Queen of Steel: Throne of Lies

Chapter 5

This past week has gone by faster than my dad's Maserati on an open freeway, the days melting together into a dizzying blur of academic demands, business meetings, and lavish social events.

I've barely had a moment to catch my breath, let alone collect my thoughts. And now I have yet another charity ball to prepare for. To make matters even more unbearable, my parents intended to grace the event with their esteemed presence that evening - a prospect that filled me with a sense of dread.

As I stood before my expansive wardrobe, deliberating over what to wear, my eyes settle on a gorgeous floral Oscar de la Renta gown. The exquisite dress featured a dramatic high-low hemline that gracefully cascaded into a slight train, perfectly accentuating my statuesque frame.

Even for such a frivolous event, my appearance had to be utterly flawless. Now I just needed to pick out shoes - maybe some bold red Valentinos or black Jimmy Choos pumps? A familiar ringtone pierced the silence, my phone's incessant buzzing snapping me out of my reverie.

"Mom?" I'm surprised to hear her dulcet tones unusually gracing my ear. It seemed her royal highness had not completely abandoned me - at least, not yet. A mischievous thought flickered through my mind; perhaps I should discard this number altogether, a petty yet satisfying childlish prank on my part.

"Oh darling, how are you?" she trilled, her words dripping with the artificial sweetness I had come to loathe.

"I'm fine, Mom." I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Getting ready for the ball, are you coming?" I say pointedly.

As expected, she breezed past my inquiry with dismissive ease. "I'm doing fabulous, you know me - staying busy, getting ready for Paris Fashion Week. But I'm calling because I need a favor." Of course she did. "Dr. Gianelli has finally convinced me to do some minor corrections - not that I need it, of course, but the man insists I'm his muse..."

I roll my eyes, imagining the lengths to which she would stoop to manipulate the poor doctor into catering to her every whim were simultaneously impressive and utterly repulsive.. I shiver at the mere thought.

"Anyways," she prattled on, oblivious to my disgust, "I won't be able to make it to your father's monthly meeting. Be a dear and go in my place, will you?"

"Of course, Mother," I reply, my tone clipped and emotionless.

"Knew I could count on you, darling! I must run, au revoir!" And with that, she hangs up.

"Bye, Mom," I mutter into the dead line. Her self-absorption never ceases to astound me. I found an odd comfort in the realization that this callous behavior was nothing new - merely the latest in a seemingly endless string of maternal disappointments.

I can recall a plethora of instances where I was not a critical part of her existence. While other mothers were living vicariously through their daughters, mine was always jumping to the next plastic prodigy to preserve her youth or globetrotting around the world to get to the next miracle fountain of youth.

Memories came flooding back, vivid recollections of a childhood where I was just an inconvenient afterthought, a blemish she worked to erase through her perfectionist nature.

Yet somehow, I don't resent her for it anymore. Her profound selfishness shaped me, tempered me to have no expectations. If anything, she taught me self-reliance and how to dismiss the opinions of others - skills that will serve me well as I continue to ascend in this world of excessive privilege.

Well, I suppose I'll be attending another meeting in her stead. With a sigh, I slip on the fierce red Valentino heels and head out. A final glance in the mirror reassured me that I looked every inch the untouchable goddess, regal and refined - the polar opposite of what my mother could never be.