Spell Billionaire Novels & Stories

one of my assistants announced, peeking into my office. I nodded absently, already bored with the prospect. I knew what to expect—average people with average skills, none of them capable of keeping up with me or my empire. Being a billionaire wasn’t just about wealth; it was about control, precision, and dominance. I wasn’t interested in anyone who couldn’t match my pace. I stood, adjusting the dark gray suit that hugged my frame, every stitch custom-tailored to perfection. My reflection in the mirror stared back at me, a reminder of who I was. I was Charles Goldberg, and the world was mine to command.

"Yeah I don't think it's that easy and which super-rich billionaire in this day and age is under pressure from their family to get married" "Belshar Nessar Abed is," she said and I jerked to an upright position. Julie cursed and sat upright too. "What! What!" She asked, her eyes darting around in alarm before they came back to me. "What the hell is wrong" "You just said Belshar" I choked out and she slowly nodded. "I know everyone thinks he's an evil Mafia killer, he probably is but he is also the only billionaire I know who is being pressed to get married... I guess it has to do with his mafia ties, have to continue the lineage"

Madam Ritz’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the silver card in her hand. “Dustin Crawford?” she wanted to say aloud, but didn’t dare to. Her face paled as her eyes locked onto the name etched into the card. She knew exactly who he was. A close friend had once told her about this man—how he could buy an entire city with just the snap of his fingers. Eighty percent of the world’s banks were under his name. That’s why they called him “The Golden Zillionaire”—the first ever zillionaire in history, with a wealth estimated to be in the 30-digit range. Only a select few knew that truth.

“And I want my strawberries arranged in the shape of a dollar sign.” I grinned. That’s my girl. Ariella Rose Declan. Eight years old. Multilingual, wildly fashionable, frighteningly brilliant and currently the youngest billionaire in the world, thanks to the 38% shares Harry signed to her name when she turned six. Forbes called her “the storm in a tutu.” We just called her ours. “She’s terrifying,” Harry murmured behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He was shirtless, freshly showered, still the Greek god I’d fallen in love with. “And I love it.”

I was in the house of a man who had been deeply happy with another woman, and now only dozens of her portraits were scattered throughout the house. There was a smaller, more recent photo. Miguel, unshaven, held a small white bundle against his chest. His expression was unlike anything I had seen in the short time I had known him. He looked happy as he held his son in his arms. A shiver made me tremble. What the hell was I doing? I was just a girl trying to get back on my feet, a girl who accepted a fake relationship to protect herself. Now, I was snooping through the emotional wreckage of a mysterious billionaire, feeling the weight of his loss as if it were my own.

When talking about the gay billionaire, it means only one person Charles Eden, one of the ranking richest man in the world and also a shareholder in Shrap broadcasting Corporation. But what can Mr Dale have about him? "Continue" I said since as he has gotten my full attention. "No Miss Shrap, that isn't how it works. You have to pay to hear it and believe me this is so huge. We never know, this might be your way to great success and fame." "And you have to pay a huge price to hear the billionaire secret" he said while I groaned. "Where are you? Let's meet, I will come with the payment"

Only the clatter of cutlery and the soft hum of the AC can be heard. “My friends and I are organizing a charity gala tonight, and I want you both to attend,” he says, pointing his index finger at the two of us seated at the table. “I think it’s time to let my friends and associates know the Davidson future is safe, and worth their money if they invest in us.” My heart flutters. My chest tightens. I’ve never been to these kinds of things before. I don’t fit into the billionaire world. Not only that, but I’ve always been a contented girl. If not for my father’s insatiable quest for wealth, maybe I’d be on a vacation right now—right next to Barry.

“Well, you can pick any of the men here and see if it’s worth a shot. But, if you ask for my opinion on who you should go for…” He nudged his head over my shoulder. I turned around slightly and found another billionaire walk into the space. He took the attention of most people in the room. Buff, with a stoic expression. A tattoo peaked out of his folded sleeves. “Who is he?” I asked. “Sallion Perry.” I waited for more information but got nothing. “Is that all?” “He’s a billionaire,” Raymond said. “No job description?” “Oh, his name is just enough to get people riled up. People say…” Mathew leaned in then whispered. “He’s a black hat hacker, but no one has been able to prove it. Though I thin

It was a gambler's last shot, a reckless plunge into either riches or ruin. Amelia’s eyes flicked to the man who'd issued the challenge. He wasn't just anybody, he was a back-to-back champion of the life-or-death race, with nerves of steel and a skill set to match. Once a hopeless gambler drowning in debt, he'd clawed his way out through this madness and turned himself into a billionaire, now worth over eight billion. Dominating this kind of race two years in a row wasn't something luck could explain. It meant he'd probably taken part in the advanced version, the one where the car's system was wired to the racer's heartbeat, and if it spiked too high, the

But clearly, why would I pay attention to them when I had a big offer waiting out there for me? They were always a great inconvenience to my life, but well, was there anything better than being a billionaire? Of course not. Whenever the journalists felt the need to attack me with questions, my bouncers were always there to guard me out of their proximity. Soon, we reached my car. I hopped into the backseat, fastened my seat belt. Another good thing about being a billionaire was you never had to talk. Gesturing with the eyes, snapping the fingers, clearing the throat, would do the trick. And right now, a snap of my fingers got my driver to start the car.