The Day I Stopped Feeding Billionaires Novels & Stories

Ava sat up straight. “Queen.” “What?” “ First of all, that man is a billionaire like he is super rich rich.” “second, he is powerful. “he can’t be walking around the city without security not to talk of buying you breakfast”. Queen looked back at the television. Then back at Ava. Then back at the television again. “I know.” “So how exactly did a billionaire end up buying you breakfast?” Queen opened her mouth. Then closed it. Because when Ava said it like that…

he sighed. “Day two in billionaire prison.” By the time he walked into the main living area, Timothy was already there. Again. Of course he was. The billionaire sat at the glass dining table reviewing several holographic reports floating in the air before him. His expression was calm. Focused. Like someone who had slept perfectly well. Elliot dropped into the chair across from him. “You know,” Elliot said, “normal people sleep after two in the morning.” Timothy didn’t look up. “I slept.”

I had worked enough for one day. *** The moment Neo appeared in front of me, I blinked away the tears in my eyes, pretended like I was completely fine. "Is the place empty?" I asked him. He nodded. "Another person has rented the place for the night. But well, the person paid a half payment." "Does that mean I can go in?" I asked further. "Yes, you don't have to worry about any crowd." I gave him a curt nod, and walked into the restaurant. One thing about being a billionaire, and a bit of a celebrity was, I was hardly able to go into restaurants without being attacked by people's attention. I used to like it, but not anymore. I just wanted a private life.

"I only left you to make money for us. And did I make that money!" He paused, his eyes gleaming with pride. "Did I!?" he repeated, his voice rising in a triumphant crescendo. "Yes, I did," Brad continued, his chest puffing out with pride. "I got a lot of money." Really?" I spat, my voice venomous. "Then it's best that you spend it on someone else, because I don't think I want you or your darn money." Brad's face contorted in desperation. "Please, Emily, you have been the only girl I have ever loved," he pleaded, his words dripping with sincerity.

Her eyes on the ground, refraining to look at the billionaire by the eyes. “I see…” He yielded a pitiful expression. “If you don’t want, we can just—” “No! I mean…” She sighed, before speaking again. “Don’t mind me. I’m just okay to eat at that restaurant. Past is past and never to discuss. It’s time to fully move on.” The billionaire nodded and offered a hand so they may walk together. In less than a minute, they are now sauntering towards the Chinese restaurant. *** The smell of the food made Minerva filled with hunger. She suddenly remembers that she only had oatmeal for breakfast since the last few days.

Indeed her hunch was right, her caretaker had sent her a text regarding the house rent. However, what got her attention the most was another test message from an unknown number that said: "Miss Stanford, I would love to make a deal with you. Not just any deal, but a billion dollars worth deal. If you are interested, hit me up on this number. I will be waiting...” “What is this?” Amelia asked aloud with a confused facial expression.

’ “Chill, dudes. We’re just greeting him a happy evening.” “You can go now, boss.” They stepped aside, and we walked past them. ‘Huh! They should be thankful. I have sharp nails.’ Of course, I only feel so confident because I am not alone. With billionaires, I don’t need to worry hiring a lawyer. ‘I am becoming more shameless as time passes by. Geez.’ As we walked away, Vincent glared at the two. Sylvester waved his hand, and the Chaylen gave them his middle finger.

The screen shifted to a photograph. The same man. The same sharp jaw. The same dark, unreadable eyes. The same presence that had made her spine tighten with awareness. Her neighbor. The billionaire next door. Zayrielle stared, her heart pounding. This wasn’t just wealth. This was power—the kind that crushed people without ever touching them. The elevator dinged. She stepped inside, her thoughts racing. So that’s who he was. Which meant the men in suits. The tension. The warning. It all made sense.

Forbes, Business Insider, the Times, all of them running the same story with slight variations in wording but the same devastating core message. Isla Brennan, my meek mute fiancée who couldn't even speak, had somehow landed Callum Thorne. One of the most powerful men in the city. A self-made billionaire whose net worth made my family's wealth look like pocket change. My phone had been ringing nonstop since the announcement went live an hour ago. Business associates calling to offer surprised congratulations that felt like thinly veiled mockery, their voices carrying that particular tone people use when they're enjoying your misfortune but pretending to be sympathetic.

To establish The Echo Foundation — dedicated to fighting school bullying and emotional abuse. I looked straight into the cameras and spoke, slow and clear. "Some people are used to throwing money at the mistakes they've made." "Some people are used to throwing money at the love they can't earn." "I choose to use money to create something that actually matters." "From today on, Elara Pemberton lives for herself." The press conference ended. The internet exploded. What I'd done was, without question, the loudest slap in the face either Lucas or Dominic had ever received.