Billionaires Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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Wrong Room: Sleeping With My Fiancé's Uncle
To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle — the most formidable man Kevin fears. After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms. "You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive. Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street — elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it. When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her? All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss. When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply. “Call her Aunt.”/1/113090/coverorgin.jpg?v=022cc07114d8ffc014ac53d2889aeac4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Flash Marriage To The Secret Billionaire
My mother called me a defective product and insisted I marry Preston Finch, a man who treated our first date like a corporate merger. During our lunch, Preston demanded I clean his car like a servant, his arrogance snapping the last thread of my patience. I threw my iced coffee right into his lap, sending the cafe into a stunned silence as he screamed insults about my background and the cost of his designer pants. My mother didn't care about the abuse; she only cared that I had lost a "catch," calling me an embarrassment and threatening my future while my flower shop faced imminent foreclosure. Trapped by debt and my family’s relentless cruelty, I felt like a drowning woman with nowhere left to turn. Just as I hit rock bottom, Connor Powers—my brother's old roommate—stepped in, his icy gaze promising a brutal end to my misery. "Let's get married," he said, offering a cold, calculated contract that would shield me from my family forever. I signed the papers, unaware that I had just tethered my life to a man whose world was far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined./1/113338/coverorgin.jpg?v=bca0d3ad477281cababf38dd09f47622&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress
The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting. "Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes." Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind. I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack. Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba. How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow? When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE. "Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me."/0/95392/coverorgin.jpg?v=168c2636290e5625d64a748cd16703d8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
No More Your Scorned Wife: The Medical Empress Returns
"Sign it. Save her, and I'll give you anything." For four years, I was Damian Wright's 'invisible wife'. While I played the pauper, he poured his soul into his dying first love. Desperate, he blindly signed a stack of papers to buy the 'Gifted Doctor's' time. He didn't read the fine print. Buried inside was our Divorce Decree. "Congratulations, Damian," I said, stripping off my surgical mask to reveal the wife he never truly knew. "You're free." The submissive Amelia is dead. The legendary 'Ghost Surgeon'? That's me. The blindfolded racing queen 'Raven'? Also me. The shadow behind the global intelligence network V-Null? Still me. I was ready to vanish, but Lucas Sullivan-the titan who makes the Wrights look like peasants-blocked my path. When Damian tried to reclaim me, Lucas didn't just stop him; he brought an empire to its knees. "They don't deserve to look at you," Lucas whispered, his touch a lethal mix of protection and obsession. "But if you crave the world, Amelia, I'll burn it down just to hear you say my name."/1/112771/coverorgin.jpg?v=5cdc8f90c863fd179c7930683f5edc44&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Unwanted Wife Walks Away Free
For fourteen years, Faith was the perfect Jarvis trophy wife. Plucked from her parents' funeral at seventeen, she was molded into an obedient, quiet accessory for Branson's billionaire empire. But while she managed his charities and smiled at galas until her face ached, he was busy humiliating her. She found another woman's gold bracelet in his desk, and today, his affair with a 23-year-old actress was broadcast on a massive electronic billboard right above his own Wall Street headquarters. For years, Faith had endured his coldness. He stopped touching her after the second miscarriage. He left her alone to cry in the back of his chauffeured cars at 3 AM. He thought her silence meant she was too weak, too poor, and too grateful to ever walk away. He called her a "cheap pet" who couldn't survive without his credit cards and mansions. He truly believed she needed someone else to want her before she could leave him. He never understood that wanting herself was enough. Did he really think she spent all those lonely nights just crying in her gilded cage? He was dead wrong. Faith didn't just pack a cheap duffel bag to run away. She walked right into his seventy-third-floor corner office, slammed down a zero-compensation divorce agreement, and tossed a highly encrypted USB drive onto his desk. "Sign the papers today, Branson. Or I hand your company's deepest secrets to a short-seller, and we watch your empire burn."/1/112787/coverorgin.jpg?v=bdd683d05c41c30b98bdff89f4642393&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Discarded By Him, Claimed By The Zillionaire
