Are There Memes About 'I Only Need Your Money'?

Harmonia Marsh had been married to Absalom Terran for five years. She loved him to death. She was willing to go to great lengths and make all sorts of compromises for him. Despite that, Absalom still humiliated Harmonia by showering someone else with his love. Finally, Harmonia realized just how heartless he was and understood that he would never love her. She filed for a divorce the moment she realized this. Everyone said that she would regret her decision, and her ex thought that she would come crawling back to him and beg for forgiveness. However, she inherited a massive fortune and built her business empire. She turned into a billionaire and flourished after her divorce!However, Absalom regretted letting her go. He started trying to win her heart, only to be met with multiple failures. Absalom proposed to her for the umpteenth time.In response, Harmonia said, “Sorry, I’d rather marry anyone else than marry you.”

To save her family from being homeless, Faith Williams decided to steal from her company. She thought she got away with it until one day, her cold, stoic and unforgiving boss Anthony DeMarco caught up to her scheme and threatened to send her to prison.In a desperate attempt to save herself, she offers her body to him which angers him even more. How will she ever get out of this troublesome situation? Find my interview with Goodnovel: https://tinyurl.com/yxmz84q2

Peter Crowley finds out that it's been three days since I last lodged a purchase request from him. Thinking that I've finally learned how to become a good wife, he decides to text me as a form of reward. "I've already restored your adoptive mother's treatment privileges. You should be more docile from now on. Don't keep lying just to ask for more money from me. "I know that it's tough, being from the bottom rung of the society and all, but I'm not a gullible idiot, you know." What Peter doesn't know is that I've already finished drafting a divorce agreement by the time I receive his text. Before leaving the manor, the only thing I can take with me is the white T-shirt and the jeans I wore when I first married into this family. No one will ever believe that I, the glamorous and radiant Mrs. Crowley, don't have enough decent clothes to take up an entire closet. Every cent meant for any private expenses needs to go through a corporate approval system. All of the fancy clothes and jewelry are locked up in a safe, too. If I ever need money, I'll have to submit a request to Peter's secretary, Cara Harden. This is all because Peter looks down on my background. He thinks that I'll somehow develop a bad habit of spending money excessively just because I've married rich. But three days ago, my adoptive mother was in critical condition. I quickly put in a request for 200 thousand dollars for her surgical bills, only for Cara to drag out the approval system's procession. In the end, my adoptive mother died in the hospital. Peter has no idea that the only reason why I can tolerate his behavior for so many years is for the sake of the medical resources that can cure my adoptive mother. Now that my adoptive mother is dead, there's no need for me to continue staying in this marriage.

I need a wife. Now. It doesn’t have to do with love and living the good life. This is all about getting the money my billionaire father left to me. And I’m running out of time. But who proposes to a stranger after the first date? Me. That’s who. As if I have another choice. Luck is on my side though, and a beautiful model shows up in my office. Single? Gorgeous? Funny? All of the above. Our first date goes so well that I feel unsure about my decision to do this thing with her—you know, fake it. I put it off and decide to do it later, to ask for her help after we get to know each other better. But I like her more and more each time we meet, and eventually, offering her a ring isn’t for my dad’s money—it’s because I want her more than anything else in the world. Besides, who’s going to know if it’s fake or real? And does it really matter? Yeah. It does. To her…

He was, and had nothing when I met him. He was a terribly poor dreamer, and all he had was smooth words and endless promises. I gave up everything for him, including my family’s wealth, my privileged life, my identity as an heiress. I hid who I really was just to help him climb the ladder, brick by brick, until his name shone like gold. Our empire was built on my sacrifices. And how did he repay me? By throwing me away like a piece of used, wet tissue. By parading his new fiancée in my face and sneering, “Don’t you think I’m out of your league now?” He thought he could erase me. He thought he could take my love, my labor, my loyalty…and bury me like garbage. But he forgot one thing. I’m not just a girl he used. I’m an heiress. The gold in his pocket? The power in his hands? The empire on his shoulders? All of it came from me. Now I’ve returned to the world I left behind, with bodyguards at my side, a new fiancé chosen by my family, and more power than he could ever dream of. And when he calls me a gold digger? I’ll smile and remind him of the truth… “Gold digger? No. I’m the gold maker. And without me, Mr. Billionaire, you are nothing.”

On the third day after our divorce was finalized, my ex-wife, Georgie Anderson, sent me a text message. [Why haven’t you transferred your salary from this month to me?] I thought she was joking. [We’re already divorced.] [So? What does it matter if we’re divorced? You should transfer nineteen thousand dollars from your twenty-thousand-dollar income, just like you did before. The remaining one thousand dollars will be your pocket money. When you were unemployed, I was the one who took care of you. Now that we’re divorced, you’re turning your back on me?] I stared at her text messages and fell silent for a really long time. Throughout our three-year marriage, I gave her nineteen thousand dollars out of my twenty-thousand-dollar salary. She was responsible for "budgeting" our household expenses. However, she spent my money on her civil service exam, afternoon teas with her besties, and even on her study partner, whom I’d never met. As for me, I handled all the house chores—cooking dinner, mopping the floors and doing the laundry. But when I took a little time after work to game, she would yell at me for being lazy. She was demanding money from me even after we were divorced. Her reason was that I might spend the money without thinking. I blocked her number. Three seconds later, she sent me a text message from another phone number. [You’ll regret this. I’m trying to help you one last time.] I laughed. ‘Helping me?’ I thought. Nobody had ever helped me in the past three years.