Death After Luxury ✔️

First-class dream

Laurel P.O.V

All my life, I was the good girl — mama’s little church girl with perfectly ironed skirts, choir ribbons, and the kind of obedience that smells like suffocation.
High school was survival, not adolescence. While the rich kids flaunted imported perfumes and cars their daddies bought, I was the quiet one with hand-me-down shoes and big dreams. Mom worked her fingers into dust just to keep food on our table, and I…I kept dreaming of silk pillows and marble floors.

They called me “too ambitious” I called it hunger.

From that day, I made myself a promise — I would never beg life for luxury; I’d take it. No matter what it cost.

And that’s how I found my girls.

Four names. Four chaos queens. My girls, my sinners, my sisters-in-heels.
Scarlett, Sofie, Sally… and me, Laurel — the “innocent” one with a halo made of lies.

We weren’t angels; we were an investment team.
And men? They were our investors.

---

“What the fuck!” Scarlett’s voice sliced through the crowd as we strutted out of the airport, all sunglasses and sin. She grinned like she owned the runway — because, honestly, she did.

Scarlett was the wild one — the heiress who rebelled against her own wealth. Born with a platinum spoon but still choosing chaos. She was luxury in motion: her naturally curly hair kissed with shades of copper and wine-red at the tips, her laughter loud enough to turn heads, her heart soft enough to forgive herself after.

Sally, on the other hand, was the queenpin,the mastermind. Tall, sharp-eyed, with curves like a secret weapon and confidence that could silence a room.Her beauty wasn’t sweet,it was strategic. She had that “Boardroom dominance” energy — fatally serious,sexually intimidating and entirely too aware of her power.

And then there’s Sofie.
Sofie was the designer bitch — perfection polished to a mirror. Her family could buy small countries, and she dressed like she owned them. Everything about her was precise — her lipstick never smudged, her hair never frizzed, her attitude never softened.Her eyes said don’t try me and her smile said you’ll try anyway.

“Can you believe that guy coughed up three million dollars after acting all cocky?” Scarlett cackled,dragging her luggage behind her.

I adjusted my sunglasses,hips swaying to the rhythm of our victory. “Poland was boring.I’m ready for real luxury”

Sally smirked. “Then welcome to it,babe.I bought us a white apartment.You bitches couldn’t agree on a color, so I made an executive decision”

Scarlett gasped dramatically. “A white penthouse in the middle of the city? Damn,Sally, are we trying to go to heaven or rob it again?”

We laughed,the sound blending with the purr of engines and the click of our heels against the pavement.

Our taxi arrived — black, sleek, smelling like leather and success. I slid in first, crossing my legs deliberately, my short champagne-colored dress riding just high enough to turn heads. Scarlett followed, still texting some fool she’d left heartbroken at the airport.

The driver asked, “Destination?”

Sally leaned forward with a smirk. “Pris Penthouse. Eighty-sixth floor”

The driver blinked. “That’s...the most expensive—”

“Exactly” Sally interrupted,leaning back.

We didn’t do cheap.

When the car pulled up, my breath caught.

The skyscraper towered into the sunlight — a glass needle piercing the blue, its reflection glittering like diamonds. Every window shimmered. Every shadow promised secrets.