BLSC #11: Billionaire's Girl

Mr. Denver

Mr. Denver Kyle Denver He's controlling, perfectionist and sinfully handsome. He's a workaholic who doesn't really understand how time works. After 9 years of hard work, he got the billionaire title. Instead of enjoying life like all other billionaires do, he keeps working making all his employees work on weekends and holidays. Dakota Lennix Kyle Denver's secretary for 5 years and she's the best secretary that's ever been working with him. She loves her job so much that she sometimes sleeps with her secretary clothes on because she never knows when Kyle will call her. As much as she loves her job, she.. has to quit.

BLSC #13: Fall For Dylan Lemiere

BLSC #13 Dylan Lemiere Work and Family is his number one priority besides that.. he doesn't care. He thinks that he will never fall in love either since he loves his work too much to care about girls. Lauren Hastington People see her as the definition of a bad and sexy girl but she's a really sweet and honest girl. When she loves someone, she will love them with all her heart but sometimes giving all your love might end up with a broken heart. After her break up with Blane, she decided to move on.. she doesn't expect that the person who will help her to move on is someone that she always has a crush on since she was little.

BLSC #12: Billionaire's Trouble

BLSC #12 Matthew Lemiere Perfect, that's his life definition. He always finds his life to be so smooth and so easy. Everything will work in his hands because he has the best genes. He's smart, handsome, rich and everything you want in a guy but sometimes too perfect makes your life dull. Scarlette Thompson Clumsy and trouble, she's always known for those 2 words. She's been an orphan since she was 2 because her parents were shot in a mass shooting. She was raised by her grandmother alone and she worked so hard to get money for her to live. She might not have money but when she has a little bit of money, she always shares it with someone she thinks needs more than her.

BLSC #10: His Bid on Her

BLSC #10 Joel Cesborn His heart is made of steel, he's a guy that's hard to tame. A lot of girls tried to tame him but no one succeeded. Until he landed his eyes on one girl and he thought he will never see again. Irene Payton A baker, she loves baking with all her heart. She's a really bright person when you know her for a long time but a cold person when you just meet her. She lives simply in New York far from her parents to live her dream. She has a big heart for charity. One day she'll join a bid for charity.. She never thought one of the bidders was Joel Cesborn.

BLSC #9: His Cold Heart

BLSC #9 Axel Cesborn A good guy , if he's in a hero movie. He's always been a good guy. He has a good temper, is calm and can take care of everything without panic. One day someone took that away and turned him into a cold person towards new people. Stella Veros A girl who has a dream to be a doctor but her parents didn't give her the permission to be a doctor. Her parents send her to Cesborn to learn more about business since Veros and Cesborn are close friends. Now she has to find a way to not make that happen.

BLSC #8: Her Black Knight

BLSC #8 Marco Hastington Cruel and cold, that's Marco Hastington in public's eyes. He's a straight foward person to begin with. He loves his work and has no time to care about anyone else. Until one day, he bumped into a girl who got a gun in her body. Her blue eyes already targeting someone and that's where he started to care Cassandra Lancio A beautiful girl that was kept as a mafia puppet because her parents got a big debt. She had no choice but to get orders from Patt Brooks one of the most cruelest mafia to kill someone or to approach someone. One day, Patt made her to approach a man name Lincon in order to get what he wants but she bumped into Marco Hastington instead.

I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!

I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.

She Was The Joke, Now She's The Queen

Two years of marriage left Brinley questioning everything, her supposed happiness revealed as nothing but sham. Abandoning her past for Colin, she discovered only betrayal and a counterfeit wedding. Accepting his heart would stay frozen, she called her estranged father, agreeing to the match he proposed. Laughter followed her, with whispers of Colin's power to toss her aside. Yet, she reinvented herself-legendary racer, casino mastermind, and acclaimed designer. When Colin tried to reclaim her, another man pulled Brinley close. "She's already carrying my child. You can't move on?"

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."

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

The Scars She Hid From The World

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Reborn Rich, My Vengeance Rises

My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool. For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office. The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation. My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order. Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve. Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one.