The Day I Stopped Feeding Billionaires นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Lane International Office – 6:15 PM Sally slammed the tabloid on my desk with enough force to send my coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug, dark liquid seeping into quarterly projections that suddenly seemed insignificant. The headline screamed in lurid yellow against a black background: "RECONCILED? Disgraced Billionaire Coleman Shares Tender Moment With Ex-Wife & Secret Love Child"

Though they still weren't able to stand on their feet but in about one month or so, they will be able to start the practice of walking. We had a cake shop, which always did great. The amount we earned was acceptable to run our life gracefully. At the time of operations I had to take money from Eric because the papers of shop was in my parents name. But thank god I didn't do that because now I could repay Eric as fast as possible. Surprisingly he didn't pry or poke me from the moment he gave money to me until now. The amount of kindness was looking fishy to me. But whatever floats his boat, I wasn't complaining.

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.

Because if this is some kind of reality show, I would like to resign. I slowly turn in a full circle, no cameras. No director shouting, “Cut!” no hidden microphones. Just a room full of people who are looking at me like I escaped from the psychiatric hospital. I point at myself, “Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Nobody speaks, are rich people allergic to conversation? I look back at the billionaire. “No offense. But you look way too successful to answer an online advertisement.” “Yes.” I shake my head stubbornly, “Why do you agree to be my fake baby daddy for two million dollars?”