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Billionaires Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Billionaire's Placeholder: Now Watch Me Shine

Billionaire's Placeholder: Now Watch Me Shine

For two years, I was the perfect shadow of another woman. I wore the silk robes Brittain Austin bought, styled my hair exactly how he liked, and spoke in a voice pitched half an octave higher than my own. I was a placeholder, a living statue in a minimalist Manhattan penthouse, waiting for a man who looked at me but never actually saw me. Everything shattered when a news alert flashed on my phone: "Caryn Newman Spotted at JFK." The original was back. The woman I was hired to mimic had returned to claim her throne, and my secret two-year contract as her stand-in was set to expire in three days. Brittain didn't even give me the courtesy of a phone call. While he was supposed to be on a business trip, photos surfaced of him shielding Caryn from the paparazzi, his hand on her waist with a tenderness he never showed me. When I walked into his office to return his keys, he didn't look guilty; he just looked annoyed. He pulled out a checkbook and asked, "How much for the hurt feelings?" When I refused his money, he coldly ordered his assistant to freeze every one of my accounts before I even reached the elevator. I stood on the sidewalk with zero dollars, realizing that to him, I wasn't a partner—I was just an expired lease. I had spent two years erasing my soul to fit into his world, only to be tossed out like trash the moment the real thing came home. But Brittain forgot one thing: before I was his doll, I was an actress. I pulled my secret weapon from under the bed—a notebook and a raw film cut he never knew existed. I called my agent and launched a high-profile "showmance" with my co-star that set the internet on fire. As I blocked Brittain's number and moved into a dusty apartment in Queens, I realized the show wasn't over. For the first time, I was the leading lady.
A Husband's Ultimate Retribution

A Husband's Ultimate Retribution

My life with Victoria, a tech mogul with billions, was a gilded cage. I was her house husband, an artist reduced to chores, all to stay close to Emily, seven, and Josh, five, my children. Her protégé, Liam, a smirking young man with hollow ambition, made every day hell, spilling wine for me to clean, complaining about my cooking, even shrugging when he killed our cat. Victoria saw my suffering and encouraged it. Then came the day that broke the world. Victoria brought Emily and Josh downstairs, both terrified. "Get in the crate," she commanded, pointing to a new dog crate. "And bark." My blood ran cold. "They' re children. You can' t do that," I whispered. But she grabbed them, dragging them towards the door. "If they can' t make it a few days in the urban park downtown, they' re too weak to be my children anyway," she snarled, then sped off, leaving me screaming on the driveway. Three days later, the detective called. They found Emily and Josh, two small bodies under a pile of cardboard, dead from exposure. That same evening, Victoria was at a charity auction, laughing and buying Liam a three-million-dollar car. My grief turned to cold, hard resolve. I walked onto the stage at the auction, holding the two small urns. "I' m not here to bid on a car," I announced. "I' m here to buy two souls." Victoria tried to pull me off the stage. "They' re dead, Victoria," I whispered, louder than any shout. "Emily and Josh. They' re dead." She called me insane, a liar. Liam played the brave protector, faking fear. The public bought their story, condemning me, a pathetic, unhinged husband. But they didn't know the truth. They didn't know about Liam's cruelty, or Victoria's chilling threats to send my children away, a threat that had kept me captive. Now, that threat was tragically meaningless. With nothing left to lose, I set my purpose. I began attending auctions, asking a strange question that would change everything. My family's old money, long ignored, would now become my weapon.