Paris shimmered under the golden rays of a spring morning, its cobbled streets whispering secrets as luxury cars purred by like tamed beasts. But even the grandeur of the Eiffel Tower or the scent of blooming roses in the Jardin du Luxembourg couldn't outshine the presence of three women who ruled the city—not with crowns, but with wealth, power, and unapologetic ambition.
Queen Dindu leaned back in the backseat of her custom Rolls-Royce, eyes concealed behind Dior shades. Her empire, a global tech conglomerate named VirtuNet, had disrupted the industry overnight. They called her the "Cyber Queen," but Dindu preferred to keep her human connections few. Trust was a currency she spent wisely—and rarely. Paris adored her brilliance, envied her control, and whispered rumors about her past in hushed tones.
Across the Seine, Kilopathra descended the marble steps of her private atelier. Her fashion house—Maison Kilopathra—had redefined couture, with collections worn by royalty and rebels alike. Clad in an emerald silk suit of her own design, she paused only to adjust her diamond choker. Kilopathra was elegant, cold, and lethal when crossed. She knew every woman wanted to be her, and every man wanted to conquer her. Neither got their wish.
Meanwhile, on Avenue Montaigne, Simi surveyed the skyline from her penthouse balcony. The glass of wine in her hand was untouched; her thoughts were busy dissecting her latest acquisition—a centuries-old château she intended to convert into a luxury resort. Paris real estate bowed to her will. But Simi didn't smile. Her path to billions had been built on broken promises and shattered illusions. Every stone in her empire bore the weight of betrayal.
The three women were once inseparable.
They had shared secrets over midnight champagne at the Ritz, danced through underground clubs in Montmartre, and toasted victories on yachts anchored in Monaco. Their sisterhood was fierce, protective—until betrayal sank its claws between them.
No one in Paris knew exactly what happened. Only that one night, the three queens turned their backs on each other. And the city, ever hungry for scandal, feasted on their silence.
Now, the whispers were returning. Rumors of a secret deal. A man who lied to all three. A hidden heir. A betrayal so deep it cut through friendship and bled into vengeance.
That morning, a rare thing occurred: all three billionaire ladies received an anonymous letter.
"We both know what you did. The truth is coming."
Signed:
The Ghost of Our Past.
Each woman read the words and froze.
Because they had all buried the same secret.
And now, someone was digging it up.