I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart. But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage. When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway. He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop. At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me. They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond. When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue. "Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?" He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests. Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died. To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around. I didn't cry, and I didn't beg. I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival. It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground./1/112007/coverorgin.jpg?v=a50eb2275df9d10a1189d151a3617521&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Accidental Billionaire husband
They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, mine didn't. I came back with a marriage certificate bearing a stranger's name, a ring worth more than my parents' love ever was, and a son whose father I've never seen, never known, never remembered. I went to Vegas for a racing competition. I won. I celebrated. And somewhere between the victory and the sunrise, my life changed forever. For six years, I've lived with the consequences of one reckless night. I built an empire. I raised my son. And I searched for the man who changed my life without even knowing it. Then fate laughed in my face. My sister married my ex-fiancé-the man I was promised to since childhood. The man I was supposed to become Mrs. Windsor for. The man who now wears my family name... and looks far too much like my child. Every time I'm near him, the past presses closer. Every glance feels like a question I'm terrified to ask. I shouldn't notice him. I shouldn't feel anything. He is my sister's husband. But some secrets refuse to stay buried. Because the truth about Vegas isn't just in the ring on my finger or the child in my arms. It's standing right in front of me. And when it finally comes out, it won't just destroy a marriage, it will burn an empire to the ground./1/107484/coverorgin.jpg?v=82bf8ac16f90870b0698cac2cb499583&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Claimed By My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle
I was the "perfect" fiancée for Harrison Vincent—regal, silent, and low-maintenance. For two years, I suppressed my career as a forensic accountant to be the "safe" choice that polled well with his family’s shareholders. But at a high-society gala, I found him in a VIP lounge with a socialite wrapped around him. He told her I was just a "boring art piece display stand" he had to drag around until his trust fund was unlocked. I didn't scream or make a scene. I mentally filed a "bad debt" report, tossed my emerald engagement ring into a glass of stale champagne, and walked out of his life. That same night, I found myself in a dark jazz club bathroom, using a strip of my velvet dress to stop the bleeding of a mysterious man with a gunshot wound and eyes like grey flint. The fallout was immediate. Harrison blocked my credit cards, assuming I’d crawl back once I couldn't afford rent. His mother called me a "nobody" while simultaneously begging me to handle the family's medical emergencies because they were too panicked to function. They treated me like a tool they could discard and pick up at will, never realizing I had already moved my things into a cramped Brooklyn apartment. I couldn't understand why they thought I was still their puppet, or why a black Maybach began following me through the city streets. I had saved a stranger's life and ended a toxic engagement, yet the air around me felt heavier and more dangerous than ever. The truth came out at the hospital when the most feared man in the city stepped out of the shadows. It was the man from the bathroom—Collis Vincent, the ruthless head of the family. He didn't just humiliate Harrison; he took my hand in front of everyone and made a chilling declaration. "Harrison is a fool to have let you go, Helena. Your arrangement with him is terminated. From now on, you'll be working with me."/1/113254/coverorgin.jpg?v=1b2a39259b79fad549fa75c4dca9284b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
No More Submission: The Heiress Strikes Back
