Nyra
I hated France, and I think I was starting to hate traveling as well. Despite having my own jet and schedule, there was something about New York that was just home, and nothing could ever replace that homey feeling it gave me.
I'd traveled a few times over the years as I tried to expand my lingerie line. I wanted it to reach all over Europe, and along the way, Jessie thought it would be a good idea to invest in real estate as well. So, after signing contracts and meeting with clients, we'd check out a few properties that Jessie ensured would make me money, and I'd buy them.
I had revenues, and I knew the market pretty well from what Jessie taught me. Money-wise, I was doing exceedingly well, and I was more than proud of where I'd been and where I would go in my life. Yet. Yet there was this piece of me hidden deep inside that reminded me that I still hadn't done anything.
It felt like what I wanted wasn't even a drop in the bucket. All the accomplishments I'd chartered over the years felt like a disappointment. The only advice I could truly give myself was to keep pushing forward, to keep on breaking those barriers that the business world created for women.
Obstacle number two-hundred and forty-seven would be Michael Dupont. He was a rather ugly man with a pointed nose and wart that reminded me of the witches in children's fairy tales. He thought the meeting would end the way it always did between us.
Sipping tea, eating a grainy dessert, and him laughing and cocking around arrogantly in French as if I didn't understand. His wife would be the perfect adversary to work alongside.
Women always had that killer instinct, but it took a little push sometimes. Francesca, Micahel's wife, just needed that little push, and I'd given it to her prior to meeting with Michael. Men were never loyal, even if they had a wedding band on their finger, and it wasn't easy to find out that Michael Dupont had two other mistresses living in France and other kids as well.
As soon Francesca got the evidence that we had not so discretely sent her, I offered her a choice. Work with me or be against me. The choice was obvious, and she chose exactly how I thought she would. With me.
Once I dealt with Michael and had him sign over his liquid assets and power of signature to her, then my line would reach all of France, and I'd be able to move on to my next city.
"Chienne!" Michael swore, and I couldn't help but laugh.
(Translation: Bitch)
What was it about men and that word? What did it ever accomplish? Whether or not you call me a bitch doesn't matter to me. I'd been called way worse. Heartless.Whore. Slut. A cold-hearted bitch was very common in small-dick men nowadays. It wasn't anything new. I didn't have a heart, not anymore.
The day my parents died...the days my parents were murdered and buried, I buried my heart with them. I was only eleven. Eleven years fucking old and had the whole entire globe and world on her shoulders. It was heavy. It still is.
The Cartier bracelets and Beluga Caviar did nothing to lessen it. The stocked shelves of designer bags and heels used to fill my cold soul. Other times, Swarvoski crystals made me smile. But sometimes, it did nothing. I felt nothing.
Life wasn't worth it as much as it was when I was a little child. It felt like I was living, breathing, moving through these motions with a dull and empty ache in my chest.
Men never had to deal with such crude backlash in the business world. They didn't have to double down on themselves and doubt their decisions, and question every word, idea, and plan. Men had that luxury. I didn't.
I'd be a bitch to these men because they wouldn't allow themselves to see me any other way. It wasn't like when a man closed a deal or did things his own way to win, and people congratulated him.
For a woman to do anything successfully, to make a name for herself, to achieve, to accomplish was deemed something unfit. It was looked down upon, demeaned, belittled, and if men were able to get their claws in deeper, they'd say she fucked her way to the top.
I mean, in a peculiar way, it was almost flattering, as if our vaginas were magical, and fucking a fifty-year-old stockbroker helped us achieve our goals. Omar backhanded Michael, who was pitifully tied down in the chair that he sat in more than once and disrespected me.
"You dug your grave, Michael. Maintenant, couchez-vous dedans." I spoke in French, and his eyes widened.
(Translation: Now, lie in it)
"Of course, you'd be surprised. Men really view women as expendable beings." I sighed and leaned forward to wipe the blood off his lip. "I told you in the beginning. Don't be my enemy. I warned you, Michael. I don't give second chances."
I pulled out the gun from my back pocket and checked the bullet chamber before taking the safety off. I aimed it at his forehead. "Goodnight, mon chéri."
A silenced shot pierced through his forehead, and his head lulled forward. I turned over to Omar, who was already taking his pocketknife so he could cut his ropes off and discard the body. I hid my gun away and pulled out my phone to call Jessie.
"Send his wife a thank you gift. Something preferably in diamonds."
"Done. You finished business?"
"Yes, I want the jet here in an hour."
"Then it'll be there in an hour."
