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Billionaires Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Surgeon's Secret: Hunted By My Ex

The Surgeon's Secret: Hunted By My Ex

For three years, I was the perfect trophy wife to billionaire Hunt Brennan, a silent fixture in his mahogany-rowed estate. I traded my medical career for a designer wardrobe and the hope that he might one day see me as more than a contract. But on our third anniversary, the dream died. Hunt came home reeking of scotch and threw grainy photos of a charity gala handshake in my face, calling me a gold-digging parasite. He didn't just accuse me; he broke me. He shattered glass against the wall, bruised my jaw with his grip, and dragged me upstairs to "punish" me, all while whispering his ex-girlfriend’s name in the dark. By morning, his mother had called to evict me to the guest cottage because his true love, Chasity, was back and needed the master suite. I left with nothing but a dusty suitcase and a secret: two pink lines on a pregnancy test. When my Uber broke down in a freezing downpour, Hunt drove past me in his Maybach, rolling down the window just to tell me to enjoy the rain. He left me stranded, never knowing he was leaving his own child behind. I didn't understand how a man could be so cruel to the woman who gave up everything for him. Did he really think I was just a doll he could discard the moment his "angel" returned? Four years later, the "submissive" Mrs. Brennan was dead. In her place stood Dr. Dianna Campbell, the top cardiothoracic surgeon in Europe. I stepped off the helicopter at Mount Sinai to save his sister’s life, and Hunt was there, desperate and broken. "Dianna?" He whispered my name like a prayer, but I didn't even blink. "Dr. Campbell. Refrain from touching the staff, Mr. Brennan." He thought he could shred our divorce papers to keep me trapped, but he was about to learn that the woman he abandoned in the rain didn't need his permission to exist—and she certainly didn't need him.
Too Late To Beg The Heiress

Too Late To Beg The Heiress

For eighteen years, Arielle was raised in a cramped trailer park, treated as nothing more than a walking blood bag to keep her sick sister, Kimora, breathing. But today, her adoptive family hurled her belongings into a muddy pothole and kicked her out into the freezing rain. "Get the hell out, you ungrateful parasite! You'll rot in the gutter!" Kimora’s wealthy biological mother threw a check at her chest, warning her to stay away, while Kimora stepped out of a Porsche to mock her in the mud, flaunting her upcoming violin solo at Lincoln Center. They didn't care that Arielle was the one locked in a basement, forced to write that very violin piece until her fingers bled. They had drained eight hundred milliliters of her blood every month to keep up the illusion of Kimora's health, and now that they were done using her, they threw her away like garbage. Did they really think she was just a fragile, broken country girl who would starve without them? They had no idea she was a top-tier hacker who had just frozen a third of their offshore assets with a single keystroke. As a massive, armored Maybach pulled up to take her back to her true bloodline—the ultra-wealthy Chandler empire—and her terrifyingly powerful billionaire fiancé, Arielle wiped the mud from her face. Manhattan was waiting, and she was going to burn their world to the ground.