THREE

ACE

The champagne tasted like expensive nothing. I set the glass down on the marble countertop and watched my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Twenty-one years old today, and I'd spent the last three hours shaking hands with men in thousand-dollar suits who looked at me like an investment.

"Ace Monroe, Noah Monroe's boy. Good to finally meet you."

"Your father speaks highly of you."

"We should have lunch sometime. Discuss your future."

My future. Like it was a stock portfolio they could manage.

The bathroom door swung open and Carter stumbled in, a cloud of sweet smoke following him. He didn't even try to hide the joint between his fingers.

"Is that smart?" I asked.

He laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "I need this to survive out there."

Carter leaned against the sink next to me, taking another hit. He held it in his lungs longer than necessary before exhaling toward the ceiling. The ventilation system would catch most of it, but my father's guests would still smell it. They'd know.

"After my arson nonsense, my parents want to cozy up with prosecutors just in case I do something even worse." He rolled the joint between his fingers, watching the ember glow. "So a weed lobotomy helps."

I remembered the incident. Carter had set fire to his ex-girlfriend's car in a parking lot. Security cameras caught everything. His parents had thrown enough money at the problem to make it disappear, but the threat still hung over his head.

"I don't want to be here," I said.

"Nobody wants to be at their own birthday party when it looks like a campaign fundraiser."

"This is my party but Dad has turned it into some cult meeting." I ran my hand through my hair, pulling slightly at the roots. The pain helped me focus. "Is this what I'll become when I get older?"

Carter took another drag, his eyes half-closed. "You didn't know?"

The words hit harder than they should have. Of course I knew. I'd always known. Every Monroe man followed the same path. Elite education, strategic marriage, political career. My grandfather had done it. My father had done it. Now it was my turn to step into the machine.

"I don't want that for myself."

"Then leave."

"Can't. It's my party."

"Exactly. Your party. You can do whatever the fuck you want." Carter offered me the joint. "Just take some weed. It helps."

"Fuck off."

He laughed again, this time lighter. More genuine. He stubbed out the joint in the sink and ran water over it, washing away the evidence.

"You know what?" He turned to face me fully. "I have an idea."

"Your ideas usually involve property damage."

"Not this time." He grinned, that reckless expression I'd seen right before every stupid decision we'd made together. "How about you fucking leave here and go wild in a club?"

I shook my head. "My father finds out I'm gone and he calls every high-end club to get me back. If they even let me in without his permission."

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Go to a high-end club." Carter pulled out his phone, scrolling through something. "These days I've been going to a semi-decent club. Fantasy Island."

The name sounded ridiculous. Like a theme park or a bad porno.

"And there's this dancer." His voice changed, got quieter. More serious. "She's really good. Whether it's a lap dance or a conversation you need, she delivers."

"A stripper."

"A professional." He corrected. "Look, you might not be honest with your therapist and I really don't care for your shit since I have mine going on. So why not some slutty whore you'll never see again?"

The suggestion was absurd. Offensive, even. But something about it appealed to me. The anonymity. The escape. A place where nobody knew my father's name or cared about my political future.

“I had an appointment there, you know, after the review, I was going to check it out. I hate that that is out of the window now.”

"What's her name?"

Carter's grin widened. He stepped closer, holding my face between his hands like we were about to kiss. Then he exhaled, blowing smoke directly into my face. I coughed, turning my head away, but he held firm.

"Her name is Jailbird."

“And no one will know me?”

“Ace, it is me, I am the master of discreet. I used some rando identity and funny enough, they believe it is that randos birthday.”

“Jesus, you used me?”

“See…” He chuckled. “Discreet.”

***

The drive to Fantasy Island took twenty minutes. I'd left through the service entrance, dodging my father's assistants and the remaining guests. Carter had texted me the address along with a series of laughing emojis and the words "happy birthday you beautiful bastard."

The building didn't look like much from outside. Brick facade, purple neon sign, a line of people waiting behind a velvet rope. The bouncer was huge, easily six-five, with arms like tree trunks.

I walked past the line. A few people shouted complaints but I ignored them. The bouncer's expression didn't change as I approached.

"Private booth," I said. "I bought it a day earlier."

He looked me up and down, taking in my expensive watch and tailored shirt. "ID."

I handed it over. He studied it under a small flashlight, comparing my face to the photo. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded and handed it back.

"Entrance is fifty."

I pulled out my wallet and handed him a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

He pocketed the money and opened the door.

The music hit me first. Deep bass that vibrated in my chest, layered with something electronic and hypnotic. The lighting was purple and blue, punctuated by red spotlights that swept across a small stage. Women danced in various costumes, some elaborate, others minimal.

A woman in a black suit approached me. Older, confident, the kind of person who'd seen everything twice and wasn't impressed anymore.

"First time?" she asked.

"That obvious?"

"You have that look." She gestured toward the back. "I'm Madam Fantasy. I run this establishment. What can we do for you?"

"I have a Private booth. And I was recommended someone named Jailbird."

She lifted an eyebrow, not surprised but definitely more attentive now. “Jailbird is one of our most requested performers. I hope you understand she doesn't come cheap.”

“I already paid.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded slip Carter had shoved into my hand at the party. His handwriting was messy, but the stamp on the bottom was unmistakable, the official Fantasy Island mark with today’s date and the performer code underneath.

Madam Fantasy took the slip from me. She inspected it under the nearest light, her expression sharpening as she checked each detail.

She then smiled.

"Jailbird is excellent. Very popular. She'll take good care of you."

"When can I see her?"

"Give me ten minutes to arrange things." She nodded toward the bar. "Get a drink. Relax. This is supposed to be fun."

I ordered whiskey, neat. The bartender didn't ask for my ID, just poured three fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass. I paid with a fifty and told him to keep it.

The whiskey burned going down. I focused on that sensation, using it to anchor myself. Around me, men in cheap suits that were supposed to pass as expensive laughed, drank and watched the dancers.

Madam Fantasy returned exactly ten minutes later. "Pleasure corner three. Red tag. Don't keep her waiting."

I followed her directions through the crowd, past clusters of men and dancing women, toward a series of curtained booths along the back wall. Pleasure corners. The name was unsubtle.

I found booth three, marked with a red sticky note. I pushed through the curtain and sat down on the leather couch. The lighting inside was dimmer, more intimate. A small table held a fresh glass of whiskey and a bucket of ice.

I waited.

The curtain moved and she walked in. Wonder Woman costume, red and gold leather that fit her like a second skin. Knee-high boots that made her legs endless. A black and silver mask covering the top half of her face, with small chains that caught the light.

"You called for Jailbird?"

Her voice was smoky, confident. She moved like water, her hips swaying as she stepped toward me. Then her heel caught on the carpet and she stumbled forward.

I caught her elbow instinctively, steadying her. Our eyes locked.

Something sparked in that moment. Recognition, maybe. Or just attraction. I had that effect on women. She stared at me like she'd seen a ghost, her lips parted slightly, her breathing shallow.

"Am I that handsome, Miss Jailbird?"