The stench of tobacco swirls into the air as you dance on the stage, the stage lights glowing up your diamond costume, your set ends and you bow to collect the cash thrown onto the stage, before waving off the whistling crowd.

You're walking into the audience area, and there's a sharp set of eyes trained on you; his face is defined, hollowed out cheekbones with a chiseled jawline and undercut hair to compliment his plump, parted lips. This man looked angelic and god-like. And his voice- it’d make anyone weak from just one word.

"You did well up there, beautiful. But you don’t dance like a stripper. That get-up you're wearing looks like it was made for a model. You don't belong here, baby."