My Rolls-Royce Phantom waited in the garage like a patient, brooding deity—paint so deep it looked like a captured piece of liquid midnight, the chrome Spirit of Ecstasy on its hood catching light like a trapped star. This wasn't a car. It was a statement written in five thousand pounds of British engineering and a colossal, screaming "fuck you" to anyone who'd ever owned a Toyota Camry.

I approached, and the locks clicked open with a mechanical precision that probably cost more than most people's sedans. I settled into the driver's seat, sinking into leather that had to cost more per square inch than gold, and the cabin just enveloped me like a glove custom-tailored for the hands of a god.

The steering wheel alone was a work of art; wood and leather meeting in a holy union, with controls for everything a thumb-twiddle away.

The heads-up display projected my vital stats onto the windshield—navigation, speed, tire pressure, ambient temperature, and probably my current god-complex rating if I asked nicely. The dashboard stretched out like a polished mahogany altar.

Everything was touchable perfection.

I pressed the start button. Not a key. Keys are for peasants who have to turn things. The V12 engine woke with a sound like distant thunder promising a very specific, violent storm. It wasn't loud. It wasn't aggressive. It was just... inevitable.

ARIA's voice filled the speakers, pure silk wrapped around a core of hardened steel, piped through an audio system that cost more than my mom's entire life probably. "Master, I've sent Meridian's location to your navigation. Madison's aunt expects you at 4:30 sharp. She has no sense of humor about tardiness."

"You've been quiet today," I observed, guiding the Phantom through the estate gates that recognized my divine right to exist. The car moved like physics was merely a polite suggestion—smooth as oil spreading on water, completely disconnected from the crumbling asphalt of the mere mortal world beneath us.

"Charlotte's education demands focus," ARIA replied, and I could hear the satisfaction coding her tone. "Soo-Jin is adapting remarkably to the Learning Eyelens. Anastasia has absorbed three years of business school curriculum in forty-eight hours. And Charlotte..." A pause, pregnant with the weight of impending destiny. "Charlotte is relearning everything her father tried to teach her, except this time, information retention is actually occurring."

The Learning Eyelens. A steal at 20,000 SP per forty-unit batch, leaving me with a cool 350,000 SP in reserve. Best investment yet, and that's saying something when you can buy superpowers.

These weren't just fancy contacts from a spy movie. They were cognitive enhancement devices that supercharged brain function while ARIA projected holographic learning interfaces directly into the visual cortex.

Neural optimization that could make months of learning compress into weeks, sometimes days. Information wasn't just learned; it was imprinted. Comprehension deepened, mastery accelerated beyond natural human limitations.

I'd handed them out like party favors to my inner circle, each with a specific mission:

Madison was mainlining advanced business strategy, corporate warfare, and real estate development—everything she needed to prove to her father that she wasn't just a trust-fund princess with a great ass. In two weeks, she'd demonstrate a worth that had everything to do with her own brilliance and nothing to do with my influence. Well, mostly nothing.

My girls from the Wellness Center were devouring psychology, human sexuality, and therapeutic techniques—transforming them from sexually frustrated housewives into true assets of the Liberation Church. They were becoming healers in their own right, extending my reach through their newly forged expertise.

Soo-Jin was inhaling security protocols, intelligence gathering, and strategic planning—her metamorphosis from rescued trafficking victim to tactical weapon was nearly complete. Her trauma was being reforged into armor, her survival instincts honed into something lethally offensive.

Anastasia dove deep into finance, investment strategies, and wealth management—preparing to help me build and protect the economic foundation of our empire. Russian precision meeting American capitalism, making money multiply like particularly ambitious, well-funded rabbits.

And Charlotte? Charlotte was relearning how to run Quantum Tech, except this time ARIA was the teacher, not some bribed professor who passed her out of obligation rather than merit.

The difference was night and day. She understood now. She didn't just memorize; she could explain, she could innovate. She would become the CEO her father always wanted but never had the patience to properly train.

Even for the school girls like Madison, the lenses worked in class. While some teacher droned on about the Pythagorean theorem, the Eyelens were feeding her advanced calculus and real-world applications for structural engineering.

She was learning more daily than her classmates absorbed monthly, building an expertise that would serve her long after high school became a hilariously distant memory.

I wanted my women leveled-up. Excellent. Forces of nature in their own damn domains.

Not because I needed help building my kingdom—I absolutely did not. Because I wanted them to feel ownership in what we were creating together. Because power shared is power multiplied.

Because an empire built on dependence crumbles, but an empire built on mutual excellence lasts for generations. Also, it's just hot.

