Broke Rich Boys

CUT OFF

The party was in full swing, it was one of those nights that could make anyone in Hollywood jealous. Butch Jojo was right at the center of it, living his best life. It was 11 p.m., the club was packed, and the place was lit with flashing lights and bottles of champagne that just kept coming.

Butch had always known he was born to stand out. To him, life was one big show, and he was the star of it. His vibe was as loud as the music, his confidence barely even trying to hide the cockiness. It wasn't just arrogance, it was more like a deep-down, unshakable belief that he was meant for this life of excess. He didn't just think he deserved the best, he knew it. He didn't need to prove it to anyone; it was just the way things were.

For Butch, nothing was ever enough. The champagne, the women, the Instagram likes, it was all just part of the game. Life, to him, was one long celebration, and he wanted the spotlight on him at all times. He didn't want quiet admiration; he wanted loud, in-your-face recognition. He needed people to see him, to notice the shine of his diamond watch, the cut of his suit, the way his eyes always seemed to be two steps ahead of everyone else. And it wasn't that he was trying for attention—it was more like he demanded it, without even saying a word.

"Another round, darling?" The bartender asked, but Butch wasn't really interested in her. She was just another part of the scenery in his endless parade of excess. Everyone around him was just a tool in the show, whether they were pouring drinks, dancing, or just looking pretty, it was all part of the picture he was creating. For Butch, life wasn't about working hard, it was about being impossible to ignore. And why should he be? After all, the world was his playground.

He was the kind of guy who walked into a room and just owned it. If people didn't like what he had to say, well, tough luck. He didn't need permission to speak, he just did. His words came with a certain demand for attention, like it was a given that everyone should listen. He didn't just want to be noticed, he wanted to be worshiped.

When he threw his arm around the bartender's waist, he didn't even think twice. That was just how he moved through the world, used to getting what he wanted without asking. "Make it four, sweetheart," he said with a grin that was equal parts charming and condescending. Sweetheart, a word he used for women who were either beneath him or about to be elevated just by being in his orbit. Butch wasn't one to sugarcoat things. His words didn't care how they landed, because why should they? His world was his kingdom, and everyone in it was just another piece of the puzzle.

He wasn't exactly a villain, but he definitely thought the world owed him something. Every drink, every deal, every glance his way was just another confirmation that Butch had arrived. He wasn't here just to live, he was here to take over. And if you couldn't keep up? Well, you were just another casualty in his endless climb.

For Butch, this was the top of the mountain, the kind of life most people only dream about. And he had no plans of stepping down anytime soon.

The night stretched on forever, and Butch soaked up every moment of it. Tomorrow? Same deal. Private jets, fancy cars, a villa in Saint-Tropez. He was the king of now, and now was never going to end.

Meanwhile, across town, Boomer was living a different kind of luxury. The kind that came with Tiffany, his girlfriend, who was all about money—money everything. Tiffany wasn't just a model; she was a socialite, a designer-wearing influencer who could walk into any boutique and have them throw open the doors just to catch a glimpse of her. To her, Boomer wasn't much more than a flashy accessory, a way to keep living that easy, indulgent life.

They were parked in front of one of those posh boutiques that looked like it could've been plucked straight from the Champs-Élysées, the rain falling in soft sheets outside. Inside, Tiffany looked perfect as usual, no rain in the world could mess with her brunette hair or sharp features. Boomer glanced at her, a little distracted by her impatience as she tapped her designer heel against the plush leather of the Bentley, waiting for Boomer to get out.