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30 Apr 2014

Z - Zenith

She stood in the sweeping balcony, her slender fingers wrapped with just the right amount of class around the flute of Dom Perignon White Gold – her Greek clients had assured her that it was one of the most exquisite elixirs in the world when they happily gifted her the bottle as a token of their appreciation. The Chanel-ed nails were a sparkling blue against the bubbly, they tapped absently at the rim of the glass as she recalled how truly lust-worthy those businessmen had been and the way she had them wrapped around her little finger made her perfectly pouty lips break into a smug smile. She shifted her weight to the other toned leg and the smooth silk that enwrapped her full figure slid to accommodate the movement. 

Her success was no surprise to anyone. Born with a golden spoon, she was bred in the best of private schools till she ended up in Harvard and graduated summa cum laude only to be lapped up with glee by the best firm in the country. After a few years when she had gained the necessary experience, she broke away from the firm, where she was pitted to be the next leader, with the desire to become a private practitioner. The banks were only too glad to give her loans, not that she needed them though. Her very first client was so pleased with her work, he offered to get her a table at the President’s Ball, the most influential party of the year. There was no looking back from then.... She was simply the best.

She turned her back to the stunning cityscape and her eyes took in the grandeur that she stood in – the lovely plush wall-to-wall handcrafted carpets from Persia that made her feel like she was walking on clouds, the walls painted a light crème that matched her furniture and decor, all of which had been done up personally by an award-winning interior decorator after a dozen consultations with her, the discreet door that led to her inner chamber that boasted of a queen-sized bed, her walk-in closet with a wardrobe that probably cost more than what the average man earned in a year, her shoe closet which had been featured in women’s magazines and a huge ceiling to floor ornate mirror that had been the gift of the French Minister she had sorted out some stuff for. She had it all. 

She was at the peak of her life, the zenith that she was born to conquer.
Little did she expect that returning back to riches alone wouldn’t feel much like success.