No Love Just Money Novel by Troey _ Novel



No Love Just Money Novel by Troey _ Novel

No Love Just Money Chapter 01

With my hourglass figure and striking features, I was known as the most stunning bombshell in the entertainment industry.
Yet, even after five years in the industry, no one had dared to make a move on me. That was because Kendrick Engersch, the golden boy of Boston's most elite circle, supported me.
We had been together for seven years, and I truly thought we would get married.
But on my 28th birthday, I heard him laughing with his friends. "Having fun with Cassandra is fine, but I've got someone else in mind for marriage."
Whatever I felt for him ended that day. Just as he wished. From then on, I only wanted his money, not him.
Kendrick, however, seemed unaccustomed to the shift. He stared at me and asked, "Besides the villa, is there nothing else you want?"
I exclaimed in surprise, "You mean I can ask for a Rolls-Royce, too?"
Kendrick's expression darkened instantly. He climbed out of bed and dressed with his back to me—his skin still marked by the traces I'd left behind.
From the moment he started dressing until he walked out the door, he didn't say another word.
I watched him go, feigning confusion as to why he'd suddenly grown so cold.
Did he think I was being too greedy?
Fine. A person should be content with what they have.
I hesitated for a few minutes, caught between calling him to apologize or leaving him be, before finally setting my phone down.
A sensible lover shouldn't meddle too much in their sugar daddy's private life. It would have only gotten on a man's nerves.
I walked barefoot into the living room, where several Hermès bags lay scattered across the couch.
Kendrick had brought them back from a business trip to France—limited editions that weren't even available here yet.
I picked out my favorite and set it aside. For the rest, I snapped a few photos and sent them to my contact, Rhea, a high-end bag reseller, with a brief note: "Brand new, original receipts included."
She responded with a quote almost immediately.
My eyes lit up at the number. It wasn't enough for a Rolls-Royce Phantom, but a base model was definitely within reach now.
I had never been interested in collecting luxury bags anyway.
To me, they were no different from the cheap knockoffs you'd find at a flea market. I only carried them to keep up appearances at events; otherwise, I never touched them.
But Kendrick loved giving them to me. He had the latest collections delivered every year, and he'd always bring back even more whenever he went abroad on business.
I'd sold every designer bag he gave me this year. The money was doing what luxury never could — actually increasing in value.
I put the bags away and went to bed.
I slept soundly that night, not caring in the slightest where Kendrick had gone.

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