Novel & Cerita Rejected Billionaire

“Forget the deal. You’re mine, papers or no papers. The only problem is you refuse to come home. I get it. But I want you to spend the day with us.” I crossed my arms, leaning back against the counter. “My time is too expensive to waste with a man who already has everything.” His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, unblinking. “I’ll buy you a McLaren if you spend the day with me.” I froze, staring at him like he’d just spoken another language. “Wait—what? For real?” “Yes, Red. Anything you want. Name it.” His voice was silk over steel. Oh, to be a billionaire’s baby mama, I thought, the smile threatening to break free before I bit it back.

He wore a black tuxedo that fit his tall, muscular build like it was made for him—which it probably was. I stared, my thumb hovering over the screen. I’d seen pictures of him before, in financial magazines, but I’d never really looked. Now, I couldn't look away. I scrolled down, reading his profile. Rex Corporation. Billionaire. Real estate, tech, private equity. His business record was flawless. No scandals. No messy divorces. No history of dating a string of models. In fact, there was almost no personal information at all. He was like a ghost. A powerful, gorgeous, and mostly important almost perfect.

“It's not.” I batted my lashes, perplexed. “What do you want from me then? Do you harass all your clients like this?” He stepped away from me. “Let's get one thing straight. I am not a call boy, nor a stripper. I am a business man who values his time and takes every interaction seriously.” It was at that moment it finally clicked. Atlas Cade. The billionaire everyone whispered about. The ghost investor. The man whose face never appeared in magazines because he was always behind a mask. He had multi-billion dollar empires and compared to him, my family was just a small fry. I couldn't pay him even if I offered my entire networth.

The other was offering to protect it. And she had no idea which one would ultimately own it. Meanwhile, Ethan stared at the financial report. At the bottom of the document was a name he didn't recognize. A private company. Blackridge Holdings. The same company had been secretly receiving money from his mother's account. Ethan's phone suddenly rang. Unknown number. He answered. "Hello?" A man's voice whispered, "If you keep investigating, Ethan, you'll discover why Mia was never supposed to become your wife." Ethan's eyes narrowed.

He would merge the profitable assets, sell off the unprofitable ones, and create a new, streamlined company, resistant to Victor's capricious assaults. He would make his plea directly to the shareholders, over the heads of the treacherous board, and appeal to their greed, to their desire for a messiah. And to fund it all, he would do the one thing Victor could never get his hands on, the one resource whose worth he had never fully grasped until this very moment: his name. Davidson Ekon. Joe Brian's husband. The name is synonymous with scandal now, yes. But it was also synonymous with the empire itself. He would take that notoriety, that infamy, and he would use it as collateral.

He arched his brows mischievously. “Can you?” he sarcastically asked. I looked away. The last time I checked his net worth was 1.5 trillion dollars. That's way more than all of the billionaires in the world combined. Should I just kidnap him for ransom? “Fine…” he yielded, giving me a serious stare. “I’ll clear your name to the media in one condition.” I gazed at him. “Be my fiancée for one hundred days.” ***** [The Next Day]

She was being mocked or pitied and she did not want any of these. So, she left. She left the city and all it's people back. ....After three months... "It's been three months since the death of the only heir of the multibillion dollar X complany. The chairman and the grandfather of the deceased Gael Greyson donated a huge amount to many charities. Gael Greyson was ...." The Tv was turned off showing that the person was the not anymore interested in knowing about the case. It's been three months but still this news was everywhere and on every channel.

"The billionaire? What's he doing here?" "Charity event in the west wing. Though after that scandal with his ex-fiancée, I'm surprised he shows his face anywhere." "I heard he's looking for a new girlfriend. Someone to clean up his image." "A fake girlfriend, you mean. Like those Hollywood contracts." My feet stopped moving. Brett Graham. Everyone knew that name. The tech mogul who'd built an empire from nothing, worth billions, cold as ice and twice as ruthless. "How much do you think someone would pay for that kind of arrangement?" the first nurse asked.

When he was out of sight, she whispered to her in-laws, “I know you two are concerned about Dean and me, but there are only a few eligible bachelors in Wiltspoon, and they’re younger than me. “Aside from those men, there is one that seems suitable. He’s older than me by a few years and is still unmarried. He’s great, but he has a scar on his face. You might find him a little scary at first. “He has a company and a net worth of tens of billions of dollars. He’s richer than our family and has good character. He won’t think of taking our family’s assets.” Rhea’s in-laws exchanged glances. Old Mrs. Torres asked, “Who is it? Do I know him?”

right before I shattered. I read about him during slow periods—discreetly, on my phone behind the circulation desk. Articles from Forbes, Bloomberg, a few older profiles that called him “the ghost of Los Angeles finance.” Youngest self-made billionaire in the state. Ruthless in boardrooms. Invisible in tabloids. No scandals. No girlfriends photographed on red carpets. Just power. Quiet, absolute power. I was fucking a billionaire.