324 Book(s) Related to For

My name is Claire Bennett, and at twenty-nine, I finally said "no" to that midnight call.

Twenty years. From pudding cups in an orphanage to a lakefront mansion in Seattle, I spent two decades proving I was "useful"—until a woman in La Perla lingerie told me to fetch her coat. Like a servant.

"Without me, what can you even do?" Ethan asked, standing among broken wine glasses.

I didn't know the answer. But I left anyway.

First day back at that run-down Evergreen orphanage, I met Luca. He looked at me like I was the plague—"This isn't a resort for rich people to do guilt therapy."

I fucking hated this man.

Until that rainy night at the dive bar, under those dim lights, when I heard him singing: "I built these walls so high... then you walked in with your broken smile, and suddenly I'm terrified..."

Then he swung his guitar at the men trying to hurt me.

In the rain, in that shabby motel, he said: "The first day I saw you, I knew I was in trouble."

But the story wasn't over. Because three months later, a plain rental sedan pulled up to the orphanage...

I heard the recording. My six-year-old son Jerry had been helping my husband cover up his affair, for an entire year.

Later, at his birthday party, I overheard his friends: "That's Jerry's nanny. His real mom works overseas."

My son told everyone I was just the nanny.

That day, standing in the hotel hallway, Jerry looked at me and said: "Can you promise to never come find me again? So Michelle can officially be my mom?"

My blood ran cold.

I woke up one night and found myself back to that orchestrated evening three years ago.

In my past life, I was too naive, step by step pushed into the abyss by my stepmother Victoria. She poisoned my daughter Emma, embezzled my fortune, and finally orchestrated my "accidental" death. My father Robert, that greedy man, chose to turn a blind eye.

This time, I will make them pay in blood.

But what surprised me was that man—Ryan Blackwood.

Why does he always appear when I need help the most? Are those seemingly coincidental encounters really just accidents?

After catching my boyfriend and stepmother in my bed, I did two things: I dumped the trash, and I hired myself a man who set my blood on fire. Roger is perfect—in bed and in a fight. But he has a tiny secret: he gets a little… furry on full moons. So when my ex came crawling back, Roger just flashed his fangs and growled, "She's mine. Care to get closer?"

Fresh out of bone marrow donation surgery, I endured hip pain to see my chemo-worn son—only to hear him snap at the nurse: "I don't want this lady touching me! Where's Mommy Vivian? Daddy said she'd wait for me!"
When the nurse tried to explain, "This is the mom who donated marrow for you," he threw an even bigger fit.
My husband Nathaniel walked in, first asking our son, "Does it hurt?" then cooing, "Vivian's getting a surprise"—not a single glance at me, not a word about the major surgery I'd just endured to save his son.
For eight years, I helped Oliver take his first steps, read him bedtime stories, and made his favorite crustless grilled cheese daily when chemo took his appetite. Now I’ve even given up my marrow to save him. With two months left in our contract marriage, what am I to these two men, really?

I clutched the diagnosis paper that read "Stage 4 Gastric Cancer," my knuckles turning white. For twenty-two years, no matter how bad things got, Ethan always said he could handle it. But this time, my call only reached his voicemail.

I still remember that snowy night when I was seventeen. Under that tree, he squeezed my hand and promised, "You don't have to be strong anymore. Just lean on me." He said he'd marry me once he became successful, vowed to protect me for a lifetime. I believed him—believed him so much that today I drove frantically to his recording studio, desperate to tell him about my diagnosis.

But the scene through the cracked door shattered every hope I had. The sight of him entangled with Victoria hurt worse than any diagnosis. Later, when he handed me divorce papers, I coughed blood into my tissue, and he didn't even glance my way.

How did the man who promised to protect me forever become the one pushing me into the abyss? I'm dying, and even my last shred of hope is being crushed. Is this really how it ends?

I thought next week I'd be walking through the daisies on Grandma's farm to marry the man who promised to treat me like a princess—until our wedding planner's call shattered everything. He'd changed our venue to a Tuscan castle because it was his childhood friend Lina's favorite place? When exactly had I agreed to that?

What chilled me to the bone was seeing Grandma's heirloom necklace—my heirloom—around Lina's throat. He told me to "be reasonable," claimed the farm was "beneath" his status, but wasn't he the one who swore he'd make my childhood dream come true?

