WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

CHAPTER 1: THE BOY (PRINCE) SCOUTS

CHAPTER 1

THE BOY (PRINCE) SCOUTS

"DO YOU KNOW WHY I BELIEVE MEN LIKE YOU DESERVE LESS?"

Silence had never been so deafening.

"Do you know why I . . ." Venus took two balanced steps forward as her heels clicked against the contemporary coconut-white marble floor. From the atrium of the massive hallway echoed the sound of a divine femme fatale. Venus was no model, but her catwalk, anchored in slow strides, could prove otherwise. "Believe men like you . . ." Her tongue oozed with lethal venom. Her head snapped in his direction with a spicy attitude. The knotless black braids from the root of her crown rippled waterfalls and crashed to a stop past her butt. "Deserve . . . less?"

Venus rested her hand on her hip. From the hall windows, the sunlight seeped through to melt over her syrup-brown complexion, like pretty pennies and bronze foreign coins. Venus always got compliments on her skin, even down to its supple, soft texture.

As she posed, Venus's sculptured, empress-like body filled out her petite frame. Her curvaceous, athletic brown thighs peeked through the slit of her long sapphire gown. A Cleopatra cape lined with expensive ermine angled on her shoulders. It dragged behind her whenever she walked. Her petite sides cut sharp corners above her hips, and her small waist and perky breasts fit perfectly in the dress.

With him too busy admiring her, Venus's patience started to wane. She asked the young man a question. It was a hypothetical question, really—not one to answer. And if he did, he would be one of the dumbest prime minister's sons she'd ever laid her eyes upon. But then again, his smart mouth might open.

Venus eyed his apple-shaped figure. His Afro hair strands coiled tightly at the ends as gravity held them high to the heav‐ ens. Mother's words danced in her mind, because she used to say, like her hair, all its glory belongs to everything above in celestial honor. So, when Venus would break hairbands and tug at wild hair that never tamed, Mother would remind her: "You have hair that is never cursed, just rightfully blessed." Of course, there was magic in the 'fro, as it shaped his big forehead and chubby face. His full moon eyes were anything but amicable—just newborn-baby wide and frozen, gawking at the beautiful princess of Omicron.

She was indeed a firecracker. Never a force to be reckoned with. Some days, she needed no reminder of her power, while others meant keeping that flame burning when she wasn't feeling her best. The people of her country couldn't deny the beauty of their princess. Yet there were a few flaws that couldn't be overlooked, like Venus's vicious mouth that couldn't be tamed.

Her stiletto eyes pierced his ego. Every ounce of fear and terror in his face only gave her more energy. Why did she believe little boys like him deserved less?

Venus was giving him too much credit. It was a question, no doubt—not one that his little pea-size brain could answer anyway. Of all the people, the millions and billions of people in the world, her parents were so hyper-fixated and fascinated by this guy. Yes, he was the prime minister's son, Darryl Bucking‐ ham. People would say he was the one and only, but Venus would beg to differ. In her eyes, he was one of many.