Novelas y relatos de Charlie Wade Story Billionaire

I spread the butter evenly on my bread, that was the previous night and it's morning I have to prepare myself. "Thank God for Mr Billionaire I would have been kicked out of this cottage" I grumbled picking my hot tea I took my phone to call Salome, a good friend of mine "Hey Salome! how are you?" I asked happily "Am good. At least not blowing like you," We laughed "I heard you had a billionaire client" She said surprised "Yeah" I answered reluctantly "We were at Breton Hotels and Suites" "Wow! Aria am beginning to feel the agency is not fair" She complained

Tyson and Solana both froze in place, staring at the woman in front of them in disbelief. "You… Aren't you our country's trade representative and the wealthiest person in Rallioppolis? The one who made it onto the World's Billionaires List? How can you be Charles' mom? "Don't tell me he colluded with you to have you put on a show? Charles, did you tell her in advance and get her to play along with you?" Mom's expression grew even darker.

"The loan sharks get their money, you get your legacy back, and I get my heirloom. It’s a transaction, Elara. Purely business. No feelings, no real intimacy. Just a signature on a different kind of paper." I looked at Silas, who looked dangerous with those eyes pinned on me. I thought of Brian who ruined my life and the loan sharks waiting to devour me. I would give anything to have my father’s company back. But I was scared. If I said yes, I was a billionaire’s wife with all my problems solved but at the expense of my happiness. And if I refused, I was as good as dead. I licked my dry lips and swallowed hard before speaking up. "Will you really get my company back?" I asked, my voice small.

Cillian Dawson named CEO. A quiet warmth spread through her chest. “We did it, Cillian boy,” she whispered to herself. The headline buzzed through millions of phones in Oakland City, including Ben’s. In the penthouse high above the city, the lights flickered dimly against the night. Ben paced the marble floor, hands clenched into fists. The glow from the muted television cast harsh shadows across his face as Fiona sat on the couch, trying to offer comfort that only seemed to fan the flames of his fury.

The room erupted in soft gasps and impressed murmurs. Selene’s heart sank. Adair. Rowan Adair. Power. Influence. Wealth. Untouchable status. Her mother was aiming high. Too high. “Wow, she’s aiming for the top.” “I love her ambition.” “She’s so refined.” “Such grace at her age.” “Rowan Adair is SO lucky” The comments flooded in, both from the reporters and the guests. Selene watched, numb, as Cherry stood beneath the lights, her future being rewritten in real time.

He saw holes in the market and plugged them before anyone else could and the moment he made his first hundred million, he learned the secret to keeping it. Trust no one especially not women, especially not Vera. All he'd wanted was simple, a family after gathering so much wealth, his wife to take care of and their children but she'd had to fuck it up. But none of that mattered anymore, the woman who would be carrying his child was here now, he'd have his family, with no woman involved. He sat down at his office desk, opening his laptop to skim morning headlines. It was supposed to be a normal day until her name popped up.

“Let me guess, she left you for another man, didn’t she? Someone else’s husband, too?” I pushed back my chair, ready to end this charade and head to work. But once again, his hand gripped my wrist. I snapped my eyes to his face and then froze. He was kneeling. “Please Sarah. I messed up, but forgive me. I can make it up to you. Anything you want. I am a billionaire now. The business worked out. It clicked, and I only want you beside me.” His words tumbled out, desperate, almost pathetic.

“And I want my strawberries arranged in the shape of a dollar sign.” I grinned. That’s my girl. Ariella Rose Declan. Eight years old. Multilingual, wildly fashionable, frighteningly brilliant and currently the youngest billionaire in the world, thanks to the 38% shares Harry signed to her name when she turned six. Forbes called her “the storm in a tutu.” We just called her ours. “She’s terrifying,” Harry murmured behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He was shirtless, freshly showered, still the Greek god I’d fallen in love with. “And I love it.”