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Billionaires Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Billionaire's Perfect, Plastic Wife

The Billionaire's Perfect, Plastic Wife

For five years, I played the part of the perfect wife to Knox Steele, heir to a media empire. My life was a curated masterpiece, a reward for surviving the car accident his stepsister, Gemma, caused-an accident that was meant to kill me. At a charity gala, I saw her. Gemma, supposed to be locked away in rehab, was glowing. She was holding the hand of a small boy. And next to her, laughing as the boy tugged on his jacket, was my husband. Hiding in the shadows, I heard the boy call Knox "Daddy." I heard them planning his birthday party for the next day at our lake house-a "family-only" trip I was, as always, excluded from. Then I heard Gemma' s voice, laced with poison. "What about Adelaide? Will she be a problem?" "Don't worry about her," Knox said, his tone dismissive. "I'll tell her it's a business retreat. She'll stay home like a good little wife. Poor thing." My entire five-year marriage was a performance. A carefully constructed cage to keep me quiet while they lived their real life right under my nose. I wasn't family. I was the cover story. But the final betrayal was discovering their plan to drug my morning coffee, to keep me sedated and "unwell" so I wouldn't interfere with their celebration. They weren't just lying to me; they were going to incapacitate me. That's when the woman he married died. I signed the divorce papers, walking away from billions. I wanted nothing from them but their ruin. And as I watched them cut the birthday cake at the lake house, I smiled. My gift was on its way.
Married To Mr. Devil

Married To Mr. Devil

"Will you marry me?" Jasmine walked to a man standing in the corridor. Her lips parted in a soft gasp as he turned to her. His dark blue eyes stared at her in a dark, ominous way, her eyes tailed his body down, and he was down to earth. "This would do just fine." She mumbled in fear, my eyes flickering. The man looked across the corridors, but the next man was far away from him. "Me?" He pointed at his nose. "Are you referring to me?" His brows narrowed followed by a chuckled after Jasmine nodded. "A stranger?" He scoffed, his warm breath hit her face. "You go around marrying strangers?" "It's a marriage of convenience. We will go our separate ways after that." The man tilted his head slightly, barely giving it a thought. "I'm Damon, and you're mine now." ~~~~ The Stones' family will sacrifice anything-even their daughters-for power. Jasmine knew this all too well after her sister's mysterious death in an arranged marriage. Now facing her own forced union, Jasmine made a deal: survive a year of marriage, and she'll be free. But when her groom left her at the altar, she was forced to marry a stranger, Damon, to escape a more sinister fate. Damon, still mourning his late wife, agreed to the marriage, only to discover a dark mark on Jasmine-the same one left by his family's killer. As secrets unraveled, they're drawn together by shared mysteries and the threat of an ancient curse. Caught between love and blood debts, Jasmine and Damon must confront deadly family legacies and the dark fate that binds them. Can they break free from the past, or will they be each other's downfall?
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.