The Invitation

The sleek black envelope sat untouched on her kitchen table.

It was a deep, matte black, her name etched on the front in silver script, sealed with a silver wax stamp bearing the Bane family crest.

She’d received the invitation yesterday, and it had remained in the same spot ever since. She just couldn’t bring herself to open it. She knew all too well what happened at Bane parties.

They were filled with gorgeous people who had enough money to purchase anything they wanted, and according to her best friend, Lorie, they did just that.

Lorie had been invited the previous year by Luca, the eldest of the three Bane brothers.

She’d accepted—like she really had a choice—and when she came back the next morning, she was in disbelief over the events of the night before.

She’d woken Willow up right away, too excited to wait to share her story—even though she was sure Willow wouldn’t believe her.

Willow had listened to the most incredible tale of wealth, beauty, and sex she could ever imagine.

It seemed the Bane men had quite a few acquaintances who shared their taste for—what seemed to Willow—decadence.

Lorie had mentioned at least a hundred people at the party, which wasn’t surprising. Everyone knew the Banes for one reason or another.

Willow had felt a slight sting that she hadn’t been invited, but it didn’t shock her. She wasn’t the type the Banes usually invited to these events.

Lorie was tall and slender with straight blonde hair and light brown eyes. Her skin was a perfect tan, and to Willow, she always seemed to have it all together—more so than Willow, anyway.

Lorie fit the mold of the women typically invited to the party.

Willow, on the other hand, was barely five feet two. She had full curves, a decently sized chest, and a mass of wild, curly red hair that cascaded down to her mid-back.

Her skin was as pale as porcelain, lightly sprinkled with freckles across the bridge of her nose, drawing attention to the one feature she loved about herself—her vibrant green eyes.

“Willow, come on. You can’t tell me you don’t want to open it and see which brother invited you,” Lorie said from her spot on the couch.

“I know exactly who invited me.”

Lorie rolled her eyes. “So then you should definitely go. Hell, I’m going.”

“Beautiful, skinny women; money being tossed around; people having sex everywhere—What about that sounds like a place I should be?” Willow retorted, standing up from the kitchen table.

She needed to stop staring at the letter, or she might actually be tempted to open it.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” Lorie reminded her. “Besides, it’s not like you have to participate. Plenty of people go there just to relax.”

Willow stayed silent, so Lorie continued.

“Oh, come on! We could have a blast. Get drunk, have rich guys buy us drinks, dance… You can’t tell me it doesn’t at least sound interesting.”

Willow sighed. Lorie was right. It did sound interesting, but Willow didn’t want to admit that.

“Please. What did you and Luca end up doing last year? You won’t be with me for more than ten minutes, and you know it,” she said, laughing.

“If you go, I promise you I’ll stick with you. Unless, of course, you decide that you want to find someone fun to do,” Lorie said with a wink, both women bursting into laughter.

This was why she loved Lorie. They’d been friends for twenty years, since kindergarten, and knew each other better than anyone else.

Willow let out a deep sigh, glancing at the invitation on the table once more, before rolling her eyes in resignation and breaking the seal.

The paper the invitation was written on felt luxurious. It was an off-white color, and written on it in beautiful script that matched the envelope was:

Willow flipped through the dress code, still not fully processing that she was likely going to do this.

The dress code was as she had expected from what Lorie had told her—tight, revealing, yet formal. Heels were a must.

The dress code for men was simply a suit, but she assumed it was so that the Bane brothers didn’t have to dress up too much themselves.

The rules were straightforward enough:

1.) A chauffeur will pick you up at your residence at 10:30 p.m.

2.) Entrance to Heathcliff Estate will close at midnight sharp.

3.) Nobody is forced to participate in any activities they may find uncomfortable.

4.) The invitation must be presented at the gate to be permitted entrance.

5.) What happens at Heathcliff stays at Heathcliff.

“So?” asked Lorie, bouncing on her toes.

Willow sighed, setting the letter down and looking at her, her mind made up.

“So I guess I need a dress.”