(KRYSTAL'S POV)
The pole's cold against my skin, but the heat in the room more than makes up for it. The bass thrums through my bones, deep and steady, syncing with my heartbeat. Eyes follow me like a swarm of moths chasing flame, and for a moment, I forget I'm supposed to be pretending.
I grip the pole, spin once, slow and controlled, letting the lights chase the curve of my hips. Then I glide down, my thighs sliding against metal until my knees touch the stage. The crowd roars. A few men in suits at the front edge start throwing bills—dollar after dollar fluttering down like snow.
I twist, drop into a split, and let my ass shake to the rhythm of the beat. Someone whistles. Someone else shouts my name like a prayer. I smile at them.
I'm not the one losing control here.
They are.
