own father called me in a rage. He didn't care that I’d been betrayed; he only cared that the merger was the only thing keeping him from bankruptcy. He froze my bank accounts and left me with exactly forty-two dollars to my name. Jed started sending me threats, promising to leak private videos to the press if I didn't come back to him. I was penniless, homeless, and being hunted by a man who wanted to destroy my soul. Desperate, I took the only deal left on the table: a contract marriage to Hardin Hunter, a reclusive billionaire heir with terminal heart failure. The deal was simple: ten million dollars to be a "nurse with a ring" for six months until he passed away. I signed the papers and moved into his gothic manor, expecting to wait for a heart to stop beating. But when Hardin pinned me against a wall, his grip like iron and his pulse thundering with a strength no dying man should possess, I realized the "dying" heir was a lie. "You're not dying," I whispered, feeling the raw power of his heart against my hand. Hardin just looked at me with eyes like molten glass and said, "I might be a monster, Elsie, but I'm the only one who can keep you alive."
The Day I Vanished

The Day I Vanished

The doctor's words sealed Amelia Hayes's fate: aggressive, stage four ovarian cancer. Consumed by overwhelming guilt for her best friend Liv's tragic death years ago, Amy numbly embraced the diagnosis as a deserved end, refusing treatment and signing away her organs. Her penance wasn't over; Liv's grief-stricken brother, Ethan Carter, who viciously blamed Amy for his sister's demise, still dictated her every move. He meticulously orchestrated her public humiliation, forcing her into back-breaking tasks and enduring his cruel fiancée's sadistic games, watching Amy weaken, every ounce of suffering a grim reminder of Liv's absence. Amy accepted every degrading act, every physical pain, enduring it all as a desperate attempt to atone for her relentless survivor's guilt. Yet, even as her body failed, the gnawing question lingered: was her self-destruction truly a sacrifice for Liv, or simply a prolonged, theatrical torment orchestrated by Ethan for his own twisted closure? Finally, broken and desperate, Amy sought ultimate release, calling 911 from atop the George Washington Bridge, her final wish to donate her organs to give life even as hers ended. But a secret ally pulled her back from the brink, allowing her to fake her own death and forge a new identity, unaware that her "demise" would drive Ethan, consumed by his own guilt and pain, to the verge of madness, setting the stage for an explosive, unforeseen reunion years later that would challenge everything they believed about love, hate, and forgiveness.
No Second Chance For Love

No Second Chance For Love

I was just a ranch hand, she was a Redding heiress. Our love was a defiance, a whisper against the roaring wind of her family's dynastic rules. Seraphina chose me, giving up everything, promising forever. Then, her family made a devil' s bargain: she was forced to give them a male heir with their rival' s son, Wyatt Cole, to eventually be with me. I watched, tormented, as she became pregnant, only for her to bear a daughter, prolonging the agonizing charade. To add insult to injury, her infant child fell mysteriously ill, and without hesitation, every finger pointed at me. I was blamed, accused of poisoning the baby, and dragged into a frozen meat locker in the heart of a Wyoming blizzard. Through the frosted glass, I saw Sera. Her eyes, once full of fire for me, were cold with disappointment. "Why would you hurt my child?" she asked, shattering my world. The woman who once cradled my smallest cuts now watched me bleed, giving my family's prized buckle to my rival, openly choosing him over and over again. How could the woman who pledged her soul to me, who bled for me, believe I was a monster? How could she watch me endure such humiliation and torture without a single word of defense? What unknown force compelled her to turn her back on the very man she claimed was her only home? Broken beyond repair, I walked away from the endless torment, vanishing into the vast, remote mountains, vowing to erase every trace of the life I' d lost. But some secrets refuse to stay buried, and some pasts insist on a final, shattering confrontation.
Rejecting The Billionaire's Contract Marriage

Rejecting The Billionaire's Contract Marriage

I was the devoted PR manager and secret girlfriend of A-list actor Vance Sterling for three years. Just minutes after he promised me a romantic dinner, I caught him sleeping with a wealthy Los Angeles socialite. When I confronted him, he didn't apologize. Instead, he mocked my status, froze my bank accounts, and left me completely homeless on the rainy streets of the city. Blacklisted in Hollywood and utterly destitute, I ended up having a reckless, revenge-fueled one-night stand with the socialite's ruthless billionaire fiancé, Jory Elliott. But my nightmare had just begun. My younger brother accrued a half-million-dollar gambling debt with a brutal cartel, and they threatened to chop off his fingers. Jory stepped in and paid the ransom, only for my brother to beg the billionaire for more gambling money, calling me a selfish bitch for not milking him dry. Then, Jory threw a marriage agreement at my face. "Act as my devoted wife for two years, and I will wipe the debt and give you ten million dollars." I gave my youth to an actor who discarded me like trash, and my own flesh and blood only saw me as a walking ATM. Did these powerful men really think my dignity was just another corporate asset to be bought and traded? I looked into the cold, calculating eyes of the billionaire who thought he owned me. I threw the contract right at his chest and stepped out of his Maybach into the freezing rain. I would rather rot in the gutter than be a pet bought with a checkbook.
Wrong Bed:My Fiance Became My Nephew

