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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Watch The Discarded Villainess Shine Now

Watch The Discarded Villainess Shine Now

Sloane woke up in a sterile penthouse, her head throbbing with pathetic, desperate memories that didn't belong to her. She had transmigrated into a trashy romance novel as the ultimate villainess, a woman who completely destroyed her own life chasing a man who despised her. Tech CEO Axel Price stood directly over her, slamming a thick stack of paparazzi photos onto the glass coffee table. "I want a public apology drafted by tomorrow morning, or I will make sure you never work in this town again," he demanded, his voice dripping with absolute disgust. The original host had starved herself for months and wept in the damp bushes outside his headquarters, becoming a massive public joke just for a scrap of his attention. Axel's rabid fanbase was already flooding Sloane's phone with thousands of vicious hate messages, trending hashtags calling her a psycho stalker. Her own talent agency ignored her calls, leaving her completely isolated and universally hated in the entertainment industry. The original host had literally died of a broken heart over this arrogant jerk, leaving Sloane trapped in the miserable wreckage of her reputation. Why should she cower and apologize to a fragile-egoed billionaire who openly treated women like cheap, disposable accessories? A dark, slow smirk crawled onto Sloane's face as she accepted the villainess identity instantly. She pushed herself off the velvet sofa, executed a brutal sweep kick that cracked against Axel's ankle, and physically hurled him out her front door. It was time to show them what a real villainess looked like.
From Heartbreak to Heiress: A Philanthropist's Rise

From Heartbreak to Heiress: A Philanthropist's Rise

Ethan Bishop promised me a future seven times. Seven times I pictured Napa weddings, picket fences, or at least a lease with both our names on it. And seven times, his college "one that got away," Olivia Hayes, would drift back into San Francisco, and Ethan would suddenly need "space" or declare it "bad timing." This time, he swore it would be different – a house in Mill Valley, a real future – once the funding round with Olivia's firm closed. Then he breezed in, buzzing about a "critical pre-meeting dinner" with her. I didn't scream, I didn't cry. I just pulled out the dusty cardboard box, already packed with every hopeful trinket, every broken promise. "It's yours," I said, my voice flat, placing it at his feet. He just scoffed. "Don't be dramatic." "We'll talk after this Olivia deal." "Gotta run, she's waiting." He didn't even look back. Seven times I'd been "a little overwhelmed" or "not used to this world," while he prioritized Olivia's comfort. The burning humiliation from a past public betrayal finally extinguished the last flicker of hope. This wasn't just another storm he could weather; it was the unequivocal end. That night, no more tears. The next morning, as he met with Olivia, convinced I was just "pouting," I called a moving company. I emptied my half of our apartment, leaving his favorite takeout menu-now useless to me. No note. Nothing left to say. Then, I dialed a number I hadn't called in over a decade: my Grandma Eleanor.
The Sinner

The Sinner

"You are a Town Guard." "That is not a secret." "Then I do have a case for you," the lady said. "I wish to find my sister." "What is the nature of her disappearance?" If it was a simple disappearance, anyone could directly come into the Grand Guard Hall and file for the case. But with this woman's efforts, it was either a case that would cause a scandal or a petty, foolish one which was getting too rampant nowadays. He had been getting useless cases being presented to him by crying single ladies and their mamas in their poor attempt to get his attentions. Even a Town Guard could not be saved from the desperate single ladies still out in the marriage mart. "She had been banished," came the lady's reply. "I am sorry to tell you that we do not handle banishment cases. No matter how you may feel that your sister has been wronged, the law does not-" "I know of the law. I would not have come here if I knew I would not get your help." Ah, so she was confident he'd help her. McKenzie scratched at the scar across his right brow, a habit when he was getting impatient. "And why would you think I would take a banishment case?" he finally asked. Honestly, if this was another single chit who wished to trick him into marriage, he would throw her out of the house for having wasted his time. She finally pulled her hood off her face to reveal a beautiful lady with flaming red hair. Her cheeks were high and finely formed, her chin pointed and her eyes dark blue. She looked vaguely familiar and he quickly searched his memory for a name. He was quite good at memorizing faces and giving a name to them. Carrington. She was a Carrington. She talked of banishment and if his memory served him right, Belinda Carrington had been banished out of Willowfair five years past. Emmett Carrington had two daughters. This must be the other one. She did not know her name but he soon would. "I am Julia Carrington, now lady Trilby," she said, sparing him the trouble. Her face was too serious, her stand too stiff. He had heard of her recent marriage to the youngest Trilby son. "As I have said, Mr. Haverston, I wish that you find my sister, Belinda. You must know about her for her disappearance had caused a great scandal five years past." "And I have told you, lady Trilby, that a banishment case is not-" "The banishment is not unlawful, Mr. Haverston," she interjected, her blue eyes looking straight at him. "But where she was banished to is," she finished. McKenzie finally allowed a frown. "Where she was banished to?" Julia Carrington-Trilby's face tightened but McKenzie was certain that she was fighting back tears. "She was banished aboveground."
When Memory Returns, Love Dies

When Memory Returns, Love Dies

Sunlight hit my face, but I woke to a room I didn' t know, a smiling couple in a picture on the nightstand-strangers. Panic built. Then, a man from the picture walked in, tray in hand. "Good morning, sleepyhead," he said. He was my husband, Ethan, and my name was Ava, but it meant nothing. My memory reset every night, a rare amnesia, he explained. Then, one evening, it happened. My memory didn' t reset. I remembered everything: his assistant Chloe, their too-familiar glances, and their cruel whispers in his office. "It's convenient," he' d said. "She doesn't remember. I can do whatever I want." He saw me as a broken toy, his "perfect arrangement." I ran, lost in a city that was supposed to be home. When I returned, defeated, Chloe was on my sofa, wine in hand, acting like she owned the place. "Where else would you go?" she purred. Ethan, instead of concern, was annoyed. When I dared to demand a divorce, he grabbed me, threatening. He coerced me into kneeling before Chloe, forcing me to apologize. Then, she slapped me. He watched. The monster had built his life on my disability, isolating me, delighting in my helplessness. He had convinced my parents I needed isolation, turning me into a commodity. He didn' t just exploit me; he maintained my torment. How could he be so cruel? But then, a secret journal, hidden by a past self, revealed everything. He hadn't just used me; he was enabling my condition. The realization was sickening. I was trapped, but this time, the truth was burned into my mind. I knew I had to escape.