icon 0
icon TOP UP
rightIcon
icon Reading History
rightIcon
icon Sign out
rightIcon
icon Get the APP
rightIcon
closeIcon

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

Billionaires Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Billionaire's Ex-Husband: Now Unreachable

The Billionaire's Ex-Husband: Now Unreachable

My Manhattan penthouse, a testament to my late father-in-law Michael Rossi's empire, felt like a gilded cage. As Michael' s chosen "legacy guardian," I was loyal, a steady presence. But to his daughter, my wife Isabella, I was just background noise, an obstacle to her obsession: rockstar Jules Vance. One day, she swept in, reeking of expensive perfume, ready to jettison for Austin and Jules. I handed her a stack of company papers, including a marital separation agreement Marc and I had subtly slipped in. Without a glance, she scribbled her name, dismissing our anniversary, her father's legacy, and me. Her heels clicked away, the door slamming shut, sealing my fate. She hadn't even noticed the separation. I was bound by a promise to a dead man, meant to protect a woman who saw me as a ghost, a joke to her and her flamboyant lover. Her casual cruelty and constant dismissal had built an insurmountable wall. Years of emotional suffocation, of being the quiet anchor to a woman who resented stability, finally took their toll. How could a marriage, painstakingly built by her visionary father, a man who saw me as a trusted son, be dissolved with such a careless flick of a pen? Her indifference was a brutal symbol of her utter disregard. I was simply exhausted. This time, her ignorance was my liberation. With her signature on that separation agreement, the decision was unequivocally made. I packed a single duffel bag, climbed into my old pickup truck, and drove north. Leaving the glittering city, the endless drama, and the woman who didn't want it, irrevocably behind. My new life had finally begun.
The Husband Who Threw Me Away

The Husband Who Threw Me Away

I was Elara, an orphaned girl embraced by foster parents, now the wife of Julian Vance. Our marriage, two years strong, coincided with a miraculous turnaround in Julian's health and fortune, earning me the quiet title of the family' s 'lucky charm' . But then, my estranged half-sister, Chloe – the one my wealthy biological family kept – dramatically reappeared. She accused me, with theatrical tears, of manipulating everyone and driving her away. Julian, without a moment's hesitation or a single glance at my visibly rounded stomach, cast me aside, his face a mask of cold fury. I was banished to a desolate 'wellness retreat,' a euphemism for a hellhole where public humiliation was daily bread and I endured three years of unspeakable degradation. There, alone on a cold floor, I tragically lost our unborn baby. Upon my return, a mere husk, I overheard Julian dismiss me as a discarded 'rabbit's foot,' and shortly after, Chloe set fire to the boathouse where she'd confined me, intending to burn me alive. The crushing weight of their betrayal hit harder than any physical blow: I was never Julian' s wife, never family; just a disposable vessel for their 'luck,' discarded once my purpose was seemingly served. How could Julian, my own husband, be so blind, so callous? And what kind of monster actively orchestrates another's living hell, then tries to erase them entirely? But I refused to be extinguished. Pulled from the literal and metaphorical ashes by my loving foster parents, the naive victim they knew perished that night. From the remnants of despair, a new Elara rose, transforming their small farm into 'Elara' s Harvest,' a thriving empire built on integrity and true strength – ready for vengeance, or perhaps, something far more satisfying.
Shattered Perfection: A CEO's Downfall

Shattered Perfection: A CEO's Downfall

My life as Ava Sharma, a successful architect, half of New York's power couple with my CEO husband Liam, seemed perfect. He always said my "delicate health" was why we were child-free, and I believed him. But when he suddenly announced he'd "adopted" two kids without me, a subtle shift occurred. Then, a doctor's visit revealed a horrifying truth: I'd been surgically sterilized years ago, a "minor procedure" Liam had insisted on. My blood ran cold as I overheard him confessing he’d secretly operated on me and was already securing an heir with a surrogate named Sophia. Liam brought Sophia, heavily pregnant, into our home, a living monument to his betrayal. She groomed his children to taunt me, then actively sabotaged me. When an allergic reaction left me choking for air, Liam abandoned me to die, choosing Sophia. Later, I saw a video of their secret wedding from six months ago – his family beaming, his wealth being funneled to her and "his" children. My entire life was a meticulously crafted lie, my body violated, my choices stolen. How could the man who swore to protect me leave me for dead? How could my cherished career and loving marriage be built on such monstrous deceit? The pain was a living entity, clawing and tearing at me. I was not just betrayed; I was erased, a placeholder. But that was the moment. The absolute, unbreachable moment. There was no going back. From shattered wife, I transformed into a meticulous strategist. I saved every piece of evidence, every humiliating video. My war had begun, and Liam Harrington was about to learn that hell hath no fury like a woman stripped of everything.
He Broke My Hands, I Broke His Empire

He Broke My Hands, I Broke His Empire

Caleb, my brilliant partner and fiancé, stroked my hand. "One more month, Gabby," he whispered, "and you'll officially be the COO of Aura. My queen." We were celebrating our empire, the tech company I architected from our dorm room. I thought we were building a kingdom together. That was the last clear thing I remembered before waking up to shattering pain. My hands, once capable of flying across a keyboard, were broken, mangled. Rough voices laughed from beyond a thin wall: "Caleb paid good money... said to make sure her hands were unusable." My world imploded. It was Caleb. All of it. He "rescued" me, a perfect performance for the world. But in the ambulance, he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "You should have just been happy with what you had. Now, you have nothing." My hospital room became a gilded cage. I listened as he plotted with his intern, Molly, to take my COO position, mocking my nerve damage, certain I was finished. He even sabotaged my surgery, ensuring permanent injury. The humiliation peaked when he wheeled me onto a stage, only for me to "accidentally" fall, exposed and vulnerable, to the world. The "Shark of Silicon Valley" became "Poor Gabby Johns," a tragic spectacle. Every condescending word, every false show of concern, was a fresh wound. He thought he'd broken me, reduced me to a pitiful charity case. He had no idea. While he celebrated his victory, believing I was defeated, a hidden message whispered into an encrypted tablet ignited a plan. I pretended to surrender, buying myself time. He just made his biggest mistake: underestimating the woman he tried to bury. I was re-arming, and the real war was about to begin.