The trash in question was an invitation to a masquerade ball. And not any masquerade ball. The annual Midnight Fantasies Masquerade Ball.

Sitting back in her chair, Bria tried to absorb the implications. Angie Bergman threw away an invitation to what many considered to be the most exclusive, most sought-after, most prized event of the year? What was that woman smoking?

Midnight Fantasies was said to be "THE club to end all clubs". The fact that it was located on a privately owned island only enhanced its mystery. But those who had attended in the past often spoke of fulfilled fantasies, most of them the sexual kind. The paparazzi was forced to observe from the shore as the rich, the famous, and the well-connected were shuttled by ferry to the castle-like mansion located almost two miles off-shore. And that was only the social aspect of it. Monetarily, the event raised ungodly sums of millions for charity.

Bria stared at the card. Like many people, she read all the juicy news after every ball, which took place the last weekend of October. The guest list was kept as secret as the combination to the safe at Fort Knox. Why in the hell would Angie pass up this kind of opportunity? There was no doubt she'd thrown it away. There was a coffee stain streaking one corner, which Bria wiped away.

If the quality of the invite was any indication, no expense was spared for the event. Bria felt the texture of the paper, noting the barely perceptible watermark embossed on the back. More intriguing, though, was the simple phrase "explore your wildest fantasies" written in heavy black ink deeply embedded in the finely woven rag content.

Explore my wildest fantasies? How much simpler could it be?

I want to die.