Filthy Rich Age Novels & Stories

“Is the high-class champagne that costs 8,800 per bottle only worthy of being used by them to wash their hands and feet with? Rich people are indeed… Astounding. D*mn, d*mn…” “Hehe. Poverty has put a limit on my imagination. I need to starve myself to purchase liquor like that. I’d even have to think carefully before taking a single sip, and yet you people are actually using it to wash your hands and feet?” “What does it mean to be filthy rich? Just look at these people, and you’ll know…” “Is this what being surrounded by money looks like? Amazing, Stanley.” “Indeed, he’s a tycoon. Ahh… Do you need girls to pour alcohol for you? If it really comes to it, I don’t mind cleaning the toilets too

“So you wanted to ask if I found a sugar daddy.” “No, I didn’t mean that. I know you’re not that type of girl. But…” He paused and then started speaking again. “Sorry…I should’ve kept silent and never asked about this. Sorry, I totally didn’t mean to make you feel bad or anything like that…” At first, he was anxious to explain, but he just couldn’t convince himself. Because, after all, he knew that man. It was none other than Francis– who wouldn’t recognize him? He was listed as one of the top 50 wealthiest people in America. He was 40-something years old, and he’s now Scarlett’s…man.

Chicago, president of the JG Group, 185cm, 65 kg, 35 years old. At the age of 22, he took over the JG as the president. During this period, he had topped the list of the national richest people for many times, and he was the youngest rich people in the country. Marital status: single. He only admitted that he had a girlfriend, Phoebe. Aiden curled his lip. He didn't expect this guy to be so rich. Could the rich do whatever they wanted? Could a rich man bully his mommy? He clenched his fists and swore to teach that annoying man a lesson.

If he’s rich for having a fancy car and suits, those other men I’ve had slept with are much wealthier than him. And all of them are nothing but carnal dogs salivating over women’s bodies. Mere pathetic scraps in this society and this world. “Do you think you’re special?” I asked him. Both of his shoulders and hands rose up, while his smile inverted, obviously getting more provocative. Only if pushing him off this rooftop won’t make me a murderer, I already did end his arrogance. “Every girl I met told me I am,” he playfully muttered. “So, I guess I really am.”

The headlines flashed dangerously before me: “Billionaire Big-shot busted in bathroom bonanza with another dude;” “Toilet tryst torches tycoon’s rep: caught pants-down with a guy;” “Filthy rich and filthy habits: billionaire’s bathroom boy-toy bust;” The morbid names kept coming, each worse than the order that held me bound to where I was as I watched him leave the bathroom. As soon as his presence left I felt some sort of motion in my bones. I moved slowly, pushing the door.

His company is one of the greatest companies in the city, and also very popular, because of how trusty and reliable they are. Edward wore normal simple clothes, which were black shorts, and a white shirt that hugged his perfect figure properly. His chest is huge, because of the six-pack which he has. Edward's lips were pink like that of a newly born baby, which is very eye-catching. When I met him alone on the street, I couldn't realize that he was a famous billionaire because I have never had an interest in him, since all I want in my life is to hold my own production company, without the help of my parents.

Elena saw him once, through glass, sleeves rolled, arguing a monitor into sense with three nurses, and she stood in the corridor with her mother's shears in her bag and understood the thing she had misheard at the Vittoria. Protection didn't mean wealth. Wealth was what you had. Protection was what you could move: a man out of his bed at three, a wall into a door, the world's machinery re-tooled around one gray-haired woman on a table. That was the family business under the textiles. That was "among other things." Lucia turned the corner at dawn. The fever broke like a weather system, the antibiotics found their footing, and by seven she was asleep, pink again, cross in advance.

If looks could kill, Aziel Walker would be six feet under with the way his dad was glaring at him for talking back. But, twenty-three? Aziel Walker is twenty-three years old? I would be lying if I’d said I wasn’t surprised by Aziel’s age. I don’t know why I’d been expecting him to be in his late twenties. And that wasn’t because of his looks because if it was by his looks I’d say he looked his age. I guess I had thought he was older because of the way he carried himself and how he owned and run an empire. I mean most guys his age are still fucking around with girls with no sense of responsibility not to talk of the fact that a twenty-three-year-old billionaire isn’t something you come by oft

- she says Sandy is older than me. She’s in her late forties and having a baby at this age is dangerous. I know she is not looking after money because she is filthy rich. Shit. Am I happy?

" Ivy said. Never in a million years would she have imagined herself and Chris Evans spending an hour together talk more of a whole night. "Stop being so shocked and just give us the juicy juice... How was it? Did he make you scream? Is he as good as we think he should be? Come on and tell us already!!" Gianna pressed for gossip. Which is Normal. Chris Evans is someone that his name would always appear on the entertainment news. He could be considered one of the richest men in the world. At 27, he had managed to grow his family's company from a group to a chain. People claim he took over when he was just seventeen years old but he had made his first public appearance when he was twenty years