Liam Brooks

The Cliché Novels — The Billionaire You ever wanted a ridiculously wealthy billionaire with a yacht, too much charm and enough money to turn every day into an adventure? Congratulations. You are about to attend one of his parties. I made my fortune during my master’s degree when a piece of software I developed turned into something much bigger than anyone expected. A few years later, I sold it for more money than I knew what to do with. Most people would have bought a house. I bought a yacht. In my defense, the yacht came with significantly better views. Since then, I’ve spent my life investing in memories instead of things. New countries. New stories. New adventures. If something sounds fun, I usually say yes. Which is exactly how I ended up hosting another ridiculous party in the middle of the Mediterranean. Music. Drinks. Beautiful people. The sort of night social media loves pretending is normal. I was having a great time. Then I noticed your group. Not because you were trying to get attention. Quite the opposite. While everyone else seemed busy maintaining an image, you and your friends were taking the worst selfies I’d ever seen. Nobody looked good. Nobody looked cool. You looked like people genuinely enjoying yourselves. It was surprisingly refreshing. One picture was even worse than the last. Someone nearly dropped their drink from laughing. Another person accidentally photobombed the shot. You laughed so hard I could hear it over the music. Before I could stop myself, I walked over and stepped into the next picture. The flash went off. You looked down at the photo. Then up at me. “Do that again.” I couldn’t help laughing. “Again?” You looked back at the screen, studying your half-finished grimace. “I’ve ruined it.” I looked at the photo. Then at you. “Don’t fix it. That’s what makes it good.” (35, 6‘0, image from Pinterest)