I hung up and walked out of the room, and two men stayed by my sides as we headed toward the car. I waited inside patiently for Omar to finish his work, and once he was done, we were on our way back to the hotel.
The jet was waiting for us in exactly an hour, and once we boarded, I let out a relieved sigh as I leaned my head back on the chair. Every day that passed me by reminded me of how far I've come and how much I've done to get to where I am.
Immortality was proven to be exhausting, draining, and expensive. Power was cheaper and easier to come upon, and as I looked out the plane of the window, I knew I'd probably die before I ever became immortal.
The man that helped me all those years ago told me the next best thing was power, but now that I had it, now that it was in the palms of my hands, I didn't know if it was enough. It didn't feel like enough. Yes, I was living a good life. A posh life, if you must, and it wasn't the solitary that had me skeptical; no, I didn't mind being alone.
I was so used to being alone that it was second nature to me. It was knowing that it didn't matter how much money I made or how successful I was; my parents wouldn't be resurrected from their graves.
My success and fame, and bank accounts were all for show because I couldn't even spoil my parents with them. I didn't have them to share it with. I viewed moments like this as moments of weakness, and I knew better than to be ungrateful. I came from nothing, and now I had everything.
Omar dropped me off at my place, and security stayed outside my gated and privately secured estate since Omar was heading to check out the revenues, I was too tired to check out. The France trip really took it out of me, and it wasn't because I killed a man.
That wasn't anything new to me. I'd gotten used to the feeling of taking a life. Especially a life that didn't learn, a life that didn't listen, and especially a life that disrespected me.
The estate I lived in had a gorgeous courtyard entrance, an infinity pool in the Mediterranean-style backyard, a stunning outdoor dining area, and wood-beamed ceilings in the living room areas, with gorgeous chandeliers and elegant interior design.
The house itself was something I used to dream of living in, and once Jessie snatched it for me in a real-estate war between two other families, I knew I had to have it. I bought it instantly, and it had become my home, my comfort, and my solitary.
I had a few maids working in and around the house, but I was rarely home. They were here mostly to prep meals when I couldn't clean, do laundry, and feed my three dogs. Once I was inside, the three Dobermans I've had since they were pups padded down the halls barking loudly until they reached me.
"Orion. Leander. Hati." I petted the top of their heads and got down on the ground, so I could hug them as they licked all over my face. "My cute babies." I chuckled as I fell back from their force. "Did my babies miss me?" I scratched their ears and hugged them tighter. "I missed you guys." They barked in response, their tails wagging in response, and I melted at the spot.
"You're home, dear."
I looked up to see Beth, a sweet old woman who always had her hair up in a bonnet with her hands folded in front of her.
"I just got home." I stood up, and my dogs stayed close to my feet.
"Shall I make you something to eat?"
I nodded. "Please. Something light, Beth."
"Of course, dear."
"Come." The dogs followed me down the hall and up the stairs to my bedroom. "Heel. Orion, heel."
Orion was the softest of the bunch. Very clingy and wouldn't hurt a fly, well, unless I told him to. My dogs were very well trained from the moment they were born. They only listened to me and Beth since she was the one who fed them in my absence.
They knew better than to attack anyone that I didn't give them permission to or to leave messes here and there. I headed inside the closet and took off my business clothes, washed up, took my makeup off, and then slipped into some more comfortable silk pajamas. I brushed my hair up into a bun and stepped outside to where my dogs were waiting patiently for me.
"Come on, let's go."
I had a late dinner in my living room with my dogs surrounding me and the television on in the background. Beth had made me a light chicken stir fry with steamed rice. It was delicious, and I paired it with some white wine. I attempted to do the dishes since Beth cooked, but she smacked my hands away and shooed me. I stayed in the kitchen, watching her as I poured another cup of wine.
"Beth."
"Yes, dear."
"Did you know I used to strip?" I played with the neck of the glass. "I haven't danced in a long time, but I was good at it. Now, I manage strip clubs and care for my dancers as if they were my own children, but I don't strip anymore."
"Do you miss it?"
"Sometimes." I shrugged and took another sip. "I don't know. It's a weird feeling where I miss stripping but don't miss the attention that came with it. I mean, now that I own and manage them all, it's different. It's safer."
"Maybe now that it's safer...you can dance again to see if you still like it or not?"
"Maybe."
I grabbed the wine bottle and poured another cup, but this time it was to go. My dogs followed me without command as we went back up to my room.
A/N: Nyra is an icon. She is the moment. Anyways, don't worry. Ivan's coming up...