When he slapped me in front of everyone at his family party to defend Lina, reality finally hit me: the man I'd given my heart to for four years—what exactly did he think I was to him?

Seven years ago, I left him while carrying his child.

That night, I had a reservation ready to tell him we were having a baby. He texted about a last-minute audition. Then I saw him on TMZ having candlelit dinner with a producer's daughter.

So I walked away. Had Mia alone. Built a gallery in Portland under a fake name. Four years of pretending the past never happened.

Until he showed up at my door, saying he was Noah's uncle.

Those eyes—left one blue, right one green—matched my daughter's exactly.

He said he'd been searching for seven years. That he studied my paintings every night. That he'd been living across the street, watching over me in secret.

I should've slammed the door.

But when the world called me a fraud, when I stood accused in Paris with cameras everywhere, he flew five thousand miles to tell everyone: "She's my wife. Mia's mother."

Seven years ago, he made me hide in shadows. Seven years later, he dragged me into the spotlight.

The question is—do I dare trust him again?

My name is Mira Sawyer, an orphan adopted by the Rossi mafia family.

The night I was kidnapped, the captor pressed a gun to my temple and told Marco over video: "Five million dollars, or she dies."

I watched Marco Rossi—heir to New York's mafia empire—laugh with a blonde in his arms: "Keep her. Maybe she'll finally learn I don't want a pathetic puppy following me around."

Ten years of waiting, shattered at gunpoint.

Then the warehouse exploded.

Through the smoke walked a man in a black coat, eyes colder than death itself. Three shots. Three bodies. He stopped in front of me: "Nobody touches what's mine to protect."

That night changed everything.

The next day, I returned to the manor and saw him descending the stairs. Marco's face went white:

"Uncle Luca?! You're back from Sicily?!"

The legendary killer, exiled for twelve years. The real power behind the Rossi family. Marco's uncle.

He was the man who saved me.

And in that warehouse, I'd already become his.

My name is Victoria Sterling. Thirty-seven, Silicon Valley CEO, millions in the bank.

I don't believe in love. But I believe in deals.

Fifty grand a month for a compliant companion and bed partner—that's been my life for three years. Until I met Ethan Cole: twenty-nine, Stanford dropout, bankrupt with $1.8M in debt, mother dying of cancer.

He's smart, he's handsome, and he's desperate.

Perfect prey.

I thought I controlled everything. Until two months later, when his creditor showed up in my office lobby and said:

"Ms. Sterling, do you know his real reason for approaching you?"

That's when I saw Ethan's face—

Pure, devastating guilt.

I saved Frank from an avalanche. He paid me back by locking me at home with a pregnancy monitor and a salt-free diet. When he announced to the world on television that he was single, causing me to miscarry in a blizzard that very night, I knew this man was beyond saving.
So, I made him drink a potion that erases memory. Now, he has completely forgotten me, his wife, and our dead child.
And my greatest revenge is to stand here, watching him kneel madly in every heavy snow, desperately searching for the woman he personally killed.
I am the woman he will never find.

To avenge my father, I married Philadelphia mafia don Salvatore and poisoned him with my own hands on our wedding night. I thought my revenge was complete, until I met his son Matteo at the funeral—a cold, handsome,dangerous man.

Matteo suspected from the start that I'd killed his father. According to plan, I was supposed to get close to him, seduce him, then kill the last Rossi heir when he trusted me most.

"You're trembling." He cornered me against the wall, his long fingers caressing my cheek. "From fear... or something else?"

"I..." Under his burning gaze, I couldn't find words.

"Don't be nervous, stepmother." He leaned close to my ear, his voice low and magnetic. "I just want to see how honest you are."

When the assassin falls for her target, when stepmother becomes obsessed with stepson, can this dangerous game have a happy ending?

I died once, watching him leap to his death for me.

Reborn three years in the past, I decided to completely change the rules of the game.

"I'm going to marry Parker Ashford!" I declared publicly at his birthday party, ignoring everyone's shocked stares.

"You're insane? I'm a cripple..." He tried to push me away, but I wouldn't let him.

I climbed through his bathroom window, seeing him at his most vulnerable. "These scars are beautiful because they're part of you." I kissed his withered legs, feeling his body tremble.

"Don't look at me..." he begged through tears.

"Only I get to look, only I get to touch." I used a belt to bind him to his wheelchair. "You belong to me, Parker Ashford."

