Covert Billionaire Novels & Stories

"Liar. DNA said—" Damien laughed, holding a drive. "Faked. Victor hid me to control you all. Now, sign the empire over, or I gut your sister." Noah circled, gun ready. "Shoot him, Ethan." But Damien hit a button screen lit: Video of them. Ethan balls-deep in Noah's ass, filthy dirty talk echoing. "Leaked from your penthouse cams. World sees the billionaire heir as a cock-hungry fag. Stock tanks." Ethan lunged, but Damien fired grazing Noah's leg. Blood sprayed. Noah dropped, cursing. "My thigh fuck!"

She looked up, panic rising and when she squinted her eyes to make his face out, her heart barely calming, she gasped. “Ash?” He looked worse than she remembered. Bloodshot eyes, stubble, clothes wrinkled and damp at the collar. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said with a twisted grin. His voice was low, gravelly. She pressed a hand to his chest. “Let me go.” He leaned in, breath sour. “I heard you’re a fancy billionaire slut now. That true?” She pushed again. “Ash, stop.” He scoffed. “You used to throw me money to help with debt. Remember that? When you had some decency?”

“But I’m honoured to finally introduce you to the man I’ve been keeping to myself, Dante Moreau.” Gasps. A glass shattered. Someone actually whispered holy shit. Because that name, that face, that man, wasn’t just rich. He was untouchable. Elusive. A billionaire ghost whose appearances were limited to boardrooms and court filings. No woman had ever been seen on his arm. No tabloid had ever caught him in a compromising photo. If there had been a sweepstakes for Least Likely To Be Secretly Engaged To Me, he would’ve been the odds-on favorite.

“You just made me drop a ten-thousand-dollar phone!” “Well, maybe don’t take calls in the middle of a public walkway!” He took a step closer, his gaze cutting straight through me. “Do you know who I am?” Oh, I did. Too late, I realized the familiar jawline, the expensive scent, the effortless authority in his posture. Ethan. Freaking. Blackwood. New York’s youngest tech billionaire. Owner of Blackwood Tech. Ruthless. Rich. Off-limits. Oh my God. What was I thinking?

He looked away. The gala venue was breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and golden lights bathed the room in a soft, dreamlike glow. Damian introduced her to a few of his acquaintances — Gregory Thorne, a luxury yacht mogul; Nadia Velasquez, CEO of a fashion empire; and Alden Ko, a real estate tycoon in Singapore. Eventually, Aria stepped away, giving him room to talk business. She wandered with a glass of champagne in hand, observing the opulence.

The moment the metal hits the surface, the whispering behind us shifts from a low murmur to an undisguised roar. "Is that a black card?" one of the boys asks loudly, five more of his friends leaning over the partition to inspect the transaction. "Oh shit, it’s an Amex. Yo, dude, you’re fucking rich!" "Don't be illiterate, he's a billionaire," another responds. "He’s actually rumored to be a trillionaire through the sovereign defense sector." A very calm, probably the matured among the clique says. Now I’m the one looking up, my brow arching.

Dr Nate advised that I took extra precautions and Lily said congratulations a thousand times. Mr Leo was in a great mood. I had never seen him that way. He was smiling and saying thank you a couple of times. I was happy too but it wasn’t because of the child. He had no idea I planned to run away. He initially informed Alice to prepare a little dinner as a celebration for me. I stepped into the house facing a table full of food and wines. Mr Leo outdid himself. I was worried about the housekeepers telling anyone about whatever celebration we had. They signed an NDA before working but most of them thought I was his girlfriend. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten the respect I did if they found out I

“You don’t know who he is, do you?” “Of course I do! It said on the sheet. He’s like a finance guy or something.” “Cole, he’s a big deal and famously unapproachable. He’s the second youngest self-made billionaire on the Forbes list. He’s been on the cover of TIME and everything.” “Well, y’know, so’s Donald Trump.” “And,” Harper added resignedly, “he’s really hot.” Ah. That was more like it. Cole put down the wine bottle and reached for her laptop.

Helicopters didn't belong here. Neither did billionaires. But as a tall figure emerged from the aircraft, his charcoal suit immaculate despite the coastal wind, Maya felt ice crystallize in her veins. She knew that silhouette. Everyone in America knew that silhouette. Damien Cross. Tech mogul. Venture capitalist. The man whose face graced the cover of Forbes with alarming regularity, whose companies had revolutionized everything from social media to artificial intelligence. The man who, according to last month's tabloids, had just closed a deal worth eight hundred million dollars before breakfast.