Damien Prince Net Worth Novels & Stories

It was a European royal prince who called out the bid. "55 million!" This time, it was a prince from a country rich with oil in the Middle East. Kyle hurriedly joined in the fun. "57 million." He definitely wasn't buying it since he'd save the middlemen fee if he got it from Hilda directly. Thus, he was merely playing the game now and driving the price up. Emanating a cold air, Lynn swept a disdainful gaze over the crowd. With his utmost confidence as the Young Master of the Damien Family, he squeezed the slightly anxious Diana's petite hand before loudly proclaiming, "60 million!"

Without any prep work, Sam had hacked them blind, spent zero dollars, and walked away with a billion in profit. Sam stood up and looked at Sawyer. "Mr. Pratt, uh, they're probably losing their minds right now. They won't try anything against you, will they?" Sawyer chuckled. "Nah. What exactly can a bunch of useless men like them do?" Damian's power alone wasn't nearly enough. Unless his backers stepped in again, he'd never recover from this. "We owe this all to you. We barely spent anything and made a billion in profit instead. Why don't you stay here with me? We'll pay for your room and board too; just name your salary."

“You were a victim. But Damian doesn’t read between the lines. He reads headlines. And right now? You’re one.” She left me with that. — Downstairs, the penthouse was buzzing with activity. PR staff. Mark. A tech guy pulling up data like it was war. Damian stood at the center of it all like a general in tailored black. He didn’t look at me when I entered. “Damage projection?” he asked someone. “Twenty-eight million if this affects the investor meeting next week.” “And if we spin it as youthful rebellion?” A pause. “Maybe half.” He turned then.

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.

He called my grandfather’s soul trash. I watched as the guards swept the torn canvas and broken frame into a garbage bag. "Don't look at me like that," Damien said, walking toward me. "I'll make it up to you. Today is a special day. I have another gift for you." He pulled a document from his jacket pocket. "Ownership of a legitimate company. It's worth five million dollars. As of today, it's yours." He was buying me off. Paying me like a whore to shut up and forget.

It’s intoxicating to be so open with our relationship here, but every now and then, I’ll catch the flash of a camera. It’s easy to forget sometimes who Damien is. He’s an internationally known billionaire. He’s graced the cover of magazines and is often debated about on social media. When I’m with him, he’s just my hot, rich boyfriend, but to the rest of the world, he’s Damien Blackwood, corporate genius. When I see camera flashes, though, it can be sobering.

" Ava's eyes filled up. --- _DAY 757: THE SPEECH_ 9:00 PM. Total raised: `42 Million` Double the target. Damian on stage. Ava beside him. Damian: "I became a billionaire 10 years ago. But today is the first time I felt rich." Silence. "Because today my wife showed the world that power isn't in money. It's in colors." He held Ava's hand. "This is Ava. My wife. Mother of my 3 children. And the soul of my foundation." Ava started crying.

My father’s inner circle. I sat across from Damien Davenport, heir to Davenport International, the man tabloids loved to call New York’s Golden Prince. In person, he was sharper, harder than the photographs ever conveyed. He didn’t smile, not even out of politeness. His jaw was set like carved stone, his piercing grey eyes fixed on the glass of wine in front of him. His jet black hair jelled back to perfection not a hair out of place. His eyes made me feel exposed in a way I didn’t like other people seeing.

He was the popular prince Damien? Prince Damien– nicknamed The golden prince of all princes, was so popular, his reputation preceded him far and wide. It was said that he was the youngest person ever to defeat a crowned king in history, when he accompanied his father to a war, two years ago. At such a young age, he had achieved feats so many crowned kings hadn't been able to. The guards’ eyes flicked to me, suspicion in their gazes. “What’s she doing here?” one of them asked, glancing nervously between me and this prince Damien. “We apologize if her presence has caused you any trouble, your highness.”

Pryce asked her best friend, who showed her a warm smile before answering, "He was a broken man. Though he was pretty surprised that you and your mother are not really humans, he still loved you. It was Ronald Burton, the principal of your school, and my mom, who told him everything that he doesn't know. I knew him as a great man and a businessman, but death has its way of changing everyone unexpectedly. Not long after, when you left, Pryce, he began to get drunk and did lots of things he didn't before. He went gambling, and he was addicted to it. Then your father sold his businesses and yours; the restaurants, all his shares from the companies he invested in, the mansion, your mansion, your