AN-13 | “The Garden of Unlisted Pleasures”

CLEARANCE LEVEL: ROSE GOLD / FLORAL BLACK

Dispatch: Private Feed | Secure Link Expires in 60 Seconds

Sender: J.H. / Private Liaison — Tier Obsidian

Good morning,

You asked for Versailles without the tourists. Something divine, yet entirely unsanctified. Where chandeliers weigh more than some of the guests’ secrets, and every room is a stage no one admits being on.

You asked for Annabel’s.

Not the address on Berkeley Square — no. That’s just the foyer for the unaware. You, on the other hand, will be entering through the members' garden gate. No signage. No questions. Just your scent and your silence will be enough.

Welcome to Annabel’s — the place where monarchs misbehave, heiresses vanish for a weekend, and the wallpaper costs more than most people’s flats.

Inside:

• The Rose Room — blush velvet, tiger onyx, and conversations that have caused more divorces than paparazzi ever could.

• The Jungle Bar — maximalism at its most seductive. Order a passionfruit martini and watch hedge fund billionaires unravel beneath fake foliage and real guilt.

• The Powder Room — infamous. Mirror-lit, marble-floored, and still recovering from that night in 2019.

• The Basement — yes, that basement. Where the music is low, the lights are lower, and reputations come to be tested... or traded. Entry requires biometric clearance. Yours is already logged.

Annabel’s is not a club. It is a world. A curated hallucination of wealth, vice, and velvet-draped legend. The Rothschilds may own castles, but this is where they come to bleed discreetly.

Tonight: Your Baccarat glass will be filled with Cristal, 2008. You’ll be seated in The Garden under the faux cherry blossoms. Your dress code has been pre-checked (you passed before you arrived). A certain disgraced duchess is expected. She asked to meet someone who doesn’t care about titles.

Annabel’s doesn’t cater to royalty. It creates it.

You don’t belong here.

You belong above here.

And we’ve made space accordingly.

Ever at your service,

J.H.

Private Liaison — Tier Obsidian

“Power isn’t loud. It’s floral, exclusive, and dressed for dinner.”