QUEENS OF VALEMONT
1127 Words
—
Selene chuckled, raising her glass. “Alright, alright. No gossip, just vibes.”
They clinked glasses again, the ice softly chiming like the calm after a storm. The atmosphere shifted—lighter now. The lounge buzzed gently around them, but in their booth, time slowed.
They talked about old memories from university, about ridiculous interns at work, about vacations they never had time to take. Just two powerful women stealing a moment from the chaos.
Vici leaned back with a small smile, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You know... I forgot what it feels like to just sit and breathe.”
Selene smirked. “That’s why I dragged you here. You’re always saving the world. Someone’s gotta save *you* sometimes.”
Vici rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. For once, she let herself enjoy the moment—no deadlines, no pressure, just the low hum of jazz and the comfort of her one real friend.
—
Tucked in a velvet booth under soft lighting, Vici and Selene chatted in low tones. Their table, though modest, radiated quiet authority. The kind that turned heads without trying.
It didn’t take long before a group of sharply dressed young businessmen at the far end of the lounge noticed them. One of them whispered something, eyes fixed on the two women. The others followed his gaze.
“They’re not just pretty faces, you know,” one of them murmured. “That’s Vici Monroe. CEO of Monroe Luxe. One of the sharpest minds in valemont’s luxury market. Fashion, luxury, and elegance all tied into one brand.”
“And the one beside her?” another asked.
“That’s Selene Hart. Capital Investment firm owner. Handles millions like pocket change.”
Before long, two of the guys made their way to the table, drinks in hand and smiles way too confident.
“Good evening, ladies,” one started. “Didn’t mean to intrude, just wanted to say it’s not every day we see two of the most powerful women in Lagos in one place.”
Vici didn’t even look up from her drink. Selene forced a polite smile. “Appreciate the compliment, but we were kind of in the middle of something.”
One of the men chuckled, unfazed. “Of course. Maybe another time, Ms. Hart.”
Vici finally looked up—her gaze sharp, cool. “Another time,” she repeated flatly.
They backed off without argument.
But about twenty minutes later, a much older, well-known business figure walked over—one Vici recognized from a recent luxury partnership
— *Marcus Devlin*?
He’s older, respected, and runs a global luxury brand or investment firm that’s worked with Monroe Luxe before. Smooth, well-spoken, but with a hint of mystery.
Marcus Devlin wasn’t just any businessman. He was a legend in the luxury market. Decades of sharp deals, international acclaim, and an empire built from scratch made him one of the most respected names in Valemont. Vici had admired his journey for years, long before Monroe Luxe became a force.
The moment she saw him, her posture shifted slightly—calm but with genuine respect. “Mr. Devlin,” she said, standing to shake his hand, “Always a pleasure.”
This time, Vici stood to greet him. “Likewise. How’s the market treating you these days?”
“Monroe,” Marcus greeted with that deep, composed voice. “Didn’t expect to find you at Vera’s. You don’t usually show face at these types of places.”
Vici offered a rare, genuine smile. “Trying to remind myself what a night off feels like.”
He chuckled. “You’ve earned it. Word is Monroe Luxe just sealed a deal in Milan.”
She nodded. “It wasn’t easy, but it’s done.”
Marcus leaned in slightly, his tone low but sincere. “You’ve done well, Vici. I’ve watched your brand rise—clean moves, solid leadership. Your mother would be proud.”
Vici blinked, caught off guard for a moment. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”
He gave her a knowing look. “Just keep your eyes sharp. The higher you go, the more they’ll try to pull you down.”
“Noted,” she replied, her tone calm but steady. “I won’t slip.”
“Didn’t think you would,” he said with a slight smile, then tapped his glass. “Enjoy your night, Monroe.”
“You too, Mr. Devlin.”
—
They shifted into quiet conversation, slipping into business-mode effortlessly, while Selene scrolled her phone, sipping her cocktail and casually people-watching.
Three hours passed before they knew it. The lounge had thinned out, and the music slowed.
“We should call it a night,” Selene said, stretching.
“Yeah,” Vici replied. “Work waits.”
Selene glanced at her phone. “Three hours gone. Guess we made the most of it.”
Vici stood, adjusting her coat. “Let’s get out of here before someone drags us into another ‘quick chat.’”
Just as they stepped out into the cool Valemont night, one of the same young businessmen from earlier jogged up, keys in hand and a hopeful grin on his face.
“Ladies, if you don’t mind, I could give you a ride. It's late, and—”
“We’re fine,” Vici cut in, her voice as crisp as the breeze.
Selene gave a short smile. “Thanks, but we’ve got it covered.”
The man stopped in his tracks as the two women walked past, heels echoing confidently against the pavement.
Behind them, the group murmured.
“Jeez, they’re ice cold,” one whispered.
“Wouldn’t blame them,” another said. “Getting a contract with either of their companies is like climbing a mountain blindfolded.”
“I tried last year,” one added. “Didn’t even get past the first screening.”
“They don’t play small. That’s why they’re on top,” someone else said, almost admiringly.
—
Inside the car, Selene kicked off her heels, stretching with a satisfied sigh. “So, queen of cold exits… when are you facing this mysterious blind date?”
Vici leaned back, staring out the window. “Soon. Too soon.”
Selene raised a brow. “You gonna bail again? Or actually show up this time?”
A smirk tugged at Vici’s lips. “Let’s just say… I have a plan.”
Selene blinked. “Oh? What kind of plan?”
Vici turned to her with that calm, calculated look—the same one she used in boardrooms before flipping the script. “One that might just turn the whole date upside down.”
Selene grinned. “Now *that* I wanna see.”
- Writer
