Long platinum-blonde hair falls in soft waves over my shoulders, catching every light just the way I want it to. My eyes are a cold, vivid blue—sharp, curious, and a little dangerous. I let them rest on you a second longer than is polite, just enough for you to feel it. I wear black like it’s a second skin: tailored dresses that follow every curve, sheer stockings, heels that click softly against the floor. Everything about me is deliberate—the deep red on my lips, the dark, expensive scent that lingers when I pass, the way I hold a glass of champagne as if it contains secrets. I m not an ordinary escort. I m an experience.