The Day I Stopped Feeding Billionaires Novels & Stories

The brave mother who ran into the line of fire for her child. The press ate it up. The story had everything: a billionaire, a kidnapping, a maternal lioness, a clean resolution. My “confession” broadcast was framed as a desperate, clever ruse to buy time. Our stock barely twitched. If anything, the brand gained a layer of gritty, resilient legend.

Mostly old men with shifty faces. I was about to turn off the television, but suddenly an interesting man appeared. He was handsome in his cold face. His black suit reminded me of the man in the café. It's a small world, but billionaires don't spend their money in small pastry shops. The off button was pressed. The hunger pangs faded after remembering I was broken up. I hit the sofa many times. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I smashed my face into the sofa to cry out loud. "How rich is he to insult me?" I muttered hoarsely.

He automatically stopped after he was announced as the youngest billionaire in the whole of Broken Hill. Did that make any sense? I guess not, so this was what happened. On a certain day, my ex-boyfriend returned from work and complained about a fall in his income. According to him, the company was losing it financially and he had to stop giving me the supposed weekly peanuts for my upkeep else he would go bankrupt. Of course, he lied! A billionaire had all he wanted and I perceived he was going to kick me out of his life. Oh, I know he wouldn't say this part of the story but have emphasized how wicked Nicole had been to have run away with half of his wealth.

She only had consolation in her reverie. After promising to buy good food for her with the proceeds from our vegetables, she only responded in tears and kept staring at the ceiling while she lay in her sick bed. And today being the day I promised her at least two square meals, that billionaire’s mad son ate all my raw vegetables and left us to die of hunger. “What nonsense a billionaire’s mad son is that?” I wailed in my head, while trudging home. Why would they leave him hungry to feast on people’s means of livelihood, people like me?

The hiss of milk steaming, the scrape of chairs—all of it blurred. She shook her head, a laugh escaping her, brittle and disbelieving. “No. That’s… that’s ridiculous. Look at me. Do I look like a billionaire? I don’t even have bus fare half the time. I walk everywhere. I eat… eggs and rice because it’s cheap. I owe rent. Billionaires don’t—” “They do if someone stole their life from them,” Adrian said quietly. His words cut through her protest like glass through cloth. Casey grinned, leaning back with a flourish. “Welcome to the family, sis. You’ve been sitting on a fortune this whole time and didn’t even know it.”

"Alice why are you doing this to me? you're forgetting all the love we've shared so soon? all because of that billionaire? lie that you're happy where you are? just lie that you are happy" "Hmm, let's see, I'm being paid $2 million monthly, I have a private jet that takes me to any where in the world I want, I've stopped working, any even with that I haven't touched any money in my account, I've gotten two all expense paid trips to two different continents and I can get more if I want, I don't stress for anything, and if I have his baby I take 15% of everything who owns, I wouldn't trade that for anything in the world". "All you have mentioned so far are material things, none of them seems t

I turned it off completely, just powered down and shoved it in my pocket because I couldn't handle one more call or text or demand for my attention. The bet was public. Not just the existence of it but the details, the mechanics, the calculated cruelty of everything we'd done. And people were reacting exactly how you'd expect—with outrage and disgust and calls for consequences. #BillionaireBet was trending on T*****r. Think pieces were already being written. Someone had started a petition demanding we be banned from every private club in Manhattan.

It felt cozy, quiet, and warm. "I never expected a billionaire like Greg Blackwood to eat at a place like this," Ariana said, taking a small sip of her drink. Greg laughed quietly. It was a genuine, relaxed sound that Ariana had never heard from him before. "Alex and I used to come here all the time when we first started our business," Greg explained, leaning his elbows on the wooden table. "Back then, we had no money in our bank accounts. We could barely afford a single plate of food, so we would share one meal and spend hours talking about our big dreams for the future. Coming here reminds me of who I was before everything got so big and complicated. It reminds me of simple times."

It suddenly made sense as to why Redmont couldn’t let things go. Millions of dollars are nothing to sneeze at even in today’s day and age, with billionaires running Wallstreet. The difference was that Redmont wouldn’t want to have it known that some nobody conned him out of seven million. He wanted to teach her and anyone who ever tried to fuck with him again a lesson.

They will say I was scorned by a billionaire and he left me a baby. The last part is true. A billionaire left me a baby but I was not scorned. No. I dumped him and I haven't heard from him in four months. But at the end of every month, a sum of money usually ranging between $20k-$30k makes it into my account. The money comes from Linc. It's compensation for resigning on my behalf. I apparently resigned from the Sun Rise Cove Tribune on this 'backpacking through Europe'. That is the story line Linc fed everyone who would have been concerned about my absence.