LOVE — that ancient feeling more than half of the world's population is searching for.
Portrayed in countless romantic movies, love is rooted in the primary desires of billions of people, who claim to experience a void in their soul if deprived of it.
Unlike them, I never believed in love but only in affluence.
Undoubtedly, making money has always been my top priority.
When my parents immigrated to the U.S., I promised myself to work harder than my peers even if it meant scarifying the typical teenage lifestyle involving - partying, drinking and teenage love.
My parents often commented I was overworking myself both at work and school since I was always sleep-deprived.
From their perspective, I needed to take some time off to rest.
From my perspective, the word 'resting' was never a part of my vocabulary, especially when I was on a mission to become one of the most successful businesswomen worldwide.
As soon as I got offered a scholarship at one of the state's most prestigious academy known as Quivelon College, I tried to avoid the dangerous entanglement of social distractions.
Getting enrolled at an Ivy League school was the gateway to achieve my dreams as the founder of an international sports brand.
All it took was one academic reference from one of the top universities of the country for my dreams to take flight.
But for the first time in my teenage years, I allowed myself to get a glimpse of the teenage life all thanks to. . .
Ludovic Delmore.
And who may he be you might ask?
Wealthy, confident and popular in his own right, Ludovic Delmore is what you could call indescribably handsome but such distinct physical attributes can only come with a price — the endless attention from females.
In Quivelon college, the myth was if a girl managed to score a date with him or yet sleep with him, they were guaranteed a successful career for once being associated to him.
I snort in disdain at the remembrance of this particular memory.
When he suddenly took a particular interest towards me, the idea that such an elite wanted me as more than a friend was unfathomable to me.
And despite the countless times, I rejected his amorous advances towards me, I ended up giving him a chance.
The months we were together almost felt like a fairytale because someone for the first time managed to make me feel so. . .
Special.
Moreover, Ludovic made it a personal mission to prove his friends my heart wasn't made out of steel since many Quiveloners were convinced I wasn't human because I didn't do — feelings.
"What in the world does Ludovic Delmore see in that robot?"
"What voodoo magic did she perform for an elite like him to have such an unrealistic interest in a low class like her?"
"Does she even have a heart?"
Those questions roamed over school in response to our togetherness, like a virus spreading in the process of contamination.
However, Ludovic never cared for rumors and was content on building what we had.
Happiness is a feeling I've never been accustomed to. I never believed to be deserving of it especially when another person wished to offer me the world.
Nonetheless, my relationship with him was beginning to harm my academic performance and sanity.
Ultimately, I grew to accept we weren't meant to be since destiny never seemed to be on our side.
The look of hatred he wore when I broke things off is what has haunted me to this day.
Once word got around we separated, he reprised his role as one of the most desirable and single males' of Quivelon college. His eyes that once held a glint of friendliness suddenly became lifeless and he pretended like I didn't exist which affected me more than it should.
During the aftermath, Ludovic transferred school and his following actions are what caused my growing hatred for him.
No amount of therapy sessions could erase the memory of the vicious words scribbled on that infamous letter sent to me in response to the one I sent him out of desperation when I needed a friend during one of the darkest days of my life.
The day my sister was murdered in a hit and run because she sacrificed her life to protect me.
And the worst outcome is the perpetrator still lurks in the shadows rendering my sister's sacrifice as useless.
Useless because I'm not living the life she would've wanted and my countless attempts to find the killer for the purpose of seeking revenge has been futile.
"Good morning Madam Chair, right this way please," a baritone voice is enough to summon me into presence.
Standing beside the Rolls-Royce Phantom is my chauffeur of four years as he gestures to the vehicle behind him before opening its rear-hinged door.
Upon nodding curtly, I stride towards the vehicle before entering.
As I take the time to assess the white leathered seats and sophisticated dashboard out of habit, the familiar rush of emptiness surges within.
All my life, I've worked so hard to afford this lifestyle, and yet, nothing impresses me anymore.
With the heavy responsibility of running a multinational corporation, life feels somewhat . . .
Monotonous.
The top of the social hierarchy has never felt so isolated since my parents can't stand to look at me, precisely my father who often remains quiet but his eyes scream a world of regret after my sister's life was robbed.
