Your Paid Story Novels & Stories

Values and morals did not matter anymore. A smirk appeared on Russell's lips. "What a brave daddy's girl. I'm intrigued. But you see, sweetheart... I'm an impatient man." He moved away from her and turned his back on her. He walked to the right side of the room, where one of his men was standing. The man moved away, giving Russel the space to look at the picture frame that hung on the wall. It was Sasha's picture. It was taken at a time when she was much more carefree. The glint of ecstasy in her eyes and the smile lit up her olive toned face. "I gave your dearest daddy five months. He could not pay me back. So now, I want the payment. And I think…" his voice trailed away as he turned around

Then, I said, "I really am his mother! Shawn said he picked this bracelet out with his girlfriend as a gift for me. You must have seen it, right?" I held up the golden bracelet to show Celine. She didn't react, so I picked up my phone from the floor and opened WhatsApp. "This is our family chat group," I said, pointing at the screen. The last message was sent the previous night, and it showed a voice message from Shawn. "Hey, Mom. You're the cutest mom in the world. I had a special hair dye mixed just for you, and it's totally safe for you to use. Didn't you say you wanted to color your hair pink? I'll come over and dye it for you."

she smirks. “I fully paid off my student loans last month and mom’s $250,000 debts to her friends last year, now I just got to focus on paying the bank on the housing loan so I can get the house back.” I sigh in relief “Maybe I can finally quit showing my body off in front of dozens of people on a nightly basis soon enough and follow my dreams of becoming a writer.” I say optimistically

Just nearby. The new “salary” hit my account via direct deposit. The number was clean, substantial, and landed without fanfare. There was no email confirming it. Just the balance in my bank app, a silent revolution. I paid my rent three months in advance. I bought Keila the shoes that lit up when she walked, just because I could. The freedom was dizzying, and it felt like a different kind of debt.

Two months have passed since I started working for Sir, and this is what I like the most, Payday! “You look like an idiot, don’t smile, stupid,” and in every story, there’s always one person who doesn’t want the main characters to be happy, and that’s him, ew. “Payday Sir, who wouldn’t be happy, you, wouldn’t you be happy when you’re about to get paid?” “I never got paid, I have a business, I don’t do salary,”

And that's if she didn't spend a dime on herself. That kind of endless grind would break her long before she ever made a dent in that debt. And her parents? They'd never survive the stress of her being so far away. "Come back," I said, the words tumbling out before I could overthink it. "Work for me. I'll pay you $500,000 upfront as an advance on your salary." As soon as I said it, I realized this was what wealth was really for—helping the people you love without hesitation.

"Yes I am and I think you should look into it because I'm going to also tell you something that's going to knock your socks off. I'm already lying I think you should know who you're really dealing with because I looked at the financials and the document I emailed to you and it turns out that he's been charging you for it and everything including your friendship." "What?" "Yes. You are paying him to be your support system known as you can get it at home for free with me and your son and your best friends but he's making you pay so congratulations you have a friend that you paid to be your friend. " "I will look at the document you sent me tomorrow morning. I do have the day off so I can spend

“Ma’am, the money was sent to me as payment for a work I’ve made. Seeing as they’ve only sent that amount now, I assume they’ve divided it into installments.” “What kind of work?” Theresa immediately asked. At this moment, it was hard to divide her work and her curiosity as Estela’s acquaintance. If she had checked their system, she would be able to see the name of the sender instead of questioning how the people in front of her were able to get such an amount. “I did some work for Wordsmith Literature, I believe you can check it there.” ‘Wordsmith Literature? Isn’t that the name of a publishing company?’ “Is that the publishing company you are talking about?”

That night, as I knelt on the cold tiles scrubbing the toilet, my mind frantically cycled through words—exhausted, desperate, rebellion, escape. Each word cut into my heart like a blade, leaving bloody gashes behind. I scrubbed with a vengeance until every single tile in the bathroom sparkled. Mom came by to inspect my work and nodded with satisfaction. She pulled 15 dollars from her wallet and handed it over. "Good job. Here's your money." I took the bills and tucked them deep into my pocket. Back in my room, I opened the ledger and wrote "15 dollars paid" next to the entry that said, "Owe Mom 600 dollars".

In fact, he looked more focused with each glass. "Sit," he said after the fourth order and glass. Rachel paused. "I'm working." "I'll pay you for the time," he replied, tapping the table lightly. "Double what they pay you per hour." Her lips pressed together hesitantly. Men had offered her money before, but it wasn't always like this. "I'm not that kind of company," she said. "I know," Joseph answered immediately. That made her falter, and she looked at him quizzically.