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Billionaires Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Reborn to Protect My Twins

Reborn to Protect My Twins

The first cries of my son, then my daughter, filled the delivery room. Twins. Mark would have been so proud. A nurse laid them on my chest, tiny and perfect. Then the world tilted. A memory, sharp and brutal, slammed into me. Another life. This exact moment. Giving birth. Aethel Corp. The Thorne family. Damian Thorne. His cold eyes. Cassandra Vance, his mistress, her fake tears. My baby chosen. Then fire, screaming. My child, gone. And Damian' s hands on me, ending it all. "No," I whispered, clutching my newborns. It wasn't a dream. It was real. It happened. And it was happening again. My heart hammered as Damian Thorne walked in, Cassandra Vance on his arm. They were here. Just like before. I fell to my knees, renouncing any claim, begging him to let us leave, to sever all ties to the Thorne family. He forced me to the Serenity Pines retreat, a gilded cage. Cassandra' s 'therapy dog' lunged straight for my twins, its teeth snapping, and Damian blamed me. Later, Cassandra framed me, claiming I cursed her child, convincing Damian I was a source of dark energy. "Take her children!" he ordered, intent on a "cleansing ritual" for my newborns. I fought and clawed, begging him to take me instead, to leave my babies alone. He wouldn't listen. They dragged me out, tying me to a lone tree in a brewing storm. He left me exposed, alone, to die, just like before. I stared at the hidden burner phone, a fragile lifeline. Genevieve Thorne. The Empress Dowager. My only hope. Could she act fast enough?
The Unwanted Blessing

The Unwanted Blessing

I was eight, maybe nine, when my father branded me "bad luck." Exiled from the Miller empire, I grew up with Elara in the quiet Ozarks, who saw a light in me, saying "things grow better in the sunshine." Ten years later, a thick, gold-embossed envelope arrived, pulling Sadie back. It was a summons to my younger brother Ethan's 21st birthday gala, the favored heir. "Your father expects your attendance," the note commanded, offering no welcome. Richard Miller met me with arctic eyes, scanning my simple clothes. Ethan, the spoiled golden child, sneered, "Look what the cat dragged in from the sticks." The chilling truth emerged: this wasn't a reunion, but a formal disinheritance. At the glittering country club, I was publicly mocked as a "charity case," old wounds tearing open. Ethan grinned, shoving legal documents at me: "We' re making it official." My father, via phone, clipped: "Sign the papers and be done with it." The familiar weight of being blamed, of inherent flaw, pressed down heavily. For years, I' d believed I was the source of Miller's "bad luck"-fender benders, fires-all starting, Dad said, at my birth. This cruel dismissal felt final, confirming every unwanted memory. But clutching Elara' s smooth river stone, a different truth settled. "Luck runs in funny streams," I told Ethan, "You might be diverting more than you think." With a strange calm, I signed "Sarah Miller" for the last time. The moment my pen lifted, a speaker crackled and died, and chaos rippled instantly. Ethan' s prized car smashed, company scandals erupted, credit lines froze. The Miller empire, built on sand and shortcuts, was finally crumbling. Some ties, once broken, unleash far more than just freedom.
Reborn Heiress: Divorcing My Ruthless Husband

Reborn Heiress: Divorcing My Ruthless Husband

Alaya woke up in the sterile hospital room to a devastating reality: her six-month-old baby was gone, lost in a horrific car crash. But as the memories crashed into her, she realized she had been reborn. She was back three years before her ultimate death, back to the moment she remembered lying bleeding on the asphalt while her husband, Hardy, shielded his mistress from the freezing rain. When Hardy finally showed up at the ward, he coldly dismissed the crash as a mere accident and immediately left to comfort his young lover. To make matters worse, Alaya secretly checked her medical files and found a terrifying detail: someone had intentionally slipped beta-blockers into her system, a lethal drug for her transplanted heart. And Hardy didn't care about her dead baby or her irreversible infertility. He only coldly confirmed with the doctor that her heart was still viable. A horrifying suspicion made Alaya's blood run cold. Why was her husband so obsessed with protecting her transplanted heart while treating her like garbage? And why was his perfectly healthy mistress secretly racking up massive bills at an advanced cardiac hospital? Realizing she was nothing but a vessel in a twisted, deadly game, Alaya didn't shed another tear. She packed her belongings, left her flawless diamond wedding ring on the cold marble table, and vanished from their penthouse. When Hardy finally tracked her down, she threw a thick stack of documents onto the table. "Sign the divorce papers," she said, her eyes completely dead.