I spent five years acting as the perfect, invisible caretaker for my wealthy family, meticulously managing their health and social standing while they treated me like a ghost. Then, my nightmare became reality when my brother Alon shoved me out of bed, forcing me to apologize to our adopted sister, Fallon, for a jealousy I never felt. My parents and brother stood over me, their eyes filled with unfiltered disgust, demanding I play the servant to a girl who was actively plotting my social destruction. They froze my accounts, stripped me of my dignity, and mocked my existence, fully expecting me to crawl back to them in tears like I did in my other, broken life. I stared at their entitled faces, feeling a cold, sharp clarity wash over me; they were so obsessed with status that they didn't realize they had just handed the keys to their own ruin to a complete amateur. Why was I still playing the martyr for people who would watch me burn without blinking? I stood up, walked away from their chaos, and cut the final tie, leaving them to face the ruthless social elite with a liability they couldn't control./1/110475/coverorgin.jpg?v=3f5ae79d1666d0cf07afb610badc59be&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Her Secret Identity: The Tycoon’s Unplanned Wife
My family arranged my marriage to Silas Thorne, a Wall Street titan. There was just one problem: everyone, including my powerful new husband, believed I was a crippled, helpless girl from the countryside. On the day of my physical therapy, my father called, not to ask how I was, but to demand I give up the marriage for his illegitimate daughter, Chloe. "You can barely walk without a limp," he sneered. "You are going to embarrass the Vance family." My new husband treated me with cold duty, carrying me like a fragile doll but refusing to share a bed, citing my ‘soft tissue injury’ as a pathetic excuse. The rejection was humiliating. To make matters worse, Chloe tracked me down while I was shopping, eager to mock me in public. "Silas doesn't value you," she said, flashing a cheap ring from my father. "You’re just a crippled placeholder." They all saw a weak girl they could push around, completely blind to the fact that my limp was a carefully crafted lie. So I took the unlimited black card Silas gave me and bought a fifty-seven-million-dollar pink diamond, crushing her in front of New York’s elite. When I returned to our penthouse, Silas was waiting for me, a dangerous smirk on his face. "I heard," he said, his voice a low rumble, "that you bought a star with my money today?"/1/101569/coverorgin.jpg?v=9bdb867482765b0ee643a9d9b3e3565d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Sexy Behind The Mask
She hides behind ugly suits and fake names. He's done trusting women. When they meet in a masked sex club, neither realizes they've been fighting each other across boardroom tables for eighteen months. At Taylor Industries, she's Joy Smith-the frumpy CFO who drowns her curves in shapeless polyester and wearing a wig. At home, she's the forgotten wife of a cheating lawyer who hasn't touched her in so long she's starting to wonder if she's broken. When she finds hot pink lace panties stuffed in her couch cushions...definitely not hers, it's not heartbreak she feels. It's freedom. Grayson Taylor doesn't do relationships anymore. Not after walking in on his actress fiancée with another woman. Now he channels everything into hostile takeovers and board meetings, especially the ones where his overcautious CFO fights him on every goddamn acquisition. Joy Smith is brilliant, infuriating, and funny when he pushes all her buttons. But Honey is tired of being invisible. Tired of never having felt real pleasure. So, when her best friend gives her the details of The Velvet Room-Manhattan's most exclusive masked club-she promises herself just one night. One night to find out if her husband's right, if she really is frigid, or if she's just never been touched by the right hands. She doesn't expect the masked stranger who claims her the second she walks in. Doesn't expect the chemistry that ignites between them, the way he makes her body sing, or the orgasms that leave her shaking. Doesn't expect him to hand her an email address with one command: "Only me. No one else touches you."/1/107957/coverorgin.jpg?v=6cd8053918ef36865e133cb3c9b350b6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Discarded Heiress: Marrying My Lethal Husband
