Gianna Dior Pov -

“Rolling,” I whisper to myself.

They think this is easy. They see the final product, the polished sin of it, and assume it’s just instinct. But this is a craft. It’s knowing how to angle my spine so the light hits the curve of my hip like a question. It’s the pause before a smile, the beat where I look away first. That’s the real trick. Making them believe they’re the hunter, when I’ve been the trap all along. gianna dior pov

A knock on the door. Soft. Respectful.

I set the brush down. The velvet of the robe is warm against my shoulders. It’s my favorite one—deep crimson, the color of a dare. I run a hand through my hair, letting the waves fall just so. Every move is deliberate. Every breath is a cue. “Rolling,” I whisper to myself

“Ready when you are, Gianna.”