Wrong Bed:My Fiance Became My Nephew

To save her family's failing shipping empire, Chloe Beaumont was forced into an arranged marriage with Derek Carlisle, a union ruthlessly orchestrated by his billionaire uncle, Nathaniel Sterling. But the wedding night ended in a catastrophic mistake. A drugged Chloe was accidentally guided into Nathaniel's private suite, while her older sister, Seraphina, drunkenly stumbled into the bridal suite and slept with the furious groom. When dawn broke, the horrific truth blew their world apart. Chloe woke up bruised and terrified in the arms of the cold-blooded man who had trapped her into this marriage. Seraphina realized with absolute horror that she had just slept with her newlywed brother-in-law. If the scandal leaked, the corporate merger would instantly collapse, and the Beaumont family would face immediate bankruptcy. The sisters were completely cornered. Chloe was sobbing uncontrollably over her ruined innocence, while Seraphina was suffocating under the guilt of accidentally delivering her sister into the lion's den. They were nothing but disposable commodities in a billionaire's twisted game of control. To contain the fallout, Nathaniel coldly decreed that the wedding would not be canceled. Seraphina would simply take her sister's place and marry Derek. Looking at her shattered sister, Seraphina wiped her own tears away. The panic in her eyes died, replaced by a chilling clarity. "I'll marry him," she told the untouchable billionaire. "But I demand a seat on the board of Beaumont Shipping. With full veto power."
Too Late For Regret: His Secret Heir

Too Late For Regret: His Secret Heir

Five years ago, Grace made a devastating deal to save her fiancé, Jake, from federal prison. She publicly dumped him, threw her Cartier engagement ring at his chest, and pretended to be a heartless gold digger who abandoned him for money. Now, Jake had returned as a ruthless tech billionaire, and his first act was buying the very hotel where Grace worked as a struggling maid. He didn't know she had secretly given birth to his son, Cody, who was currently fighting for his life in the pediatric ICU. Driven by a dark, obsessive hatred, Jake made her life a living hell. He forced her to clean up shattered glass with her bare hands and crushed her fingers under his expensive leather shoe. When Grace desperately begged him for three million dollars to pay for her son's life-saving treatment, Jake mistook it as a plea to save her new lover. "You want the money? Get on your hands and knees and crawl to the desk like a dog." Grace swallowed her shattered dignity, dropped to her knees, and crawled across the floor as he poured red wine over her head. She endured the agonizing humiliation, unable to understand how the man who used to kiss her forehead every morning had become a sadistic monster. Clutching the check, Grace walked out of his penthouse. But with the hospital pressing for answers, she knew the secret couldn't stay buried forever. What would Jake do when he finally discovered the "lover" he just humiliated her to save was actually his own dying son?
The Betrayed Wife's Comeback

The Betrayed Wife's Comeback

Mark was back, living in the guest room, but our house felt colder than ever, a hollow shell of a marriage. Our new normal was suffocating, filled with his dismissive anger and my quiet ache of betrayal. Then, one night, searching his laptop for our daughter' s school project, I stumbled upon a hidden file: "Elysium." My blood ran cold. Inside were two years of intimate messages, saccharine poems, and their grotesque plans for a shared future that meticulously excluded me. He wrote about our "stifling" marriage, about my "lack of understanding" for his so-called "artistic temperament." She was his "true north," his "anchor," his "twin flame"-a bond "spiritual" and "above common morality." At a company dinner, consumed by rage, I confronted them, only to be shoved, hitting my head, and waking up in the ER. Instead of justice, I faced his family's fury and baffling pleas from my own mother: I should apologize for the "scene." The world felt tilted, upside down. I, the betrayed wife, was now cast as the vindictive villain who had "ruined everything," while his mistress, Olivia, was the "fragile" victim. How could I possibly apologize for discovering his affair, for being assaulted, and for his blatant lies? His ultimate demand shattered any remaining illusion: I was to formally apologize to Olivia for him to "forgive" me for this "mess." That was the moment the rage turned cold, precise. My answer wouldn't be an apology. It would be a quiet, devastating storm he never saw coming.