**You’ll NEVER Guess Where I’m Standing Right Now (Betas Can’t Handle This)”**

Listen closely, peasant. I’m about to blow your fragile, TikTok-rotted mind.

You’re sitting there, scrolling in your mom’s basement, wearing sweatpants stained with Cheeto dust, wondering why your life is a barren wasteland of mediocrity. Meanwhile, I’m somewhere so elite, so **UNTOUCHABLE**, your beta brain couldn’t even *imagine* it.

“Guess where I am?”

You’ll fail. Because you’re not built to comprehend the altitude I operate at.

But I’ll give you a hint: *It’s a place where laws are suggestions, money is confetti, and weakness is left at the door.*

Still clueless? Of course you are. Let me school you.

—

### **1. THE AIR IS $500/SPRAY (AND THE GROUND IS SOLID GOLD)**
You think Dubai’s Burj Khalifa is “luxury”? Cute. I’m in a penthouse **SO HIGH** that when I spit, it lands on a politician’s private jet. The walls? Lined with the tears of broke “influencers” who tried to clout-chase me. The floor? Made of melted-down Rolexes from men who folded under pressure.

This isn’t a *location*—it’s a **STATEMENT**. A middle finger to the Matrix.

—

### **2. THE ONLY “PASSPORT” HERE IS POWER**
You need visas, stamps, and permission slips to cross borders. Pathetic. Where I’m standing, borders *dissolve* when I wire 8 figures to a warlord’s offshore account. This place? Doesn’t exist on Google Maps. Doesn’t pay taxes. Doesn’t bow to kings.

It’s where I host poker nights with billionaires, dictators, and A-list Slaylebrities who beg me for investment tips. (Spoiler: They lose. Always.)

—

### **3. YOUR DREAM CAR IS MY DOORMAT**
You save up for 10 years to lease a Mercedes. I’m parked on a runway where my Bugattis are used as **CONE MARKERS** for my private jet’s landing strip. That’s right—I land my $70 million jet *between* $5 million hypercars. Why? Because I can.

You’d cry if you saw it. But tears won’t get you here. **HUSTLE** will.

—

### **4. THE “STAFF” ARE FORMER NAVY SEALS (AND THEY CALL *ME* QUEEN)**
Security here doesn’t carry Tasers. They carry anti-aircraft missiles and a vendetta against weakness. The chef? A Michelin-starred warlord who seasons steaks with cocaine and gold flakes. The butler? A ex-KGB agent who laughs when you mention “human rights.”

This is no resort. It’s a **KINGDOM**. And I’m the dictator.

—

### **5. THE WI-FI PASSWORD? “YOUR NET WORTH” (AND YOU CAN’T AFFORD IT)**
You’re jerking off to Instagram models in 480p. I’m streaming 8K footage of me burning $100k in cash to light a cigar… just to prove a point. The internet speed here could hack the Pentagon in 0.2 seconds. But you? You’re buffering.

Stay mad.

—

### **THIS IS WHAT WINNING LOOKS LIKE**
You want to know where I am? *I’m where you’ll never be.* Physically, mentally, financially. I’m in the eye of the storm, where the world’s chaos bends to my will. You’re in a storm of your own making—a drizzle of excuses and wasted potential.

“Guess where I am?”

**I’M WHERE THE GAME IS WON.**

You’re stuck playing checkers. I’m inventing new rules for chess.

You worry about rent. I worry about which private island to buy next.

You debate climate change. I’m building a bunker so lavish, the apocalypse will need a reservation.

—

### **HOW TO GET HERE? (YOU CAN’T. BUT TRY.)**
Step 1: Delete your dating apps.
Step 2: Sell your soul to the grind.
Step 3: Replace your “friends” with assets.
Step 4: **DOMINATE.**

Or keep crying into your pumpkin-spice latte about “burnout.” Your choice.

The world’s divided into two kinds of people: those who *ask* for permission… and those who **OWN THE ROOM THEY WALK INTO**.

Which one are you?

**-VICTORIA ASHFORD**
*(Top SLAYLEBRITY, QUEEN of the Matrix, 4x World Champion at Making You Question Your Life Choices)*

—
**P.S.** If you’re still guessing where I am, you’ve already lost. [Join SLAY CLUB WORLD]or stay a peasant. Your move. 🏎️💨

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