The rain in Detroit was slick with grime when my family finally came to fetch me. They didn't want a reunion; they wanted a sacrificial lamb to marry into the Kaufman empire to save their failing business. I thought I was just being sold off, but the limo ride ended under a dark overpass where six hired thugs were waiting with chains. My own sister had ordered them to "break my spirit" so I’d be a shaking, pathetic mess by the time I reached the altar. They called me "Detroit trash" and sprayed air freshener when I sat on their leather seats. My stepmother wanted a video of me begging for my life, and my father was ready to trade me like a used car to a man everyone called a "vegetable." They expected a submissive country girl, unaware that I was a high-level "cleaner" who could snap a radius bone before they could even scream. When I finally reached the Kaufman estate, I found my fiancé, Barron, slumped in a wheelchair, drooling and silent. But as soon as the doors closed, the "invalid" grabbed my wrist with a grip of iron and whispered a command that changed everything. I didn't understand why my own blood was so desperate to see me destroyed. What had I ever done to deserve a hit squad and a forced marriage to a man they thought was a corpse? But Barron isn't a vegetable, and I'm not a victim. We just touched down at the Moon family gala in a matte-black helicopter, and as the doors slide open, the "broken" bride is about to show them exactly what happens when you throw away the wrong daughter. "If we're going to crash a party," Barron whispered, his eyes burning with lethal clarity, "we should make an entrance."/0/95374/coverorgin.jpg?v=8516ffb84dfba59cba8c1b504991e615&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late, Mr. White! I'm Married To Your Rival Now
Twelve years of love, loyalty, and promises-shattered in one gunshot moment. Aria thought she knew what love meant: sacrifices, patience, blind faith in the man she'd called her fiancé for over a decade. But on Valentine's Day, with a gun pointed in their direction, Liam instinctively shielded his ex, Sophia-while Aria was left bleeding and invisible. "You almost died!" "And he didn't even look at me, Lili. He wrapped his arms around her like I was nothing." Torn between heartbreak and dignity, Aria makes a bold move-marrying Liam's wealthy rival, Aiden Carter, in an impulsive act of revenge. But Aiden is more than a rebound. He's powerful, possessive, and unexpectedly protective-and he plays for keeps. Now caught between a love that failed her, and a man who may demand more than she's ready to give. Aria's heart faces the ultimate reckoning. Will she finally become someone's first choice-or lose herself trying?/1/105401/coverorgin.jpg?v=18c7d752621a50bc5635d2f1604ddeba&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Marrying My Runaway Groom's Powerful Father
I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."/0/89193/coverorgin.jpg?v=46b7fb68081f12e44fe4b1107f1f71ae&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Once Upon a Marriage
On the night of her highly anticipated jewel launch, Eloise's world shatters when her husband Lucian publicly divorces her on national TV, rekindling his relationship with his ex-lover Jennifer, who is also Eloise's step-sister. As Eloise picks up the pieces, she meets a new man, who happns to be her boss, and sparks fly. Just as she begins to find success and happiness again, Lucian comes crawling back, desperate to reclaim what he lost./0/98478/coverorgin.jpg?v=927d35927a69a3203fdac828619f8bd6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Bride He Cast Away on Their Wedding Night
In the glittering world of high society and cutthroat ambition, a single sentence shatters a marriage: "Let's get a divorce." For three years, Claire Thompson has lived in exile, her marriage to the powerful Nelson Cooper a hollow shell existing only on paper. Shipped abroad on her wedding day and utterly forgotten, she returns only to be handed divorce papers. But Claire is no longer the timid, heartbroken girl she once was. Behind her quiet facade lies a woman transformed, secretly rejoicing at her newfound freedom. However, freedom comes with a price. As Claire signs the papers with relief, a chilling phone call reveals a dark truth: the threats she faced overseas were no accident, and the trail leads shockingly close to home-to the family that raised her and the husband who discarded her. Just as she prepares to sever all ties, a twist of fate pulls her back into the gilded cage. Nelson, for reasons unknown, suddenly stalls the divorce. Meanwhile, the family that disowned her and the fragile, manipulative sister who stole her life are determined to ruin her reputation and drive her out for good. But Claire is playing a different game now. With a mysterious new identity, powerful allies, and secrets of her own, she is no one's pawn. As hidden truths unravel and loyalties are tested, a stunning question emerges: In this high-stakes battle of love, betrayal, and revenge, who is truly trapping whom?/1/113267/coverorgin.jpg?v=7171fafc524af98aec5eae82006a11b2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late For Regret: My Dying Breath
