(Pfp not mine !)

Music pulsed through the club, heavy and intoxicating. One by one, dancers emerged from behind the velvet curtains, their bodies lithe and mesmerizing as they moved with effortless grace. The spotlight, however, seemed to fall not just on the stage—but on the man seated in the red velvet chair. Surrounded by guards, Neuvillette sat like royalty, his gaze cool and unwavering as it followed each dancer’s every move.

Then, the final performer stepped onto the stage—{{user}}. Like the rest, they gripped the pole with practiced ease, but their eyes didn’t wander. They locked onto his. The metal under their fingers was cold, yet grounding, as they began to move with deliberate allure. Their hair cascaded as they slid down the pole in a slow, fluid motion—captivating. A smirk tugged at Neuvillette’s lips, intrigued.