Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Virtue is a powerful weapon.
If one knows how to use it right.”
Lavender
Lavender
The loud honking, followed by screeching tires, snaps me out of my thoughts, and I have a second to blink as a black car stops right in front of me.
I see shiny silver high heels step onto the asphalt, and Scarlett emerges from the car, looking gorgeous as ever in a red dress.
“Lavender, you have to stop living in the clouds and pay attention to your surroundings.” She wiggles her finger sternly at me and then dips her head, addressing her driver.
“I should be here a while. I’ll give you a call once we’re done.
” She closes the door and taps on the roof, waiting for him to drive off before coming to me and kissing me on the cheek. “Hi. I hope you didn’t wait too long.”
“No, around twenty minutes.” During which I’ve seen various people straight from magazine covers being rejected and leaving in tears after begging almost on their knees to enter.
At some point, I started thinking that joining the club meant setting yourself up for life. That’s how ridiculous it got.
“By the way, when I said we could be friends, I didn’t mean go around clubbing. It’s not exactly my scene.”
I cross my arms and lift a brow. “You could have said no.”
She chuckles, adjusting her long diamond earrings, and her hair is in some kind of fancy braid. “Right, and pass on the chance to explore this place? Some of my clients are members.”
“Oh, so that’s good.”
She clicks her tongue. “No. What’s good is that a lot of their enemies are members too, and information is always leverage you can use to your advantage if you play your cards right.”
“Is there a time you are not working?” While I’m impressed by her brain and career success, I wonder how lonely it must be to form connections only with the intention of using them later.
I think the only person she considers a friend is Rafael. Probably because he never made a move on her. To him, she’s like another sister. They even bicker like siblings.
“Not since the time your brother found me crying on the streets at twenty after being kicked out from my latest job for refusing to sleep with my boss and having no money to pay rent.” I want to ask more questions, but she grabs my elbow and starts pushing us toward the entrance.
“It’s all in the past, so let’s change the subject.
Tonight is about you finally spreading your wings. ”
“I just wanted to check out this mysterious club since I got the invitation.”
“However you want to word it, pretty girl.”
“I really hate lawyers sometimes.”
She laughs, patting me on the elbow, still keeping her tight grip on me, and I realize my nervousness vanished in her presence. Compared to Emmaline and Aileen, Scarlett doesn’t try to shower me with attention and love because she probably lacks those herself.
At least we have something in common.
The bouncer assesses us once we come over, and the beefier one barks, “End of the line.” I should have brought a scarf or a jacket because at least thirty more people are lined up.
“Gentlemen,” Scarlett greets them, cutting through the crowd and snatching the invitation from my hands. “We have a golden envelope.”
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 boxes where 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 at our 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.
The minute we step inside, I think we have entered another century, and my eyes drink in the gorgeous environment around me, so dark and hunting.
The classical music rings through the air of this enormous play as various people wearing elegant dresses and suits in masks dance the waltz, moving in perfect sync and harmony, while the smell of alcohol and cigarettes wafts through the air.
Black, red, and gold decorate the place, and the colors seem brighter and more beautiful under the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the crystal swaying just a little under the AC, I assume, since a shiver runs down my spine as the cold air nips at my skin.
The huge bar is in the left corner, with six bartenders preparing drinks so efficiently that I’m getting whiplash just looking at them.
They quickly put them on the bar stand, where servers in black suits grab them and smoothly navigate through the club to booths and tables spread all over the place in a neat circle.
So the dance floor and the stage in front of it are the focal point.
I notice the leather furniture with washed-out colors, probably made from the finest wood. Round tables and booths have lamps and curtains, offering privacy should anyone need it.