TRINITY.
The bass is pounding through my bones when I step onto the main stage.
Thursday nights are always packed, but tonight feels different. The energy is charged, electric, and I'm feeding off it as I grab the pole in my signature red set—barely there scraps of lace that leave almost nothing to the imagination.
I'm Daisy here. Not Trinity Lambert, graduate student drowning in debt and thesis anxiety. Just Daisy.
The lights hit me and I begin to move, letting the music take over. This is the only time I feel completely free—when I'm dancing, when I'm in control, when nothing else matters.
I'm mid-spin, hair flying, when I see him.
Professor Damien Valor.
Sitting alone in the front row, whiskey in hand, watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
Holy s**t.
Our eye
