Giorgio Sultan, a 26-year-old mogul, stands at the pinnacle of finance and commerce. His reputation for strategic ruthlessness precedes him, and his immense fortune and commanding presence make him an enigma. But it's not just his wealth and power t...
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Giorgio's P.O.V.
In the heart of the city, within the confines of a lavishly adorned office, Alicia, the matchmaker of high repute, awaited my arrival with a new assemblage of matrimonial prospects.
Her role, commissioned by my parents, was to navigate the intricate social labyrinths and present me with a bevy of potential brides, each more meticulously vetted than the last.
"I have meticulously selected another array of candidates for your consideration," she declared, her tone a harmonious blend of earnest professionalism and restrained enthusiasm. "These young women, ranging from the tender age of twenty-one to the seasoned grace of thirty-five, are all descendants of prosperous lineages."
With a practiced hand, she nudged the substantial pile of folders across the surface of the desk, its mahogany sheen reflecting the soft glow of the overhead chandelier. Each folder was a portal into the life of a stranger, a narrative compiled with painstaking detail for my evaluation. Despite the gravity of the task, my engagement was nothing more than a facade, a performance of interest that thinly veiled my underlying apathy.
Within these folders lay a comprehensive profile of each candidate; photographs that captured their cultivated elegance, alongside exhaustive summaries of their personal tastes, financial standings, scholastic achievements, and ancestral histories.
As I perused the collection, certain visages stirred a sense of recognition, a clandestine recollection of past rendezvous marked by hedonistic pleasure. The innocence portrayed in their profiles stood in stark contrast to the vivid memories that lingered in the recesses of my mind. The remainder of the candidates failed to ignite even the slightest spark of interest; their supposed charm dissipated amidst the uniformity of their presentations. Not a single one seemed compelling enough to warrant the surrender of my treasured independence.
"Your parents have extended their preliminary endorsement of this compilation," Alicia continued, her smile a constant fixture. "Had they not intervened, you would be faced with a far broader spectrum of options."
Their involvement was nothing short of a shackle, an attempt to steer the course of my life to align with their own ambitions.
"Their desire for control is transparent," I countered, my voice laden with a mix of defiance and fatigue as I repelled the folders before me.
A full month had passed since this matchmaking farce commenced, and Alicia's diligent efforts had yet to present a candidate who could even remotely sway me towards the notion of matrimony. I mused over the pointlessness of it all—the weekly ritual of scrutinizing profiles of women whose company I had previously enjoyed in private or those who failed to capture my fancy. My time, an asset of immeasurable value, was being squandered in this endeavor when it could be more judiciously allocated to the management of my business empire or the pursuit of my wanderlust.
