Hidden Rich Man Novels & Stories

“Tell me, did you ever find the nine hundred million?” His face shifts. I love it. I watch him put it together. “You…” he breathes. “ You hid my money.” “Haha, Richard, it was never yours, and I cannot wait to see you explain yourself to your Underworld bosses,” I sneer. “Where is it?!” he explodes. “Where the fuck is it?!” I smile. Quiet. Cruel. My thoughts are dark as I look at him. Yes, Richard. Please squirm. The dirty money you tried to kill me for, you will never find it.

Paul was happy, sitting at his desk smoking a cigar. "What do you mean, good money?" "He paid for you and very well, we had never received for a woman what he offered for you, my rare gem." "And why did he do that? "I found out he owns a hotel chain and amazingly the man owns an oil company. He's filthy rich and he's taken a fancy to you, use your lemons and make lemonade." "He owns an oil company?"

Let this man continue to reveal another secret. “Ha ha, that’s the result if you hide your identity as the richest person and pretend to be poor. Now he’s just in prison and doesn’t know when he’ll be out,” Gerald told once again. “The richest man? Aren’t you the richest young man in Westcoast Town?” Chad Asked suddenly. Realizing that he had missed a word, Gerald covered his mouth. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m one of the richest young men in Westcoast town.”

"It was all an act, Davies. He knows. He totally knows." "His money trails are impossible to follow, as you know," Davies went on. "His offshore accounts are hidden under layers of legal tricks. We can see money went into Katya's account, but once it's in there, it vanishes." "He's smart," Ethan admitted, a little grudgingly. "He always was. He's building a huge company, and Katya helped him start it. He wants to protect his business, and maybe her, from anything that could mess things up."

“Come in. Let’s have a cup of coffee.” “I am not stepping inside until you explain what the hell happened and how the fuck you are not dead,” Damian snapped. Richard rubbed his face. “I made some bad investments,” he admitted. “Dangerous people were after me. I had to disappear.” Damian stared at him like he had completely lost his mind. “You made some bad investments?” Damian repeated in disbelief. His laugh came out bitter. “You fucking embezzled money, got involved in illegal activities, ruined lives, and instead of manning up and fixing your mess, you ran away?”

“Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you. You could be some desperate Crawford brat playing pretend.” “…I have no reason to pretend and to be honest,” Fidelia said, leaning back with a knowing smirk, “I did some digging too.” Andrian tilted his head, curious now despite himself. “I know the only one who has what I need. Andrian Richardson. The third son of the Richardson empire. The playboy. The one who recklessly spends money, buys houses like candy, and goes clubbing every other night.” She let out a soft chuckle. “But then… you also know how to move money. If you go into crypto, invest smartly, you’ll double it. Gain profit. Get more shares. Stand a real chance at competing with you

"Why are you still up? Mrs. Gable was supposed to have you in bed." "We waited for the story," Mia pouted, rubbing her eyes. "I’ve got them, Elara." A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out of the small kitchen, holding a dish towel. Marcus. He wasn't a billionaire. He didn't wear three-thousand-dollar suits. He wore a faded army jacket and carried the quiet, dangerous stillness of a man who had seen the worst of the world and survived it. Elara stood up, her eyes meeting his. Marcus saw the terror she was trying to hide from the children instantly. His expression shifted from friendly to combat-ready in a heartbeat.

I speak several languages, live in different countries, and own more things than I can count. And yet, after everything I’ve seen and endured, there is only one truth I can hold onto. Life sucks. I sat inside a high-end restaurant in Paris, tapping my fingers slowly on the polished wooden table. The place belonged to my friend Sebastian Garnier. He was French like me, also a billionaire, and just as busy as I was. His businesses were spread across different countries, and this restaurant was only one of many things he owned. The air smelled of expensive wine and freshly cooked food, but I wasn’t here to eat.

The morning light bathed the Blake estate in a golden hue, painting warmth over marble floors and family portraits. The scent of freshly baked croissants lingered in the air, mingling with laughter and the soft clinking of coffee cups. Ethan Blake stood by the tall windows of his study, dressed in a crisp navy suit that framed his broad shoulders. His reflection on the glass showed not just a billionaire but a man transformed. Behind him, the mahogany desk held a single, important document—stamped with the Blake Industries seal.

I needed to be the big brother she deserved. “Hey, Edwin!” Mark said with a wide grin. Without replying, I dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the counter and walked into the inner room. When I returned with my apron, Mark was still there, giving me those knowing eyes that made my curiosity spike instantly. “My answer is no,” I said firmly, turning to the bald man sitting on the other side of the counter. “What can I get for you, sir?” “Ugh. He’s a billionaire, Edwin. The richest client you’ll ever meet, I swear!”