Splitting the Billionaire's Bill
I could do this because, for me, this wasn't the first time. Ive lived this before.
In my last life, that fake bag was my undoing. Veronica, my roommate, had somehow linked herself to a "Spending-Split System"a kind of financial curse. As long as I carried the counterfeit bag she gave me, every single dollar she spent, anywhere in the world, was split evenly between us.
She was the daughter of a millionaire, a girl who treated shopping sprees in Paris and Milan like a part-time job.
I was a scholarship kid who spent her nights in the library, the fake bag sitting on the floor next to me as I studied. With every swipe of her credit card, the money my parents had scrimped and saved for my future vanished from my account.
Eventually, the debt became a tidal wave. It dragged me under, and the loan sharks she was unknowingly connected to made sure I never came up for air. They filled my pockets with stones and threw me in the river.
So, this time, I knew the game. Veronica loves splitting the bill, does she?
Well, dragging a broke student down with her is small-time.
Lets see how she likes splitting the tab with a billionaire.
1
My fingers tightened around the faux-leather handle of the bag, a flawless imitation of the seasons most coveted luxury satchel.
This was my eighteenth birthday. Again.
The only people who remembered were Veronica Thorne and her lapdog, Ashley.
No, thats not right. They didn't remember my birthday. They remembered the day their trap was supposed to be set.
Veronicas arm was linked through mine, her touch a proprietary gesture disguised as friendship. "Happy birthday, Josie," she cooed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "This bag is just so you. You have to promise me you'll wear it every single day."
It sounded like a gift, but it felt like a command.
Ashley, ever the hype woman, immediately started her performance. Her voice was loud enough to echo down the dorm hallway. "Oh my god, Ronnie! You are the best friend ever! Josie, do you know how much that costs? Thats like, a five-thousand-dollar bag!"
Her tone was a masterclass in exaggerated envy. Thirty percent praise for her queen, seventy percent a spotlight on the chasm between their wealth and my lack of it.
I clutched the bag, my knuckles white.
The memories washed over me like icy water, a phantom current pulling me under. I saw myself carrying this exact bag, its counterfeit gleam a constant reminder of my own inadequacy.
I saw Veronica laughing on a yacht in the Mediterranean, swiping her card for another case of champagne.
And I saw myself in the university library, my phone buzzing with one bank notification after another, each one a death knell for my savings. The money my parents left me, my scholarships all of it siphoned away by that parasitic system until there was nothing left.
She lived in luxury while I drowned in debt.
The loan sharks, the final, brutal chapter. The cold water closing over my head.
My heart seized, a knot of pure terror in my chest, and I had to fight to draw a breath. A chill snaked up my spine, the ghostly embrace of a predator. Veronica, smiling at me, wasn't my roommate. She was a demon in Dior, a harbinger of a fate I had already suffered.
I forced down the bile of hatred rising in my throat. My voice, when I finally found it, was so devoid of emotion it scared even me.
"Thanks."
That was all I said. No gushing, no tears of gratitude. Just a single, flat word.
The smile on Ashleys face froze, then curdled into a scowl. "What is wrong with you, Josie?" she snapped, her voice sharp with indignation. "Veronica gets you a gift that costs more than your entire wardrobe, and that's all you have to say? Have you ever heard of the words 'thank you'?"
Veronica, ever the benevolent martyr, raised a hand to silence her attack dog. "Ash, stop it," she said, feigning kindness. "She's probably just in shock. It's okay, Josie. As long as you love it, that's all that matters."
Her words were honeyed, but her eyes held a triumphant glint. She was certain she had me. She was sure that the poor little scholarship girl would treasure this fake status symbol, carrying it like a holy relic until it destroyed me.
She was already waiting for the punchline.
I lowered my head, pretending to admire the bags craftsmanship, but really, I was hiding the murder in my eyes.
Just then, my phone screen lit up.
A news notification.
Heiress Seraphina Monroe to Attend Northwood University's Charity Art Gala as Guest of Honor this Weekend.
My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a drumbeat.
Seraphina Monroe.
The only daughter of the richest man in America.
The article featured a photo of her at a recent event. She was wearing a couture gown, and on her arm was a bag.
The exact same brand, the same limited-edition model, as the fake one in my hands.
