Chapter 1 - Perfection [Part 1]

Rich people are committed to being rich. Poor people want to be rich.

- T. Harv Eker.

One step short of perfection—that was the story of her life. As the daughter of a powerful conglomerate, she had always been just one step shy of royalty. Once a princess in everything but title, she had now risen to the status of a queen—again, in all but name. With her father in a medically induced coma, she had taken control of his stake, and combined with her late mother’s shares, she now held the majority share in the entire group.

Now, she was the group's acting chairman and this country was her playground.

With dark hair and perfect looks untouched by a surgeon's knife or the precision of the laser, she was the epitome of modern beauty. To add to this, she was possessed of a natural elegance that would make artists weep for the joy of witnessing it.

If there was a flaw in her appearance, it was the beauty mark under her left eye. She had often thought of removing it, but it reminded her of her mother. Removing it would have felt like an insult to her mother’s memory.

Besides, if she were too perfect, people might forget she was human. They might even start cults, worshiping the very ground she walked on, building shrines and temples in her name, and whispering prayers to their new goddess.

She smiled at the thought, her imagination running riot.

For a moment, she looked into the rearview mirror, her dark eyes reflecting back at her. Her face, free from the practiced softness of a polite smile, took on an almost regal severity. Lips settled in a natural line, jaw set, her gaze in the glass held a fierce, unapproachable calm.

Flashing blue and red lights coming up behind her drew her focus, annoying her. Noisy, persistent things—they always tried to disrupt her when she went out for a peaceful drive. All she wanted to see was the lights of the city swiftly passing her by, to feel alive even for just a few moments. So what if she was driving slightly above the speed limit? Those were rules for people who did not pay taxes in the millions.

A wicked grin spread across her face as she suddenly slammed on the brakes, tires squealing. She grit her teeth as one of the patrol cars slammed into her car’s rear bumper.

Fuming, she stepped out of her vehicle, a set of cutting lines already prepared for this encounter. The officers exited their cars, one of them hurling a string of colorful invectives in her direction. But the words barely registered; she’d long since learned to filter out the noise when dealing with the poor and less fortunate.

“Ma’am,” one of them began, hands on his belt, his voice filled with the confidence and authority of the law.

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The woman crossed her arms, smirking as she caught his gaze drifting, if only for a moment, to her chest. Her raw beauty was already disrupting his composure, scattering his thoughts. She noted his struggle to find a respectable place to focus. At last, he settled on a spot around her forehead, his professionalism visibly strained.

It almost made her want to laugh, but she decided against it. She would not gift them even that.

The male gaze was a powerful thing—one she had learned to manipulate since she was but thirteen years of age. Now, at twenty-six, she could safely say that she had mastered it.

“What seems to be the problem? Are the police so bored that harassing citizens has become a new pastime?” she began sweetly, crossing her arms. “And damage to private property? This car is custom-made and probably worth more than twenty years of your salary,” she added, her saccharine smile at odds with her biting words.

One of the officers glanced at his colleagues before clearing his throat. “Ma’am, you were doing fifty over the speed limit in a residential area… there are kids, and…”

She vaguely remembered almost hitting one. The silly thing should have learned to look both ways before crossing. Parents these days had grown lax, she thought dismissively.

"Do not call me 'ma'am'; it makes me sound old… mister," she cut in, glancing down at her finely manicured nails. She’d have to get them done again soon—this shade of red was far too gaudy. Making a mental note to have her secretary leave a bad review, she was even tempted to send her entire staff to the salon to do the same.

“We’ll need to see some ID, miss,” the other officer interjected with a hesitant smile.

She noted with satisfaction how intimidated these commoners, the poor, really, as nobility no longer existed in her country, seemed in her presence.

Sighing, she ran a hand through her silky dark hair, her annoyance evident. Without another word, she reached into her limited-edition designer bag and pressed five on her phone’s speed dial.

It was immediately picked up in mere seconds.

Narrowing her eyes, the woman spoke tersely into the phone. “Hello, Commissioner. Yes, I’m being harassed by some of your officers. Again. They had the nerve to accuse me of speeding—on a road my company built and pays to maintain. Yes. Yes, I’ll hand them over.”

She extended her diamond-encrusted phone to one of the awestruck officers, tapping her foot impatiently as the exchange began.

The officer’s face grew visibly pained as he endured a thorough tongue-lashing from the commissioner. The city night was filled with an awkward, heavy silence until he finally returned her phone with a deferential bow.

Without missing a beat, she reached into her bag and pulled out a thick wad of cash. It was time to discipline these uniformed thugs who had dared to accost her.

She slapped the bowing officer’s face and head with the bundle of cash, again and again, before tossing it to the ground. He endured the punishment in silence, fully aware that any protest might cost him his job—or, depending on her mood, even his life. The woman’s beauty was as infamous as her power, and he cursed his luck for not recognizing her sooner.

The best part of her punishment was that the foolish officers wouldn’t even be able to use the money she’d so carelessly tossed at them. If they did, it would count as bribery. A small laugh escaped her as she took in their pained expressions.

Moments later, a sleek black sedan with tinted windows pulled up. A man in a finely tailored suit stepped out, escorting her to the car and holding open the rear door.

The police officers remained bowing for several long moments, even after the car had pulled away and vanished from sight.