When debt-ridden Wendy Chen hits rock bottom, an unexpected "job" becomes her lifeline—a contract marriage with veteran Jason Morrison, paying $100,000 a year for one year, with a single assignment: being a "mom" to his fourteen-year-old son Liam.

This should have been the perfect business arrangement. Jason needs someone to care for his stepmother-resistant son, while Wendy needs money to escape the crushing gambling debts her ex-husband left behind. No love, no expectations—just cold contractual terms.

But when Liam "welcomes" her with a bucket of ice water, when Jason struggles through PTSD episodes during thunderstorms, when her dangerous ex-husband resurfaces to threaten her new life... Wendy finds herself caught in a deadly trap: she's genuinely falling in love with this broken family.

Until fourteen-year-old Liam accidentally discovers the contract.

Everything falls apart.

"They took eight years of my life, destroyed my family, and buried the truth under a mountain of lies. I walked out of Riverside State Penitentiary with nothing but a canvas bag and a marriage contract to a man in a coma—my last desperate chance at revenge.

But some sleeping princes aren't as helpless as they seem. And sometimes, the most beautiful love stories begin with the darkest plans for vengeance.

Justice may sleep, but it never dies. And when it awakens... it changes everything."

"Killed my family, raised me as his own—for five years, I called him 'Papa' and carved through his enemies with bloody gratitude…"

"Until he got that woman pregnant with his 'heir'—so I cut it out of her womb myself."

"As my scalpel split her belly, I whispered in her ear: 'See? Papa taught me well.'"

"Under the blood moon at the border, I finally pressed the gun to his chest."

I woke up in the middle of the night to my mark burning.

Through our bond, I could feel Xavier marking another woman.

Ten years of marriage and a seven-year-old son, all turned to ash at midnight when the blood moon rose.

When he brought Aurora home, I asked him, "What did you do?"

He said, "I couldn't stop it. She was my fated mate."

I was heartbroken, but then I found out something that made me decide to fight back.

They once swore to protect me for life. Three brothers I grew up with next door, who once treasured me like a precious gem, promising that no one would ever hurt me. Until she appeared. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman who used her sweet smile and perfect figure to turn my most trusted protectors into the cruelest executioners. They began to despise my social anxiety, humiliate my "psychological problems," and even turn my pain into a joke in front of everyone. When I had a panic attack in the crowd, they watched coldly from the sidelines, saying I was "performing." When I achieved the highest honor of my career, they chose to accompany that woman instead. When I needed them most, they chose betrayal. Two years later, I watched these three men who once promised to protect me for life kneel outside my clinic, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. "Memory deletion initiated. Target: all emotional memories related to Maverick, Knox, and Jett." They watched helplessly as I forgot their existence, forgot all the love and hate, forgot those beautiful past moments and painful betrayals. The cruelest punishment is not refusing forgiveness, but being completely forgotten.

I've always lived in the shadow of Sofia, my adopted sister.

Fifteen years ago, Sofia's parents died in a warehouse explosion, supposedly while protecting us from rivals. My guilt-ridden parents took in five-year-old Sofia out of some misguided sense of penance.

While I was being groomed to run this empire, my parents and brother Lorenzo showered Sofia with all the credit. She was their "orphaned angel" who needed their protection, their love, everything that should have been mine.

The cruelest betrayal came from Dante Romano, my childhood sweetheart and our top enforcer. The man I was supposed to marry fell completely under Sofia's spell, charmed by her practiced innocence. He started siding with her in every family meeting while I watched my birthright slip away.

I had it all planned out, after our wedding, we'd escape to New York. A fresh start, away from Sofia and my family's misguided guilt.

But the night before our engagement party, Sofia and I were both "kidnapped" by a rival gang.

"Baby, lend me Stella for the movie."
When my fiancé Damon said this, I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. My guide dog starring in his Oscar-worthy film—what a perfect love story.
I'm Aria Sinclair, 26-year-old blind film producer with perfect pitch and endless money, but no eyes. So when he said "The press will go crazy for our story," I stupidly agreed.
Three weeks later, in the editing room:
01:47:23—Dull impact.
01:47:31—Familiar whimper.
01:47:35—Silence.
My perfect pitch never lies. That wasn't CGI—that was real impact. Worse, I knew that whimper. That was Stella, my guide dog, my eyes, my most loyal companion.
They killed her. For a goddamn trophy.
On premiere night, when Damon walked the red carpet with a strange German Shepherd, when I touched her paw and found no white star-shaped mark—
"This is not my dog!"
I broke down in front of hundreds of reporters.
"Honey, you're under too much stress," Damon said gently. "Maybe you need rest."
Whispers from the audience: "Poor blind girl..." "She really needs help..."
Just like that, I became the crazy one.
Abandoned by the world.
Betrayed by the man I loved most.
But they made one fatal mistake—they thought stealing my eyes would silence me.
Now it's time to let them hear what despair sounds like...
[Click to watch me destroy them both...]