The real one.
A plan, audacious and terrifying, began to crystallize in my mind. My breath hitched.
What was the point of dragging me, a nobody, into the abyss?
This time, let's see how Veronica Thorne enjoys splitting the bill with a true one-percenter.
I looked up and offered Veronica a small, hesitant smile. She took it as the gratitude she so desperately craved.
I tightened my grip, making a silent vow. This time, I wouldn't be the one to break.
2
The next day, I brought the bag back to our dorm room.
Veronica and Ashley were in the middle of their elaborate makeup rituals, whispering conspiratorially. The moment I walked in, they exchanged a smug, knowing glance.
I ignored them and walked over to our third roommate's desk. Brianna was sweet, but hopelessly obsessed with status, constantly fawning over Veronica's designer everything in a desperate bid to be accepted into their circle.
I casually set the bag down on her textbook.
"Brianna," I said.
She looked up, her eyes wide with a gossip-hungry curiosity.
"You like this, right?" My voice was even. "You can borrow it for the day."
Briannas jaw dropped. She reached for it instantly, her fingers twitching with excitement as if she were about to hold the Holy Grail.
But before her hand could even graze the strap, Veronicas entire demeanor shifted. The sunny facade vanished, replaced by a dark, thunderous scowl. She shot up from her vanity chair, moving with a speed I'd never seen before, and snatched the bag off Brianna's desk.
"This was a gift for Josie," she said, clutching the bag to her chest as if it were a life raft. "It's not something you just pass around."
Her voice was glacial.
Her over-the-top reaction confirmed everything. The system wasn't bound to a person. It was bound to the object.
She was scared. Terrified that if Brianna carried the bag, the system would activate and her secret would be exposed.
Ashley quickly jumped in, her tone dripping with passive aggression. "Seriously, Josie. That's so tacky. This was a meaningful gift from Veronica. You're supposed to treasure it."
Veronica hugged the bag tighter, her eyes locking onto mine with a venomous glare. It was a clear warning: don't screw this up.
My heart stuttered, but I kept my face a blank mask and simply lowered my gaze.
It was all crystal clear now. I had to act fast. I couldn't afford to wait. My plan to switch my fake bag with Seraphina Monroe's real one at the charity gala had to work.
I pulled out my phone and went straight to the university website, looking up the event details. I needed a legitimate reason to get close to Seraphina.
Without a second's hesitation, I signed up to be a student volunteer.
That afternoon, I got a call. It was Veronica. Her voice was practically singing with smug satisfaction.
"Hey, Josie. I heard you signed up to volunteer at the gala," she began, the sound of magnanimous charity oozing from her words. "I actually pulled a few strings for you. I got you assigned to the main VIP lounge. You'll just be directing guests. It's super easy, and you'll get to see all the important people up close."
I had to stop myself from laughing. She wasn't helping me; she was fast-tracking her own demise. She wanted me in a high-traffic area, guaranteeing that Id be carrying her cursed bag all weekend. She wanted the system to start billing me the second the gala began.
I pitched my voice to sound overwhelmed, on the verge of tears. "Ronnie that's that's so nice of you. Thank you."
Then, for the final, gut-wrenching twist of the knife, I added, "I'll make sure to carry the bag you gave me. I won't let you down."
The performance was so convincing, I almost believed it myself.
Veronica hung up, clearly satisfied, and I could hear her derisive chuckle just before the line went dead.
A moment later, a notification lit up my phone's lock screen. A text from Veronica, clearly meant for Ashley, that I caught just before it disappeared.
Can't wait to watch her go broke by Monday. A peasant like her won't even know what hit her.
My hand balled into a fist, my nails digging into my palm.
Rage, pure and hot, churned in my stomach. My legs felt weak. She was still dreaming of my destruction, completely unaware of the hell that was about to break loose.
Just then, the dorm room door opened and Veronica walked in. She saw me and strolled over, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on the bag I was holding.
"Wear this on Saturday," she said, her voice a low, menacing purr. "I'll be checking."
I nodded meekly, my voice catching in a sob. "I will."
As she turned away, a triumphant smirk on her face, the corner of my mouth twisted into a smile that was anything but grateful.
