Billion Dollar Mansion Novels & Stories

It was a modern house and from the look of it, a bullet could not pass through it My eyes darted at the top of the mansion, and I noticed an helipad, my eyebrows rosed in awe " Well, the Knights are mega rich. I shouldn't be so surprised, if there's an airport here". Aunty Jodie's employer, Mr George Knight is a very powerful buisness magnate, that owns multiple lines of buisnesses in the whole world, from real estate, shipping, food industries and many more. He is a widower ad far as I know

This would be so beautiful and romantic if I wasn’t a captive, and if a man wasn’t dead. His home is set on a sprawling estate. I can’t see much in the night, but the driveway is long and well lit and it leads to a three-story house that is nothing short of a mansion with high-pitched roofs. The lower story doesn’t have much in the way of windows, and the walls are made of solid stone. There’s something fortress-like about it, which doesn’t surprise me. This place is worth in the tens of millions at least. To own a place like this, you don’t have to be just rich, you have to be a billionaire.

My body sagged, knees weak. Mia rushed to my side, eyes wide. “Amara, do you even know who that was?” “Some arrogant jerk?” Her jaw dropped. “That was Damian Cruz. The billionaire.” My stomach flipped. My entire life flashed before my eyes. Billionaire? Damian Cruz? As in Cruz Holdings—the man who owned skyscrapers, shipping lines, hotels? Perfect. Just perfect. I hadn’t just ruined someone’s morning. I’d ruined a billionaire’s suit. And maybe my life along with it.

Daniel’s voice rang out, “a historic mansion in the Skylake District.” My head snapped up, eyes widening in disbelief. I scanned the crowd until I found Marcus, standing tall and impassive near the front. Anna was beside him, her expression a mask of perfectly controlled surprise. “The property,” Daniel continued, “was the childhood home of Elizabeth Shaw, returned now to the Shaw family after three generations.” A collective gasp rippled through the audience, followed immediately by excited murmurs. Two hundred million dollars. Marcus Murphy had just casually gifted a two-hundred-million-dollar mansion to his… what?

ADRIAN’S POV Friday, 11:47 AM. The moment we got back to the penthouse, I started making calls. I called my lawyer, my accountant, my investment advisors—every contact I had in finance who owed me a favor or a minute of their time. "I need to raise eight hundred million dollars. In ninety days." The first three laughed, thinking it was a joke. The fourth asked if I was serious. The fifth asked who held the debt. "The Valerius Group."

I turned it off completely, just powered down and shoved it in my pocket because I couldn't handle one more call or text or demand for my attention. The bet was public. Not just the existence of it but the details, the mechanics, the calculated cruelty of everything we'd done. And people were reacting exactly how you'd expect—with outrage and disgust and calls for consequences. #BillionaireBet was trending on T*****r. Think pieces were already being written. Someone had started a petition demanding we be banned from every private club in Manhattan.

“G****e. He used to live in the One57 Billionaire Building, but he moved out of there and into a building on Park Avenue. His apartment is worth something like fifty million.” “Fifty million,” I gasp. “Are you serious? How could anything be worth fifty million dollars? That’s just crazy.” He shrugs. “Beats me. Must have gold toilets or something.” I laugh a little bit as I picture someone sitting on a gold toilet. Harper sits back down and gives me a shot of tequila. “Drink this, and then go and fuck him stupid.” “I’m not going,” I sharply tell her. “Well, what’s the plan of attack?” she asks. “Are you playing hard to get?”

Like a fairy tale that I always wished to be true, despite my father’s wife’s grumpy face every time she sees me. But I can endure that. As long as I’m in the walls of a mansion that consists of dazzling designs and thousand-dollar furniture that can only be bought by people whose money exceeds ordinary people’s lifetime savings. Money is definitely the emblem of success. I shook my head at the woman and she offered me her juice that I saw earlier that she left uncovered. “No, thanks. I’ll grab my own.” I didn’t mind the narrowing of her eyes.

Albeit the sky was dark, the lights across everywhere illuminated her vision. Driving through the circular driveway, the driver halted the car at the feet of a sumptuous looking mansion that wowed Missy away the moment her eyes met with it. She forgot who’s taking her in, he’s not ordinarily named the youngest billionaire in the city. These are one of the qualifications that made him that, one could guess the exorbitant fortune it took to construct the house. And it’s easily one of the richest homes in the city. It was richly built and well fortified with elegance.

She was hoping to distract him and get him back into the car. “You’ve come again, ma’am,” one of the constructors cried. He had a helmet on and in his grip was the building plan. Felicia hated that the man talked to her. She would much rather he pretended not to know her. Dion turned to see Felicia shrug. “I bet you cannot wait for your new home.” “Your home?” “No, it’s—” Dion was even more curious. He went closer. The constructor continued to address Felicia, “You know, you don’t have to keep making rounds every minute. Your house is done. So, don’t you think this is really worth million Rands?”