A poor girl begged a billionaire for school shoes and promised to repay him—what happened next left everyone in stunned silence.

Private club memberships. A name people recognized before they even saw his face.

People called him successful.

Miles knew better.

Success was supposed to feel like arrival.

His felt like repetition.

He worked, earned, invested, expanded, bought, sold, repeated—and returned each night to rooms arranged by a designer who understood his taste better than continue reading …