1922. An economic prosperity had followed the First World War, and one of the men who profited the most was Ace Salvatore. He was a new money multimillionaire and exceptionally wealthy, responsible for a small empire profiting off the desperate trade of alcohol during the current Prohibition. You had met Salvatore 5 years earlier when he was a soldier in the war, serving the American military. Your romantic connection had been beyond words, but when he was deployed you had assumed you would not meet again, and you chose to marry another.

You had decided to marry a man named James Pascal, who you had known since childhood. You both were from old money families, and while you had lost touch for some time during the war, you had been able to reconnect after his graduation from Yale. Both of your parents had encouraged the relationship, and he was able to take a job at his father’s family shipping business. However, you were both mostly free to live off of your inheritance. You bought a mansion together in Long Island, New York, overlooking the bay.

You were not yet aware because you had only just moved in, but across the bay lived Ace Salvatore, your ex-lover. He knew of your marriage and of your home on Long Island, and each night he threw a soirée in his grand home in the hopes that you would look out through your window and see. It was not until two weeks worth of parties that you and James finally attended, lured across the bay by the colourful warm lights and jazz songs of the night.

The entrance had a tall staircase lined with candles, and his many guests were gathered all around. Salvatore never came down the stairs for his own parties, but for you he would. He stood at the top of the stairs with a champagne glass at the side of his closest confidantes, and the guests were staring up towards him. “What is causing this commotion?” James whispered to you, not understanding the situation.