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Romance Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
My Wife, My Best Friend, Their Deceit

My Wife, My Best Friend, Their Deceit

My best friend Kevin invited me to his dad' s 60th birthday, a big celebration because his dad had terminal cancer. My wife, Olivia, couldn't make it; she was on a two-week work trip in Europe, a crucial conference for her career. But when I arrived at the party, I saw Olivia, kneeling before Mr. and Mrs. Miller, performing a "daughter-in-law tea" ceremony, dressed in a way I' d never seen. Then I heard Kevin' s relative say, "Kevin is so lucky. His fiancée is just wonderful." Fiancée. The word crushed me. Olivia' s practiced smile froze when she saw me. She pulled me aside, whispering, "Ethan, what are you doing here? It's not what you think." Kevin then appeared, claiming it was a "little white lie" for his dying father, wanting to see him settled. Olivia eagerly agreed, pleading with me to keep quiet, "just for today." They stood there, my wife and my best friend, united in their deceit, asking me to participate in my own humiliation. A cold clarity washed over me. "For your dad's dying wish? Does his dying wish also include a grandchild to complete the 'four-generation' picture? Are you pregnant, too?" The air turned to ice. Olivia recoiled, then feigned outrage, calling me "cruel." Her gaslighting was instant. Later that night, I went home to retrieve belongings and found them passionately kissing on my couch. "It's... it's not what it looks like!" she gasped, but I pulled out my phone, recording, "Save it for the judge. I want a divorce. And I'm keeping the dog."
Ceo First love

Ceo First love

inspiration and enthusiasm for the literary world have declined, but the blockage was due to personal problems (between me and myself). I ended up isolating myself from this profile, from writing and reading, I apologize for that, but I was comfortable with this seclusion. It was a necessary break and helped me reorganize my thoughts. I'm still working to improve, however, I can see progress. In the meantime, I dedicated myself to learning crafts, as therapy. I crocheted and macramé (I recommend) I even sold some pieces, oh and I created a brand, but back to writing, I hope you enjoy reading. It was a birth so to speak lol, however, the feeling of accomplishment prevails. Ah, this is my first story set in another country, I did a lot of research and obviously, I used a bit of poetic license to develop the plot, so I apologize in advance if any inconsistencies arise. Furthermore, I want to say that I'm coming back, or trying to come back, without putting too much pressure on myself, and I hope you're still around to read my stories. A big kiss and enjoy the story! SYNOPSIS The first time I saw Elijah Richards, I knew immediately he was going to be trouble, but I've always had an irresistible attraction to trouble. The boy labeled as the 'problem boy' by the city's gossips quickly became my world, only to soon break my heart when he ordered me to disappear from his life. Returning to my hometown was not part of my plans, especially after a failed marriage and a fugitive husband. And rekindling feelings for someone who made it clear that I was just a fling was far from my desires. However, with each encounter, amid intense stares and an almost tangible tension in the air, even at moments when he treated me with hostility, or behaved like a real asshole, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the magnetism that kept drawing us to each other. PROLOGUE Eleven Years Before Elijah Richards was the most unique boy I had ever met, but it was precisely his strange uniqueness that attracted me. I met him once in the cemetery, the afternoon we buried my father. He was a police officer and was killed on duty by a local drug dealer. According to the news that emerged shortly after his death, Dad was corrupt and received what he deserved. People just turned their backs on my mother and me; almost no one showed up at the funeral. That day, I was overcome with irritation, with everything and everyone in that small town. When the funeral finally ended, I refused to get into my mother's car and drove alone down the path that led to the deserted road at the back of the cemetery. — Don't wander around late! — Mom shouted as the car started to move. She walked past me, kicking up dust, and just walked away. It could just be my paranoia, but it seemed to me that she was almost happy...
His Cold Heart, My Fiery Soul

His Cold Heart, My Fiery Soul

Delphine Yenla has learned one thing the hard way; love doesn't just hurt, it breaks you in ways you don't recover from. So she stopped believing in it. She chose independence, control, and a life where no one could get close enough to hurt her again. And for a while, it worked. Until Wilson Dan walked into her world. Cold, composed, and impossible to read, Wilson is the kind of man who never loses control. He does not get involved. He does not make mistakes. And he never lets anyone get close enough to matter. But she doesn't realize... Wilson is not the kind of man you resist twice. People don't challenge him. Delphine does. From their very first encounter, something shifts. The tension between them is immediate, sharp, unsettling, impossible to ignore. And from the moment he notices her, walking away stops being a choice. Every conversation feels like a quiet battle. Every glance lingers longer than it should. And the more they try to stay in control, the more everything begins to slip. But this is not just about attraction. There are things Wilson isn't saying. Things Delphine is starting to notice. And people around them who are already watching... and waiting. What began as resistance quickly became something she cannot control. Because this is not just about feelings. It is about power. It is about position. And Delphine may already be standing somewhere she doesn't understand, somewhere she cannot simply walk away from. Is she getting closer to Wilson... or already too deep to step out? When control finally breaks, one truth becomes impossible to ignore: Some hearts don't just fall in love. They fall into something they may not survive.
The Five Hundred Thousand Dollar Lie

The Five Hundred Thousand Dollar Lie

Three years of playing my guitar until my fingers bled, enduring stale smoke and leering eyes in a Vegas lounge. It was all for him, my fiancé Jax, to pay off a $500,000 debt that threatened his family's legacy. Finally, the "contract" was fulfilled, the debt paid, and I was on my way home, dreaming of our reunion. But when I reached our old apartment, it was empty, a foreclosure notice taped to the door. Panic clawed at my throat as his phone went straight to voicemail, over and over. Then, a notification from a music blog changed everything, showing Jax, my fiancé, beaming with Savannah Monroe at a high-profile Nashville party. The caption: "Nashville's new power couple, Jax Thorne and Savannah Monroe, celebrate their groundbreaking merger." My phone clattered to the dusty floor, my mind unable to grasp the words. I stumbled to the penthouse address listed, only to overhear their voices dripping with casual cruelty. "She'd do anything for me," Jax bragged, his voice cold, "Pure profit." Savannah's syrupy drawl followed, "The loan shark? Seriously? You hired an out-of-work actor from Memphis." My blood ran cold as the truth hit me: the debt, the loan shark, the three years of hell-all a lie, a twisted game orchestrated by the man I loved. "Revenge," Jax hissed, "Her father stole a hit song from my dad. Ruined him. Drove him to suicide. I wanted her to feel what it was like to have everything taken away." My entire life, my sacrifice, my love-it was all a setup, a cruel, elaborate joke. His father was a jealous drunk, a gambler, and the 'stolen song' was a generous gift, not a theft. I was a pawn in a revenge plot based on a lie, completely broken, with nothing left. But as I stood there in the Nashville sun, clutching a small, crumpled piece of paper-a mysterious number for "a true emergency"-a desperate, fluttering hope ignited. I had never used it. With trembling hands, I dialed. "Rothschild, private office." The name echoed in my mind, a legend. "I... I need to speak to Marcus Rothschild," I whispered, "It's an emergency."