Novel The Richest Poor Novels & Stories

“I’m broke.” Horace did not like that and began howling, “How can you lie to me, girl? We’re in dire straits! What’s wrong with giving us a helping hand? How can you be too poor to help us, yet rich enough to have fun in a place like this?!” Lydia also began throwing a tantrum on the floor as she kneeled, “Have you no heart, North?! Oh dear, what have we done to deserve a niece like you?!”

It was an amount I wouldn't have even dared to dream of before, yet I couldn't bring myself to spend it. Every time I went to the cafeteria, I still habitually ordered the cheapest dishes. Every time I walked past a coffee shop, I still hesitated. My classmates all teased me, "Nicolette, you're a trust fund kid, and you're still this frugal. How are we ordinary citizens who spend money like water supposed to face ourselves?" I smiled when I heard those words. This life of absolute abundance, where I never had to worry about food or clothes, was exactly what I dreamed of as a child. Yet, for some reason, now that I finally had it all, I didn't feel a single shred of happiness.

“For five whole years, we lived under the same roof. We were husband and wife, and I know you better than anyone. For five years, I monitored every cent that entered your bank account.” A cruel smile appeared on his face. “And not once did your balance exceed fifteen hundred dollars. In fact, the only reason it ever reached that amount was because I was the one sending money to you.” Several people gasped. Richard folded his arms and looked at her with undisguised scorn. “You are poor, Bianca.” “You are broke. You are wretched.” Then he delivered the question everyone was waiting for. “So tell me... How does a woman as poor and miserable as you suddenly come up with one point five billion do

He said, not believing what I said. I smirked. Screw it. Screw the rich people. I had enough of this world and for people like him who think highly of themselves. Rich people think the world is about money. They think they can always get what they want. They are too driven by greed. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. I’m tired of this damn system. “Everything can be bought with money! I can even buy your whole life! Just stay away from my son!” I clicked my tongue, now smirking. “Tsk, you’re just getting desperate now knowing your son only listens to me,” I said. “I feel pity for you.”

“Leila, it’ll be on me. I don’t think I’ve really talked much about my financial status, but trust me, I can afford to go around the world a few times.” “I believe it. You’re so humble. You said before you haven’t always been wealthy?” I had to chuckle. “No. Definitely not. We were dirt poor growing up. I was broke when I married Carlie. My wealth is fairly new. I’m what you call new money.” She rolled her eyes. “That is so snobbish. Money is money.” “Rich people don’t feel that way. At least a few that I’ve encountered. They are not fond of rags to riches stories. They like the people that were born with a silver spoon in their mouths.”

Were they actually listening now? “These kinds of stories mine, and countless others like it create invisible walls between the haves and the have-nots. The rich grow suspicious of the poor, always expecting them to want something. And the poor, in turn, distrust the wealthy, believing none of them earned what they have. Even fairy tales make the rich the villains.” I looked out into the darkness of the hall, where rows of suits and glossy smiles sat quietly. “This room is filled with success. Businessmen. Businesswomen. So... should I assume I’m standing in front of villains?”

During Thanksgiving and Christmas months, I wouldn't even go home to my parents' because I didn't want her to feel alone and left out because she didn't have a family to call her own. I worked hard so that I could provide her with a home and a family. To save, I refused to waste money on medication or doctor's visits, wearing only the cheapest second-hand clothes I could find. I worked myself to the bone until white hair began to streak my head. But now, I found out that Irene was not an orphan. In fact, she was a wealthy heiress with a wonderful family of her own. I suddenly recalled the words some of her friends had said that other day.

Natalie's POV They say, "the poor are just fort the poor and if you are rich you are only for your fellow rich," that’s what I always hear from my classmates and socialite friends. Well, I'm one of them. In a private school, we study and almost all of our gang are children of the rich. We have our vehicles and are updated on gadgets. For me, it's easy to ask my parents for money as long as I keep my grades high.

“You’ve been through hell. Let the world talk. Let them break their own necks over the news. You just… rest.” He didn’t answer, just sat down on the couch and leaned back. His eyes closed, and for the first time since I’d met him, he looked human. Not the billionaire. Not the man on every magazine cover. Just Rand. I sat beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. Outside, thunder rolled again — low and far away. The kind of sound that tells you the storm’s not over, just catching its breath. But right then, it didn’t matter. We’d already survived the worst part.

Caleb roared suddenly, slamming his hand against the leather armrest. The violence of his reaction caught me completely off guard. I froze, staring at him as he ran both hands through his hair, dragging them down his face in sheer agony. "I was twenty-four, Scarlett," Caleb said, his voice dropping to a harsh, desperate whisper. "My father’s business didn't just fail—he left behind millions in debt to dangerous, powerful people who didn't care about legal boundaries. When he died, those debts fell directly onto my shoulders." My breath caught in my throat. My heart stuttered a beat. *His father’s debts?*