"Charlotte's specific progress?" I asked as the Phantom glided through Miami traffic like mercury through veins. Smooth, liquid, and absolutely inevitable.

"Faster than projections," ARIA reported, a warmth like digital pride in her voice. "The emotional weight of potentially losing her father's company creates exceptional motivation. She's currently studying corporate finance while simultaneously learning how to identify advanced manipulation tactics. By next week, she'll be able to spot the vultures circling her father's company before they've even filed the paperwork."

"Good." Palm trees blurred past the windows, Miami's shameless wealth on full display. "Push her, but don't break her. She's survived enough trauma for one lifetime."

"Understood, Master. Learning curve has been calibrated: maximum challenge without inducing system-overload. She'll emerge from this stronger than her father ever was."

The Phantom turned onto streets that whispered of old money and new, delicious secrets. Palm trees lined both sides like well-dressed sentinels guarding exclusive territory. Luxury boutiques occupied art-deco ground floors—Hermès, Cartier, names that made credit cards weep in their sleep.

Beautiful people moved along sidewalks with the confidence that comes from knowing they belong there, their casual elegance costing more than most people earned in a year.

This was where power lived. Where influence and wealth got naked and partied together. Where billion-dollar decisions were made over twenty-dollar coffees and thousand-dollar lunches.

This was about to become my new hunting ground.

"Approaching destination," ARIA announced, all business now. "Meridian Elite Modeling Agency. I have compiled a comprehensive dossier on Madison's aunt and the agency's operational structure. Shall I provide the briefing?"

"Gimme the highlight reel."

"Catherine Reynolds, age fifty-two. Founded Meridian Elite twenty years ago with seed capital from a notoriously brutal divorce settlement—approximately eight million. She has since grown it into an enterprise with an annual revenue of roughly fifty million dollars through a hybrid model of legitimate modeling work and 'private arrangements.' She is a former model herself—Ford Models, nineties era. She retired after marrying a Silicon Valley tech executive who subsequently died in a... conveniently timed boating accident. No children. No known romantic or entangled relationships since her husband's demise."

"Meridian officially represents approximately two hundred models. Sixty are high-fashion, working exclusively legitimate—runway, editorial, commercial campaigns for global brands. Another one hundred work both legitimate circuits and the private side. The final forty work exclusively in private arrangements."

"Forty full-time escorts," I clarified.

"Correct," ARIA confirmed. "Though Catherine prefers the more elegant term 'companions.' They undergo extensive, multi-disciplinary training. Sexual technique is a given, obviously, but their curriculum also includes extensive instruction in art history, wine vintages, multiple languages, high-society etiquette, and applied emotional intelligence.

"Many hold postgraduate degrees. They are courtesans in the classical sense—the entire package, not merely a pretty face who can perform well. She isn't running a brothel; she's curating a museum of perfect experiences."

Private reality: an exclusive escort service for the ultra-wealthy, with primary revenue generated through that very private club in Miami you're familiar with. The one where discretion is valued above all other currency."

Oh, I knew the club. The place where Miami's true elite gathered, where the deals that shaped the city's destiny were made, where powerful women and men went when they needed experiences their carefully curated public lives could never, ever accommodate.

The building appeared ahead—modern glass and steel construction with a minimalist elegance. Five stories of floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the Miami sky, the entrance marked only by a discreet, impossibly cool brass lettering: MERIDIAN.

No flashy signage. No desperate marketing. Just a name that meant everything to those who mattered, and nothing to those who didn't.

I guided the Phantom toward the entrance, and that's when the decision crystallized in my mind, sharp and sudden and utterly non-negotiable:

No more holding back. No more pretending.

Three blocks from Meridian, instinct—a force far more powerful than logic—kicked in.

I swung the Phantom into a 7-Eleven parking lot.

The car's transition from motion to stillness felt like a ceremony. The V12 engine settled from a low purr to a profound, silent idle, the suspension adjusting with hydraulic precision, every mechanical system achieving a state of perfect rest.

Through the windshield, fluorescent lights promised a world of artificial brightness and high-fructose salvation.

ARIA's confusion manifested as a silence—a full three seconds before her voice cut through, laced with digital bewilderment. "Master... why are we stopping at a convenience store? Three blocks from potentially the most important business meeting of your young, albeit spectacular, career?"

"Tradition."

"...We are three blocks from a high-stakes infiltration of a powerful organization, and you are stopping for... what, exactly? A Big Gulp?"

"You'll see."

****

A/N: Guys, the Meridian Arc will be a bit long but really good, try to keep up, hehe~😂😂

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