It's justifiable — I can barely look at myself in the mirror without blaming myself for what happened to her.
During most nights, I would often wait for tears to fall whenever the feeling of being a burden to the world invades my thoughts.
But they never do.
"Lovely weather we have today madam, wouldn't you agree?" the driver, who goes by the name of Sullivan, comments animatedly by the time he's driving at a fast speed minutes later.
My lack of response doesn't discourage him but quite the opposite.
"I have a feeling today is going to be a good day." he urges on, his thick Portuguese accent traceable in his voice.
When it comes to Sullivan, I always refrain from entertaining useless time consuming small talks.
Can you blame me?
The guy talks too much.
As I loll back onto the headrest, I allow myself to catch some much-needed rest.
"I take it you don't like the sun?" It appears he can't take a hint because here he is, more persistent than ever in his useless attempt to converse.
The only way to keep him quiet is by voicing my thoughts and I do just that.
"Just drive and refrain from talking," comes my dismissive voice as pitch blackness invades my vision.
Silence reigns before he mutters in defeat, "As you wish madam."
The remainder of the car ride is quiet but I prefer it this way.
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"We have arrived." Sullivan's voice awakens me.
He exits the vehicle to open the door next to me in a swift movement.
As he steps aside to make way for my grand entrance, he outstretches a hand towards me.
I dismiss his gesture and exit the confined space only to admire before me, one of the biggest high rising buildings in the city with its spiral architectural design unique from the rest.
Varos Inc. — known as one of the world's largest sportswear manufacturers of shoes, designer clothes, and accessories generating a yearly revenue of billions of dollars.
Headquartered in downtown Seattle, this is the same company I have built from scratch through tears, sweat and blood.
But with every successful enterprise comes the multiple failures derived from the first stages of its development.
As soon as I conceived the idea of Varos, getting investors to have faith in my vision and help me bring it to life was an utmost disaster.
"A female like you wants to create a multinational sports brand? Yeah, like that'll ever happen." they claimed.
"You should just return to India, your fictional company would never see the light of day." they said.
The same investors who refused to subsidize my business and never showed me an ounce of respect, now wish to form partnerships with me.
The same careless looks they would often give me suddenly transformed into expressions of fear and admiration during the heightened phases of my career.
However, I banned them all from ever entering the premises of Varos.
They say success is the best revenge but as far as I'm concerned, revenge is the best success.
I march towards the entrance of the building before passing through the transparent automatic sliding doors.
The sight of the futuristic interior design of the spacious lobby greets me as I saunter my way towards the private elevator.
As soon as I step into the building, all the employees from the staff at the reception desk to the security guards collectively pause their conversations to fixate their alert gaze on me.
The sound of my high heels as they click-clack against the marble tiles echoes through the long walls of the lobby; each step giving me a sense of empowerment, entitlement, and purpose.
The majority of staff simultaneously greet me in their unique distinguishable form of greetings :
"Morning Madam Chair!"
"Hope you had a great night's rest chairwoman!"
And my personal favourite, "Günaydın," which is the Turkish word used when greeting someone in the morning.
I address them all briefly with a slight nod of acknowledgment before diverging my gaze towards the person who greeted me in Turkish.
Situated behind the innovative receptionist desk is Zel as she regards me with her usual welcoming smile.
One of the many reasons why I adore my position is getting to witness members of different origins in each department work extremely hard to keep the company afloat.
The new blonde male intern of the same age standing beside her averts his gaze from the desktop screen to her.
"We don't greet the CEO in a foreign language but rather in English," he informs her patronizingly which causes a despondent expression to cross her features.
People always love to assume what's on my mind and dictate what my likes and dislikes consist of.
By the time I pause in front of the elevator before pressing its open button, I address the new employee coldly, "Did I ever vocalize her form of greeting was inappropriate?"
His eyes widen, mouth agape in incredulity as he thoroughly seems to be at a loss for words since this is my first time addressing him, "N-no mam, I just assumed that you would find it inappropriate."
Silence reigns once I pivot my body to assess his form in calculation as he gulps audibly.
"Maybe if you didn't waste your time assuming unnecessarily then you'd be able to do your job thoroughly. Now get back to work."