3
On Saturday, the day of the art gala, I walked into the grand hall with the counterfeit bag slung over my shoulder.
Just as I expected, Veronica and Ashley were already there, lurking in a corner. Their eyes, like those of twin vipers, were locked on me, tracking my every move. When they saw the bag on my shoulder, they exchanged a look of pure, malicious glee, already imagining my financial ruin.
But I was prepared.
Before leaving the dorm, I had gone to an ATM and withdrawn every cent from my bank account, leaving only a single, crisp 0-000 bill in my pocket. My debit card, Venmo, PayPalall of it was at a zero balance. I had even proactively blocked my own access to any cash advance apps.
Veronica's first test of the system was going to be a spectacular failure.
She didn't wait long. I saw her tapping away on her phone, a sly grin on her face. A few minutes later, an expensive-looking afternoon tea delivery from a five-star hotel arrived at the VIP lounge. It was a test, a probe to see if the spending-split had begun.
But for her, there was no satisfying "ding" of a successful transaction.
My bank account balance was zero.
Veronica's smile faltered. A frown creased her brow, and her face grew dark. I saw her shoot a questioning text to Ashley.
Ashley understood immediately. She "happened" to wander past my station.
"Josie, you look exhausted!" she said, her voice loud and performative. "You should go buy yourself a bottle of water or something. Take a break before you burn out!"
She was trying to bait me into making a purchase, any purchase, no matter how small.
My heart jumped into my throat, but my plan was already in motion.
I put a hand to my throat and shook my head, looking flustered.
"I'm okay, really," I mumbled, my voice low and timid. "Besides, I left my phone in my locker. Didn't want it to be a distraction."
Ashley was momentarily stumped, an annoyed look flashing across her face.
Veronica, however, was done with subtlety. She stormed over to me, her patience clearly gone.
"I saw you with your phone when you left the dorm!" she seethed. She opened her Venmo app and, right in front of me, sent me $500. Her voice was sharp, an undisguised command.
"There. Go buy drinks for all the volunteers," she ordered. "Now. I'll cover it."
The $500 was an ultimatum. She was trying to force my hand.
My pulse hammered in my ears.
With a look of reluctant defeat, I pulled my phone from my pocket.
The screen was black.
"Oh, no, Ronnie, I'm so sorry," I said, my voice trembling with manufactured distress. "It must have died. I can't accept the money."
I turned to another volunteer nearby, my expression pleading. "Hey, could I possibly borrow a hundred dollars in cash? I'll pay you back as soon as I can charge my phone. It's to buy water for everyone."
I used the borrowed cash to make the purchase, successfully avoiding any transaction linked to my own accounts.
Veronica never got the notification.
Her face was a mask of thunderous fury. She stared at me, her eyes filled with suspicion. She knew something was wrong.
A wave of triumphant satisfaction washed over me.
Carrying the tray of water bottles, I walked into the VIP lounge. Seraphina Monroe was there, engaged in conversation, radiating an aura of effortless power.
And there, resting on the plush velvet sofa next to her, was my target. The real bag.
This was it.
I placed the water on a nearby table and pretended to straighten some pamphlets, my gaze locked on that bag. I had one shot at this. My entire future depended on it.
Through the lounge doors, I could see Veronica peering in, her expression growing more furious by the second when she saw I hadn't used the bag to go shopping.
4
Veronicas patience finally snapped.
With no split-spending notifications to soothe her predatory instincts, she stormed into the VIP lounge, her face a mask of rage poorly concealed by a phony smile.
"Josie, you must be exhausted!" she chirped, walking toward me.
She said a few more meaningless things, then suddenly "tripped," her body lurching forward.
The full glass of red wine in her hand flew through the air, splashing in a perfect, bloody arc across my chest.
"Oh my God, Josie, I am so sorry!" she shrieked, her voice high and piercing. "You're soaked! Go! There's a designer boutique next to the gallery. Run over there and buy yourself a new outfit, quickly!"
Her panic was entirely theatrical. Her words were a command. "The money's on me! We can't have you looking like that in front of these people!"
Her plan was transparently desperate. She was going to force a transaction, even if it was just a few hundred dollars on a new shirt, to trigger the system.
The force of her "stumble" sent me staggering backward.
I let my body fall onto the sofa.
