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Billionaires Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Healed By The Ruthless Billionaire's Touch

Healed By The Ruthless Billionaire's Touch

I secured the lifeline investment for my fiancé's company and went to his office to surprise him. Instead, I caught Preston sleeping with his top actress—the woman he publicly claimed as his stepsister. Through the cracked door, I heard him call me his "scarred, ugly bitch shield" to hide their sickening affair. I didn't cry. I hacked the live broadcast of the Star Awards and played their sex tape to two thousand people. But that night, drunk and reeling from the agonizing nerve pain in my facial scar, I stumbled into the wrong hotel penthouse. I was pinned down by a drugged billionaire, Josephus Hodges. The next morning, he left me a million-dollar check and a Plan B pill. When he later tracked me down to offer a cold, calculated fake marriage just to absorb Preston's ruined empire, I threw the contract at his chest and told him to go to hell. But when I got home and looked in the mirror, the chronic, burning torture in my scar was completely gone. His touch during that terrifying night had somehow cured the agony that had ruined my life. I had just declared war on the only man on earth who could heal me. Just then, my ruined ex-fiancé called, begging me to save him with a PR press conference. "I'll do it, but I control the venue." I booked it at Josephus's heavily guarded hotel. I was going to slaughter my ex on live television, and force the apex predator to look at me again.
Divorcing The CEO To Save My Baby

Divorcing The CEO To Save My Baby

I went to a private clinic for a routine physical, only to find out I was pregnant. It was impossible. I took my birth control every single day. But when the doctor tested my pills, they turned out to be high-purity vitamin placebos. My billionaire husband, Denton, had been systematically replacing my medication. Yet, on our anniversary, he brought my sister Beverly home, demanding a divorce so he could marry her. When I refused to sign a settlement that left me with nothing, he froze my accounts and blacklisted me across New York. My own father disowned me. When an old friend offered me a job just so I could afford prenatal care, Denton launched a ruthless financial attack to bankrupt his firm. Then, Beverly got into a car crash. Denton's bodyguards dragged me off the street and forced me into a hospital trauma room. Beverly was hemorrhaging, and I was the only blood match. I cried and begged Denton to stop, desperately trying to protect my fragile pregnancy without exposing my baby to the monster who controlled my life. "Please, my body can't handle this. Don't do this to me!" But he just looked at me with pure disgust and ordered his men to strap me to the chair, forcing the needle into my vein while threatening to kill me if his mistress died. As I dragged my bleeding, cramping body out of the hospital into the freezing snow, my last shred of hope died. I touched my stomach and made a vow: I would disappear, and I would make them all pay.
The Triple Cross: Billionaire's Blood Debt

The Triple Cross: Billionaire's Blood Debt

"How much for a ride on the fastest thing in this graveyard?" Five years ago, Elena was a top-tier corporate spy with a mission: seduce the legendary "Phantom CEO," Jaxson Vane, and steal the drive that could ruin him. She got the drive, but she left behind something she never expected-her heart, and a secret that would change her life forever. Now, she's a ghost living in the shadows, broke and desperate to protect her son, Leo-a boy who carries Jaxson's obsidian eyes and defiant scowl. When a mysterious client offers her ten million dollars to ruin Vane once and for all, Elena has no choice but to step back into the lion's den. But Jaxson Vane isn't the man he used to be. He's colder, deadlier, and he's been hunting the "Little Thief" who vanished into the night. When he sees the boy, the air turns to ice, and the game changes. He doesn't want the drive anymore. He wants her. He wants his son. And he'll burn the city to the ground to keep them. Trapped in his fortress-like estate, caught between a ruthless rival and a man who treats her with both rage and a terrifying, silent reverence, Elena realizes the heist isn't over. This time, the stakes aren't corporate secrets-they're survival. As the lines between mission and obsession blur, Elena must face a devastating truth: The man she was hired to destroy is the only one who can save her. But in a world of lies and high-speed betrayal, can love survive a second collision?
His Paid Substitute: The Fallen Heiress

His Paid Substitute: The Fallen Heiress

When the private elevator pinged. That was the moment Eleanor's two-and-a-half years as a billionaire's perfect fake girlfriend abruptly ended. Julian was terminating her services early because his real first love was moving into the penthouse tomorrow. His assistant stood by the marble counter, bracing for a screaming match. He handed over a brutal non-disclosure agreement. He slid a five-million-dollar check across the table, fully expecting her to cry, beg, or throw the money back in his face. "Miss Palmer... Giselle is moving in tomorrow," he warned. Instead, Eleanor calmly borrowed his Montblanc pen, signed her name three times without hesitation, and slipped the money into her planner. "Congratulations to Mr. Caldwell-Prentice on finally getting what he wants," she smiled flawlessly. They all thought she was just a high-end, emotionless mercenary who felt absolutely nothing for the men she served. They didn't know she was actually Cara Love, the last surviving heir of the ruined Love Foundation, living under a fake name to avenge her dead father. For years, she swallowed her burning hatred, playing the perfect emotional substitute to buy dark web intel and hide her unnatural, rapid-healing body from a ruthless medical syndicate. But now, a tech billionaire client had just uncovered her true identity, and her burner phone flashed with a terrifying emergency alert. The syndicate had found her. Eleanor grabbed her suitcase and ordered the private jet back to New York. The facade was over; it was time to face the deadly storm.