"They taught me that love was supposed to be unconditional. That mothers always forgive. That family comes first, no matter what.

They were wrong.

I was Emily Thompson—veterinarian, wife, mother. I gave up my career to support my husband's failing farm. I spent eight years nursing my asthmatic son, building a life around their needs, sacrificing my dreams for their comfort.

Then they chose a stranger over me.

When a beautiful liar claiming cancer came into our home, my husband believed her over his wife of eight years. My eight-year-old son wished she was his real mother. They traded me for a fraud, and expected me to quietly disappear.

Instead, I chose myself.

Some women forgive. Some women fight for their families. Some women break down and beg for a second chance.

I became the woman who builds an empire from the ashes of betrayal.

I thought I had married the love of my life, until I discovered he planned to use my womb as a sacrifice for his mistress.

For five years, I gave Dax everything—my brilliance, my body, my soul. I believed we were building a future together, trying for the baby that would complete our Silicon Valley fairy tale.

Then I overheard the conspiracy that shattered my world: defective embryos implanted in my body, followed by a hysterectomy disguised as "medical complications." All to clear the path for Ada and their "perfect heir."

In that moment, I realized I had never been his wife—I was just a disposable vessel.

But they made one fatal mistake: they underestimated the fury of a betrayed woman with an MIT degree and nothing left to lose.

Love had made me blind, but betrayal made me brilliant.

I was auctioned off like merchandise by three men, but I don't know why they want a worthless person like me.

I'm a blind hooker who can't see anything, surviving only by selling my body.
After accidentally getting pregnant, my client humiliated me in public: "Two lines! You lying bitch trying to scam my money!" The owner immediately threw me out, and my begging on my knees was useless—who wants a pregnant piece of trash?
I thought I'd die on the streets, until I heard familiar footsteps...
"I'll buy her." The politician's voice made my blood run cold.
"I'll pay double." The businessman immediately followed.
"Wait! That kid is mine!" The broke gambler screamed frantically.
Three men in expensive suits started bidding, auctioning me and my unborn child like livestock. I couldn't see anything, could only listen to them discuss my "value" like they were picking produce at a market.
But I don't understand... I'm just a nobody, a worthless person who can't even see where I'm going. Why do these powerful men suddenly all want me? What about an unborn baby drives them so crazy?
The politician mentions needing a "perfect family image," the businessman talks about "political investment," the gambler claims the child will help him "make a comeback"... Their words are full of conspiracies I can't comprehend.

After a devastating car accident, Blair White lost her sight and everything she held dear, plunging her world into darkness.

On a snowy winter's night, with her gravely ill mother, she found herself thrown out onto the streets. In that moment of utter desperation, Harrison Ward extended his hand in apparent salvation.

She trusted him completely, marrying him without hesitation. For three years she lived within his web of lies, only to discover he hadn't led her to salvation or even purgatory - but straight into hell itself.

When Blair finally awakened to the truth and filed for divorce, Harrison merely smirked as he signed the papers, declaring with absolute certainty: "You'll come crawling back to me."

In Harrison's mind, Blair was nothing but a weak, blind woman - someone anyone could step on. Without him, she couldn't possibly survive.

He watched coldly as others tormented her, staying silent as she suffered, pushing her further and further toward the edge of despair.

One year later, at a high society gala, he stared at the stunning woman commanding everyone's attention. His eyes welled with tears as he desperately pulled her into his arms, his voice breaking with barely contained emotion: "Blair... you're alive?"

Blair gazed at the haggard, desperate man before her, her eyes filled with nothing but detachment: "Mr. Ward, please control yourself. My husband might get the wrong idea!"

The adaptation maintains the emotional core while adjusting the language and cultural context to feel natural in American English, keeping the themes of betrayal, redemption, and transformation that drive the narrative.