Right next to Seraphina Monroes handbag.
My heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of my chest. My eyes were wide, fixed in a look of horror at my wine-stained shirt.
Every eye in the room was on me.
It was now or never.
As people rushed toward me, clucking with sympathy, my trembling fingers found their purpose. In one swift, fluid motion, hidden by the chaos, I shoved my own fake bag deep into the crevice between the sofa cushions.
And my hand closed around the cool, buttery leather of the real one.
I held my breath, my entire world narrowing to that single, silent exchange.
I scrambled to my feet, clutching Seraphinas bag. My face was a picture of frantic embarrassment.
"O-okay, Veronica," I stammered, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I'll go change. I'll be right back."
Veronica and Ashley exchanged a look of triumphant, venomous glee.
They thought they had won.
Clutching the real bag, I didn't go anywhere near the boutique. I ducked into the nearest restroom, locked myself in a stall, and pulled a plain t-shirt Id hidden in the bag that morning from its depths.
After a quick change, I slipped out a service exit, unseen.
Back in the lounge, Seraphina Monroe finished her conversation. As she stood to leave, her assistant dutifully retrieved the bag from the sofathe fake one I had plantedand handed it to her.
Seraphina took it without a second glance. "That antique vase from the auction earlier," she said casually to her assistant. "I've decided I want it."
"Go ahead and settle the final payment. It should be around two million."
My heart stopped.
The fuse had just been lit.
Across the room, Veronica was still fuming that I hadnt returned with a shopping bag. Her phone buzzed violently in her hand.
DING.
A text message from her bank appeared on the screen.
[CITIBANK ALERT: Your card ending in xxxx has been charged 0-0,000,000.00.]
5
Veronica stared at her phone, her mind refusing to process the numbers.
[CITIBANK ALERT: Card balance is insufficient. Funds have been withdrawn from your linked savings account. Current available balance: 0-05,350.00.]
A million-dollar charge. She couldn't connect that astronomical sum to me, the pathetic charity case.
"A a million?" A strangled gasp escaped her lips. Her head snapped toward Ashley, her eyes wild with disbelief and fury.
"Where is Josie?" Veronicas voice was a low, dangerous growl. "She was supposed to be changing! What the hell did she buy?"
Ashleys face was chalk-white. "Ronnie, calm down," she stammered. "It can't be Josie. She's broke. Her phone was dead, remember?"
Veronicas eyes were wide with dawning horror, as if she'd been struck by lightning. "It's impossible," she whispered, her voice trembling. "My Venmo transfer didn't even go through. She only had a hundred dollars cash on her!"
Her phone buzzed again with a news alert.
Headline: Seraphina Monroe Acquires Rare Dynasty Vase at Charity Auction.
Ashleys breath hitched. "Oh my god, Ronnie. That vase is worth two million! Do you think?"
"Shut up!" Veronica screamed, cutting her off. "The bag is with her. The system is linked to her!"
She gripped her phone so tightly the screen threatened to crack. But before the shock could even settle, Seraphina had apparently decided to do some light shopping.
A blizzard of text messages began to fly in.
[CITIBANK ALERT: A shared charge of 0-050,000.00 has been processed.]
[CITIBANK ALERT: A shared charge of $320,000.00 has been processed.]
[CITIBANK ALERT: A shared charge of $288,000.00 has been processed.]
Veronica clapped a hand over her mouth, a silent scream trapped in her throat. Her account balance was plummeting like a stone. Within minutes, every one of her cards was maxed out, tipping into massive overdrafts.
Her phone began ringing incessantlyautomated fraud alerts from her bank. Her mind was a maelstrom of white noise and panic. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead, and her knees buckled, sending her crumpling to the floor.
"No, no, no," she whimpered, rocking back and forth. "I didn't buy anything! I didn't spend any money!"
Then came the call she truly dreaded. Her father. His voice, usually a booming sound of authority, was a furious, confused roar over the line.
"Dad, I swear, it wasn't me!" she sobbed into the phone. "I didn't spend it!"
But her parents, having just received a series of frantic calls from their bank manager about a daughter who had seemingly lost her mind, weren't listening. With a few furious clicks, they froze every single one of her accounts.
First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "281508" to read the entire book.
MotoNovel
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