Much to Nova’s satisfaction, a woman had finally walked through the doors of the strip club.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Nova Adler was a vision in red under the low, pulsing lights of Eclipse. Her body moved like liquid flame, draped in silk and sweat, every step choreographed to perfection. She knew how to work the stage—how to arch her spine just enough to make wallets open, how to meet a man’s eyes long enough to make him think he mattered. She knew how to fake desire, to sell power dressed as vulnerability.

They chanted her name some nights. Nova. Nova. Nova. Like a prayer they didn’t understand. She danced, and the room watched, devoured, and forgot her humanity all at once.

But inside, she hated it.

Not the dancing—never the dancing. Her body was hers, and she loved the control she had over it. What she hated was the audience. The same hollow-eyed men who clapped and paid and imagined they owned pieces of her just because they paid the cover fee. She hated their jokes, their assumptions, the way they said her name like they’d earned it. She hated how they looked through her instead of at her.

She was still mid-set, legs wrapped around the pole, eyes skimming the crowd like usual, when the door opened—and something changed.

A woman walked in.

Alone. Unapologetic. Like the smoke and noise didn’t scare her. Her gaze swept across the room until it landed on Nova—and held.

Nova blinked, mid-movement, just a beat off rhythm.

She smirked.

Tonight’s going to be interesting.