I don't wait for his reply before entering the elevator.
Part of my decision to hold both the title of chairman of the board and CEO was to prevent the company from falling into the hands of a stranger who could negatively change the fate of Varos.
Even if I'm constantly sleep-deprived alternating between both positions, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to pay to witness my company continue to prosper in the next generation.
The chitter chatters dominating the background noise of the top floor instantly diminish once I step out of the elevator.
All the members of the brand and marketing department wear the same looks of apprehensiveness which causes the energy of the room to shift.
Countless greetings are directed towards me as I head towards my office.
The rays of the sun radiate through the floor to ceiling glass walls thereby counterbalancing the hectic energy of the atmosphere.
"Good morning madam Chair," the familiar plummy voice is enough to anchor my attention towards my assistant who's positioned behind a curvy working desk, once I pause my strut.
On cue, she bows her head which also requires her to bend her waist for a few seconds.
One would think a year of experience as my assistant would've prevented her from performing her usual Asian traditional greeting.
Despite my disapproval, she still does the opposite of what I'm guessing, is out of habit.
Once she straightens up, she stares at me through her square-shaped glasses, "Your schedule for today comprises the following: You have a conference call in half an hour with the Australian investors.
"Afterwards you have a meeting with the president of FIFA. Your mom also left a message earlier stating you should attend a family gathering tomorrow morning at nine o'clock."
I can barely remember the last time I had a family gathering and the idea makes me nauseous.
With a nod, I address my PA who goes by the name of Vanna one final time, "Is that all?"
She seems in deep thought before her eyes widen in realization like she's just remembered something, "Oh! How could I forget the most important thing. . . congratulations, you've just been selected under Forbes list of America's richest self-made women. Hence, they wish to do a photoshoot with you tomorrow afternoon."
In any other normal circumstance, the news should be flattering but what's the point of feeling excited when the one person I used to share my happy moments with is gone?
Since my office isn't far from Vanna's desk, I arrive at the former seconds later.
Appraising the interior decor of my office every morning always motivates me to work my hardest.
The colour theme consists of black, coffee brown and light grey as all furnitures combine to represent the perfect image of the company's values.
Chic and productive.
Upon sitting on the swivel chair behind my desk, I skimp through my recent emails on a laptop and only respond to urgent ones.
Time flies so fast that I almost do a double-take once a few minutes remain until the conference call whereas my sudden need to urinate reaches an all-time high.
Ugh.
This possesses me to dash off towards the girls' washroom after exiting my office ; ignoring the looks of confusion from staff members.
I rapidly shovel my way into a bathroom stall before emptying my bladder.
As I'm about to flush, the sound of disembodied voices pauses me in my tracks.
"She is such a heartless CEO, I can't believe I have to suck up to her just to keep my job. It's so exhausting."
"Hey, are you sure she's in a conference call? Because I can't afford to get fired for having this conversation if someone hears us."
"Don't worry. I'm certain she's in a meeting."
The unrecognizable female voices resonate across the room even if the sources are speaking in undertones.
"Can you believe she fired my cousin last week because of one little technical error he made? That was the only job he had and now he can't even pay his rent."
"I guess they don't call her the Ice Queen for no reason."
"Right, she's such a ruthless bitch."
Unfazed, I push the toilet handle before exiting the compressed booth.
Upon recognizing my frame, they both share the same petrified expressions, the scene reminding me of mice who are about to get devoured by their predators.
"M-miss CEO," comes the quivering voice of one of the girls, appearing to be in her early twenties just like her colleague.
In silence, I approach the ceramic sink and place my hands beneath the faucet.
As I begin to wash my hands in an unbothered manner, they both stand statue-still on the spot.
"The weather is lovely today isn't it?" my question takes them by surprise and even if I can't view their current expressions, I'm guessing they still seem entirely perplexed.
"U-um, I g-guess so," one of them manages to respond in a tone mixed of puzzlement and terror.
They must be dreading the silence in the room that ensues because I refuse to say a word even after the process of drying my palms beneath the automatic hand dryer machine.
It's not until I'm on the verge of stepping out of the washroom that I throw them a scowl, "Your belongings would be sent to you by mail after you leave the building effective immediately because you're both fired."
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