Harlow had stage IV lung cancer and only three months left to live. Her only hope was for her billionaire ex, Ezra, to take in their deaf four-year-old daughter. But Ezra despised her. Five years ago, Harlow's sister Katherine framed her for corporate theft, sending her to a brutal state prison. Ezra believed the lies completely. To him, little Clementine was just another man's bastard. When Harlow knelt on his floor begging for a DNA test, he looked at her with pure disgust. On the day the results were revealed in front of both their families, Harlow thought the truth would finally save her child. Instead, Ezra threw the lab report at her. Secretly manipulated by Katherine's wealth, the paper stated Ezra was excluded as the biological father. "You are a lying, manipulative parasite, and you are done!" Ezra screamed. Katherine offered her a fake pity check, while Harlow's own father cursed her as a shameless stain on their legacy. Harlow stared at the forged paper, her world spinning. She couldn't understand how her own family could be so monstrous, or how Ezra could be so blindly cruel to watch his true daughter be thrown into the streets. The suffocating despair violently ruptured her diseased lungs. A horrific spray of dark blood erupted from her mouth, soaking the fake DNA report and Ezra's crisp white shirt, before she collapsed lifelessly at his feet./1/112779/coverorgin.jpg?v=66b7728891ca33edaeb9aee93646a8e8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Billionaire's Captive Golden Blood Bride
Karley thought marrying billionaire architect Kevon Mcconnell was a fairy tale come true. But at their wedding reception, a heavy crystal chandelier collapsed. Kevon abandoned her in the falling glass to shield his sister, Devora. At the hospital, he dropped to his knees, begging Karley to save Devora's life with a direct blood transfusion. That was when Karley discovered the horrifying truth. Kevon hadn't married her for love. He had meticulously selected her because she possessed the exact same rare Rh-null golden blood as his chronically ill sister. Drained and feverish from the massive transfusion, Karley was locked inside his remote, high-tech mansion. Kevon's mother slapped her and forced foul medicine down her throat to replenish her blood supply. Even Devora called to mock her. "You're just a temporary solution. A medical resource until something better comes along." Karley lay bruised and infected on the floor of her gilded cage. The realization crushed her: the whirlwind romance, the pre-marital medical checks, even the secret GPS tracker he used to stop her from running away—it was all a calculated trap. She had lost her job, her friends, and her freedom to a man who only saw her as a walking blood bank. When Kevon finally returned, he cut off her contact with the outside world and locked the bedroom door with a cold, perfect smile. "Don't try to leave. You're my wife, and I always know where you are." But as the smart home dimmed the lights to keep her docile, Karley closed her eyes in the dark and began to plan her escape./1/106651/coverorgin.jpg?v=af730e8d551058f0dbc083e68f0bfb33&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Service Was Mediocre: Reviewing My Billionaire Lover
I woke up in a luxury penthouse with a blinding headache and bruises on my thighs, staring at the man who was about to ruin my life. Cullen Hunter, the most dangerous billionaire in Los Angeles, was stepping out of the shower, ready to discard me with a signed check and a cold look of disdain. Then the memories hit me like a physical blow. I realized I had woken up in the "Death Flag" scene of a script—this was the exact morning Avery Hall was supposed to be kicked out, humiliated, and started her downward spiral into a tragic death. The nightmare escalated within minutes. My own brother, Ernest, called to tell me I was no longer a member of the family, freezing my trust fund and evicting me from my apartment. He believed the lies of our "perfect" adopted sister, Cheslie, who had leaked her own private photos and framed me for it just to gain sympathy. Even my fiancé, Preston, couldn't wait to dump me in public, calling me a "crazy bitch" before running straight into Cheslie’s waiting arms. I was suddenly homeless, bankrupt, and the most hated woman in the city. My family wanted me to crawl back and apologize on my knees for a crime I didn't commit, while the man I had just spent the night with watched my destruction with boredom. I didn't understand how they could all turn on me so fast, or how I was expected to survive in a world where the script was literally written for my failure. "Avery, don't make this difficult," Cullen warned, waiting for the tears he thought were coming. But I refused to play the victim. I pulled three hundred dollars of my last bits of cash, slapped them onto Cullen’s nightstand, and told him the service was mediocre. I wasn't going to beg for love or mercy anymore; I was going to rewrite the ending of this story and become the most dangerous femme fatale Hollywood had ever seen./1/112224/coverorgin.jpg?v=eb1cd82f7182c61169b321e8c7d3f685&imageMogr2/format/webp)
