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Billionaires Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
His Mistress, Her Freedom

His Mistress, Her Freedom

I spent five years meticulously crafting myself into the perfect accessory for my tech mogul husband, Liam. Three surgeries, a revised personality, and even honey-blonde hair-all designed to mirror the woman he truly desired, Sarah Jenkins. Tonight, our fifth wedding anniversary, was supposed to be the culmination of my efforts, the night he finally saw me. But the perfect facade shattered with two words from Liam, overheard from the hallway: "A placeholder." He was talking about me. His chilling laughter echoed as he confessed to his friends that our marriage was merely a convenience, a cruel stand-in until Sarah, his true love, returned. He not only dismissed my existence but reveled in the "pathetic" way I had tried to become her, even commissioning a mole on my shoulder to perfectly mimic hers for his twisted fantasy. The woman I had worked so hard to emulate was now back, and he hadn' t even told me. Instead, he\'d used my private college sketchbook, filled with my artistic dreams, as a weapon for her to mock and discard. When I confronted Sarah for my sketchbook, she deliberately twisted and re-fractured my wrist in front of Liam, who chose to protect her, accusing me of being "dramatic" and leaving me abandoned in the hospital. My husband, who once swore to cherish me, had chosen his mistress over his injured wife, again. The pain from my broken wrist was nothing compared to the agony of his betrayal, the profound realization that everything I had given him was built on a foundation of lies and contempt. I was discarded, not just as a wife, but as a person. But amidst the wreckage, a cold, hard clarity settled. I would no longer be a convenient distraction. I would reclaim the artist I buried and ensure Liam understood the true cost of his cruelty.
His Aunt, His Sanctuary

His Aunt, His Sanctuary

For a year, I was nothing but a ghost in the Vanderbilt penthouse, Seraphina's secret plaything, her devoted bodyguard. I loved her with a silent, burning devotion, always there, always ready to serve. Then, as casually as she' d summoned me to her bed, she dismissed me. Her wedding to Julian Astor was in ten days, and our arrangement was abruptly over. The chilling indifference in her eyes was a prelude to the hell that followed. Suddenly, I was at Julian Astor's mercy – a petty, sadistic monster who reveled in torment. He ordered me beaten, humiliated, even forced me to kneel on scorching metal grates until my knees were raw. I endured a public flogging, my back shredded, while Seraphina, the woman I' d protected with my life, smiled at my tormentor. When I was stabbed protecting Julian, he deliberately shoved me into the knife, and Seraphina merely watched, unconcerned. My unique blood, inherited from the parents I scarcely remembered, was drained near to death to save the man who tortured me. It was then I learned the truth: my parents weren't gone in an accident. They were murdered by Seraphina' s father, who then "rescued" me, molding me into his perfect, disposable weapon. Every ounce of hope, every flicker of warmth I'd held for Seraphina, froze into bitter ice. I was broken, but no longer blind. Now, the loyal dog is dead. From the ashes of Vanderbilt' s cruelty, The Wraith is born, and I will tear down their empire, one bloody secret at a time.
Jilted Heiress: Seducing My Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle

Jilted Heiress: Seducing My Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle

I stood in the center of the Pierre Hotel’s grand ballroom, a mute, smiling doll in a Dior dress. My job was to signal stability to investors while my fiancé, Clive Fitzpatrick, looked for any excuse to ignore me. The night of our engagement, the world turned into a different kind of hell. I watched Clive disappear onto the terrace with another woman, his hand possessively on her waist. Distraught and drunk, I stumbled into a dark penthouse suite seeking sanctuary. I woke up the next morning to a gravelly voice and the smell of expensive tobacco. I hadn't slept with my fiancé; I had accidentally spent the night with his uncle, Bruno Fitzpatrick—the man Wall Street called the "executioner." The humiliation was only the beginning. Clive didn't just cheat; he admitted he was only marrying me to steal my family's voting rights so I could "rot" in an apartment while he lived with his mistress. When I tried to protest, my adoptive mother, Claudia, dragged me into a private room and whipped me with a riding crop to remind me of my place. She held up a video of my frail, sick sister, Lucia, making it clear that my total obedience was the only thing keeping Lucia alive. I was a business asset to be traded, used, and beaten into submission. I couldn't understand why everyone I was supposed to trust was so eager to destroy me. Was I really just a mannequin to be discarded once the merger papers were signed? The marks on my back burned, but the ice in my veins was colder. I was done being the victim of a mediocre man and a heartless mother. Then Bruno offered me a way out. At the family dinner, right in front of my cheating fiancé, he proposed a lethal bet: if I could raise the company’s stock by ten percent in thirty days, he would give me his board veto—the ultimate power to crush Clive and Claudia forever. If I failed, I would owe him any favor he asked. I looked at the man who had ruined me and the man who wanted to own me, and I realized I had nothing left to lose. I wasn't going to be a doll anymore; I was going to be the one who burned the house down.