Billionaire’s Daughter PRETENDS To Be Poor And Rides Bicycle To School To Find True Love
Billionaire’s Daughter PRETENDS To Be Poor And Rides Bicycle To School To Find True Love
CHAPTER 1 — THE NAME SHE COULDN’T WEAR
In the city of Lagos, wealth did not whisper.
It shouted.
Glass towers bent the sky. Cars that cost more than houses moved like quiet kings through guarded streets. And at the center of it all stood the Anaborei Empire, a dynasty so powerful that even politicians adjusted their voices when speaking its name.
But inside the tallest penthouse, the daughter of that empire was suffocating.
Her name was Zimuzo Anaborei.
To the world, she was untouchable.
To herself, she was invisible.
“Miss Edin,” her grandfather’s voice echoed through the marble hallway one morning, “your father has two service departments five minutes from the academy. Which one should I prepare?”
.
.
.
Zimuzo tightened her grip on her backpack.
“No. I will stay in the dormitory.”
Silence fell.
Her grandfather sighed. “At least let the driver follow at a distance.”
She shook her head. “No cars. No guards. I want to go alone.”
Her father appeared behind her, alarmed.
“My jewel, the Anaborei name did not survive three generations of boardroom wars for you to ride to school on iron scrap.”
She turned slowly.
“This is not a coronation,” she said softly. “It is school.”
And then she walked out before anyone could stop her.
Outside the gates, she looked at the bicycle waiting for her.
Simple.
Old.
Perfect.
For the first time in her life, she was not a billionaire’s daughter.
She was just a girl looking for something she had never been allowed to find.
Truth.
Or maybe love.
CHAPTER 2 — THE SCHOOL OF MASKS
Crown Lake Academy was built for the children of the powerful.
And for their lies.
On the first morning, students gathered at the gate as luxury cars lined the entrance like a parade of inherited arrogance.
Then she arrived.
A girl on a bicycle.
A silence fell so fast it felt rehearsed.
“Is this admission or delivery?” someone laughed.
“Imagine Crown Lake has fallen,” another said. “They’re admitting bicycle people now.”
Zimuzo ignored them.
She locked her bicycle and walked in.
Inside, whispers followed her like shadows.
“She’s new.”
“From abroad maybe.”
“I heard she’s nothing special.”
Then the second girl arrived.
Zema Edin.
She stepped out of a Maybach.
Perfect smile. Perfect posture. Perfect wealth.
The world shifted instantly.
“Wow… that’s the board chairman’s daughter.”
“Friendship is investment,” someone whispered.
Zema looked at the girl on the bicycle and smiled faintly.
But it wasn’t kindness.
It was curiosity.
And curiosity, in Crown Lake, was dangerous.
That afternoon, Zimuzo found herself sitting beside a boy named Tenno Atuati in class.
He barely looked at her.
Until she spoke.
“You don’t seem like someone who enjoys this place,” she said.
He glanced at her briefly. “Neither do you.”
That was it.
No romance.
No music.
Just a conversation that felt… real.
And for Zimuzo, that was more dangerous than any war her family had ever fought.
Because she had finally found something money couldn’t buy.
Attention without expectation.
CHAPTER 3 — THE GAME OF WORLDS
It didn’t take long for the school to split into two realities.
The world of Zema Edin.
And the world of the girl on the bicycle.
Zema was everywhere—charity donations, social circles, whispered admiration. Even teachers adjusted their tone when she spoke.
But Zimuzo?
She was “Bicycle Girl.”
An outsider.
A joke.
A mystery.
And yet… Tenno kept noticing her.
Not Zema.
Her.
One afternoon, during a school fundraiser, Zema donated 100,000 naira effortlessly. Others followed with applause.
Then the teacher turned to Zimuzo.
“And you?”
She looked up calmly.
“Charity is not performance,” she said.
The room laughed.
“Then how much will you give?” someone mocked.
She tilted her head.
“Ten million.”
The room exploded.
Laughter. Disbelief. Mockery.
“From where?” Zema asked softly.
Zimuzo smiled.
“Call my uncle.”
And she did.
Within minutes, confirmation arrived.
10 million naira transferred.
The room went silent.
For the first time, Zema looked at her differently.
Not as a joke.
But as a threat.
CHAPTER 4 — THE ARCHERY GAME
Everything changed at the archery event.
It was supposed to be fun. Elite students. Wealth. Competition.
But it became a battlefield.
Zema’s circle laughed as Zimuzo picked up the bow.
“She’s going to break it,” someone whispered.
“Village girl can’t even hold it properly.”
Tenno stood nearby, watching silently.
Zimuzo adjusted her stance.
She inhaled.
And for a moment, the world disappeared.
The arrow flew.
Perfect.
Dead center.
Silence shattered the laughter.
Zema’s expression tightened.
That night, rumors spread.
“She cheated.”
“She trained before.”
“She’s pretending.”
But Tenno said nothing.
Because he had seen her hands tremble—not from fear, but from restraint.
As if she was holding back something far bigger than skill.
That night, he followed her.
“Who are you really?” he asked.
She looked at him.
For a second, she considered lying.
Then she whispered:
“Someone trying not to be owned by her last name.”
And walked away.
CHAPTER 5 — THE TRUTH THAT BURNS MONEY
The gala night arrived like a storm dressed in silk.
The entire school gathered under golden lights.
Zema stood at the center of attention.
Zimuzo stood in the shadows.
But the truth never stays hidden forever.
A document leaked.
A name revealed.
Zimuzo Anaborei. Daughter of the empire.
The room exploded.
Shock. Fear. Respect. Envy.
Zema froze.
Tenno stepped forward, stunned.
“You… lied?”
Zimuzo shook her head.
“I lived.”
The chairman arrived moments later, furious.
“You humiliated the family,” he said.
“No,” she replied calmly. “I tested it.”
Then Zema snapped.
“You were playing us?”
Zimuzo looked at her.
“No. I was trying to find out if anyone here sees a person before they see money.”
Silence.
Then chaos.
But Tenno stepped between them.
“You didn’t need money to be seen,” he said quietly.
She looked at him.
For the first time, she wasn’t sure.
The next morning, everything collapsed.
Rumors faded.
Reputations broke.
But something else survived.
Zimuzo returned to her bicycle.
Not as disguise.
But as choice.
Tenno stood beside her.
“You’re really leaving all this?”
She smiled.
“I didn’t come to be rich here.”
“Then why did you come?”
She looked at the road ahead.
“To see who would still talk to me… when I wasn’t untouchable.”
He paused.
“And?”
She turned to him.
“You did.”
A silence.
Then he picked up another bicycle.
“I’ll come too,” he said.
She blinked. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “That’s why I am.”
And for the first time, Zimuzo laughed freely.
Not as a billionaire’s daughter.
Not as a lie.
But as a girl on a bicycle.
Riding toward something no money could ever define.