Novel & Cerita Becoming Rich Overnight

Across the hall, Sophia lay sprawled on her bed, phone propped against her bent knees, the screen casting a pale blue light across her tired face. Her search history told a story she'd never admit out loud. How to get rich quick. How to make money online. Ten ways to become a millionaire before thirty. Quick jobs that pay in 24 hours. Fast income, no job needed. How to go from broke to rich overnight. She scrolled, her thumb moving mechanically, her expression growing more bitter with every click. Clickbait. Scams. Pyramid schemes disguised as "opportunities." Nothing real. Nothing that didn't sound like a trap.

He believed that the prerequisite to making money was to first do a good job with the tea leaves so that the money earned could be justified. It was precisely because of this passion and reverence that he had never been able to find a real opportunity to get rich overnight. Those swindlers, on the other hand, were different. If they sold a batch of tea leaves for fifty dollars and possibly sold tens of thousands of batches of tea leaves in a day, they would easily make millions in profit overnight.

I rubbed my eyes aggressively, convinced that my mind was imagining things. Then, Jude's words from last night about forcing the loan shark to return my money flashed through my head, and realization hit me. All the labor I had done for the past seven years, all my hard work, and pain were staring right back at me as I used my hands over my mouth, muffling the loud scream of disbelief that threatened to escape my throat. I couldn't believe it. I became rich overnight. Was this how easy it was? To accumulate money like this, but it was hard working for it.

Not a greeting, not even acknowledgment — just that sharp, appraising stare that made me feel like a criminal in my own skin. “I was thinking,” she said, voice casual, too casual, “that men who are unemployed for years develop certain… habits.” I froze. My chest tightened. My hands, hidden in my pockets, clenched. “Habits?” I asked cautiously, trying not to sound defensive. Cynthia tilted her head slightly. “Yes. Little things. Small distractions. Ways to amuse themselves when they have too much time and too little work.” She smiled faintly, but it was not a smile. It was a knife disguised as silk.

I was fucking rich enough to burn the past—and rebuild it in my name. Ha! Just you wait! ***** That morning, I did what any sane, desperate, sleep-deprived woman would do after learning that she’s technically a billionaire, but still unable to buy a croissant with her “too powerful” VIP bank card: I went coin hunting. Because apparently, despite all the riches sitting in my account like a sleepy golden dragon, I still couldn't hand my landlord a ten-dollar bill without accidentally offering to buy the entire apartment building and three parking lots with it.

“It happened in a rush! I didn’t plan it — it just… happened. I was confused. He… he just—” "That’s enough. Keep your explanation for your lover. I don’t want any of it. But since you satisfied me during our time together, I’ll help you a little — since you don’t have any source of income, why don’t I give you the contact details of some of the youngest, richest billionaires in the country? I’m sure you’d fit right in, and some are willing to pay double.” My body went still. My heart thundered. But my voice didn’t waver.

I set my coffee down, refocus on my screen, and begin typing out my email, “Dear Mr. Carter, congratulations. You've managed to turn me into a millionaire with no idea how to spend it. I've dreamt of this day my whole life, and now that it's here, I'm just… stuck. My bank account is overflowing, and I'm starting to feel like Scrooge McDuck, swimming in vaults of gold coins. Help?" I hit send and wait, my eyes fixed on the screen. Minutes later, my email pings. Andrei's response has arrived.

I recounted the family's history, Edward's legend, and the challenges and efforts we've faced over the years. Discussing these topics took very little time. James had coached me. "Keep their imagination of Aesthete alive. What do people associate with a tycoon? Money, champagne, luxury cars... How many would imagine a tycoon waking up early for work and working long hours? Your explanations that don't fit their expectations might make them doubt everything else you say." The key point to focus on next...

I stated. He creased his eyebrows as if he was confused, pulled a puzzled look. "That's… crazy." "It seems to me like you've always been rich. That means you might not be as experienced as I am," I clarified. Finally, he let go of my arm, wrapped his arms around his chest. "What makes you think I haven't been experienced? Being rich isn't freedom, you know?" Okay. This unnecessary conversation had to end. This wasn't what I had come here for.

This was a life-changing amount of money that could solve so many of my problems. “If you’re willing to tell me who you’re working for, there’s more where that came from,” he added, dangling the cheque in front of me like bait. A voice inside me screamed at me to take it. Just think about what I could do with that money. I could not only pay my rent but buy my own place and finally escape the constant annoyance of Biddy and Benny’s awful music. I could even start my own business; the opportunities seemed limitless with this kind of money.