The leaner one takes it, scans through it, and his face pales a little. He quickly unties the rope and gestures toward the door. “Welcome, ladies. You’ll find your assistant and all the instructions inside.”
Instructions?
I don’t dwell on it much as Scarlett pulls me inside the dark building. A long corridor greets us, lit only by the parquet floor, and our heels echo through the space with each step, sinking a sense of dread into me.
“What does having a golden envelope mean?” I ask, shivering at the AC blasting at us, and its humming does nothing to lower my anxiety.
“It’s an invitation reserved for the VIPs, which in this club’s case means those who have power and wealth beyond average.” She must read the confusion on my face because she elaborates, “You have to have billionaire status to get it.”
Her explanation confuses me even more. “I’m not a billionaire.”
“You are a Wright.”
“So all other people outside…”
“They have red envelopes referred to as the lottery envelopes.”
The more I find out about this club, the less I want to explore it, because it seems to divide people into these weird boxeswhere they value status and wealth and care little for anything else. What kind of people would create such an establishment anyway? “Which means?”
“They don’t have much money by this club’s standards, but they are willing to do anything to get it to meet various men and women to set themselves up as sugar babies or sell their services for certain connections. If one uses the right strategy, this club could be a stepping stone into a luxurious life.”
That would explain the tears and the begging.
“Sounds like people are selling themselves up here.”
Scarlett shrugs. “No one is forcing them, so it’s their choice. The owners are strict about that. Consent is key.”
“Still sounds like sex work.” An unsafe one at that. Who knows what kind of demands these powerful people might have?
“It is, but as long as it’s consensual, I don’t care. Let people live the way they want.”
Whatever. “I still wonder who sent me this invitation.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” she mutters as we reach the end of the hallway and turn right, only to see a woman in a black pantsuit standing behind what seems to be a reception desk, her mouth stretched in a smile that doesn’t reach her cold gray eyes. “Hello.” Scarlett puts the invitation on the desk. “I assume you need this for verification purposes.”
My lawyer taking the lead on this stupid idea sure makes it easier for me, because I would probably still be standing in line without her.
“Good evening, ladies. My name is Bellamy, and I will be your host tonight.” The woman nods at us, picks up the invitation, reads it, and then scans the barcode. “You’ve received an invitation from the founding member.” Is this supposed to mean something? She reaches under the desk and grabs two black boxes, placing them in front of us, and my eyes widen atour names written on them. “These are your masks for tonight’s event. All masks are assigned to a specific name and cannot be changed under any circumstances. They also have to stay on at all times in order for us to protect your identity. Photos and videos are strictly prohibited. You can do whatever you want in the club tonight, and everything you order is on the house.” She glances between us. “Do you have any questions?” We stay silent. “Great. Please put them on now.” She opens the boxes, and I gasp at the two different beautiful masks inside.
Scarlett picks up her golden one, decorated with tiny, shimmering crystals hanging on long lines, and when she goes to the mirror to put it on, it covers her face almost fully, leaving just her eyes and nose, yet somehow the golden-white colors transform her into this stunning sight. The mask gives her a mysterious, rich look, and just from the tiny details alone, it must have been expensive to make.
“This thing is heavy.” Scarlett adjusts the pins in her hair a little, and the crystals send colorful squares across the floor with each of her movements. “Do we get to keep them after tonight?”
“Yes. It’s a gift. We usually sell those, but like I said. Everything tonight is on the house.” Bellamy shifts her attention to me. “Would you please—” She motions to my box, and I sigh, running my fingers over the gorgeous black mask, and grab it.
Walking to the mirror, I place it on my face and tie it at the back of my head. Compared to Scarlett’s, mine has no crystals or bright colors.
Instead, the elegant classical masquerade mask brings out my green eyes, which seem huge on my face, and while it does well to hide my identity, my face mostly stays bare, and all my scars are still visible.
Whoever chose it for me didn’t want me to cover them up because if they had given me Scarlett’s, my scars would be almost nonexistent.
A black feather on the right finishes the composition.
“Oh, I love it. It really suits you.” Scarlett says and then addresses Bellamy. “We’re ready.”
The host grabs her tablet despite us hearing footsteps in the distance, announcing the new guest’s arrival. “I’ll walk you to your table.”
We start moving toward the double doors several feet away. The doors seem to vibrate from the music coming from inside, and she places her hand on the scanner, and, immediately, it opens.
