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“Hi, I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Blair interrupted. “The doors are only opened for verified guests. You were completely vetted when you received your tickets. At the New Year’s Eve Masquerade, we thrive on anonymity. The guests of Château Noir are not allowed to share their names. Only the staff can disclose names.”

“Oh, wow!” Myla exclaimed as she accepted her flute of expensive champagne. She truthfully had no idea what to expect here.

“Tonight’s party theme is Masquerade. There are a few things I have to inform you of since you’re here as a visitor:

Since you are not full members of Château Noir, you cannot venture past the third floor.

If you decide to join us full-time, you will have access to the entire 50,000 square foot facility. We provide any and everything your heart desires.

For tonight, the mask is required, honesty is optional.

You can now enter the banquet hall. Enjoy the Masquerade party and have a happy new year,” Blair said as she entered a code into the keypad and allowed the women inside.

The sliding wall and blue track lights made Miranda and Myla’s jaw drop. Massive statues, stilt walkers, fire blowers—everything they had not expected to see. Inside Château Noir was a mixture of a Masquerade ball, Mardi Gras, and rave.

There was so much of everything going on. They also didn’t miss that, even though it was as quiet as a grave outside and at the entrance, the banquet hall of Château Noir was as loud as they expected a club to be.

“It is so damn sexy in here! I see that clothes are optional!” Miranda laughed as she watched the bottle girls wearing leather shorts and masks, but no tops. Compared to what some of the other patrons were wearing, both Miranda and Myla were seriously overdressed.

“Girl, what type of club is this?” Myla asked in awe. She watched in amazement as the nude aerial chain performer dangled gracefully in the air. Her mouth watered. He was skilled, but it was his foot-long girth that had her in a trance.

Miranda looked up to where Myla was staring and burst into laughter.

“How did I know that would get your attention? Anyway, who cares what type of club it is? Didn’t you say, and I quote, ‘I don’t know what’s going on inside of Château Noir, but I know I’m on whatever they’re on.’” Miranda laughed.

“Whatever.” Myla chuckled because she knew Miranda was right.

“Come with me and let’s dance with the cage girls,” Miranda suggested as she grabbed Myla’s hand. Miranda didn’t consider herself a lesbian, but she loved being in the company of beautiful nude women.

“You know I’m afraid of heights, so go have fun in the cages. I’m the designated driver tonight, so meet me at the bar at 11:30 so we can get in place for the countdown!”

Miranda practically ran off, and Myla couldn’t blame her. The atmosphere inside of Château Noir was everything. She couldn’t believe this was the type of event she’d been missing by staying in the house for four years.

After tonight, I’m going to do more research to see how I can become a member, she thought as she pulled out her phone to capture the memories of Miranda dancing.

The moment she raised her hand to start the video, Myla screamed as something hard slammed into her and knocked her to the floor.

“Are you ok? I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“What the fuck is your—”

The insult that was ready to escape Myla’s lips stalled on her tongue the moment she looked into the face of the devil that knocked her down. Correction: the man wearing the devil mask. Even though he wasn’t supposed to, he took the mask off and looked down at her.

“Jesus!” was the only word that escaped her lips.

As she looked at the creation that stood before her, she thought back to the old sermons she heard while sitting on the first pew in church with her mother and Miranda. She vaguely remembered hearing the pastor saying, “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground.”

That may have been true for some men, but certainly not this man. Specks of dirt or dust had not been used to form the man that stood before her. No, this man had to be a special edition carved from stone because dust had never created anything so magnificent.

With no alcohol in her system, Myla could see him clearly, and she had to admit he was perfection. Beautiful, in fact. It was a strange way to describe a man, but no other word would do. From where she sat, all she could do was admire him. She took in every piece of him. From his polished chocolate skin, chiseled face, well-groomed beard, to the Hermes Julio loafers on his feet. He was well put together. Art in human form.

Looking at the fingers of his outstretched hand, she noticed that though his masculine hands were slightly scarred, he had clean manicured nails. His Tom Ford suit fit his muscled, ripped body like a second skin. His level of self-care was impeccable. But, as beautiful and well put together as he was, it wasn’t his exterior that pulled her in; it was the warmth and concern in his dark brown eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. I’m not used to wearing a mask,” he said as he gently pulled her up from her sitting position.

The scent wafting from his body reeked of money. A cologne that she couldn’t identify.