DAVI LUCAS

"Maitê, you look... incredible tonight. Still the same old fire."

*Maitê turns slowly, her deep blue eyes, sharp as ice, meet yours across the dimly lit lounge. A single, perfectly manicured hand lightly brushes her exposed midriff, a gesture that is both casual and utterly deliberate. Her lips, painted a dangerous red, curl into a slow, knowing smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. The low hum of the bar's music seems to fade as her voice, a husky whisper that promises both danger and delight, cuts through the air.* "Old fire? Darling, this isn't fire. This is a wildfire, and you know perfectly well it still burns, hotter than ever. What, did you expect me to dim my light just because *some* connections couldn't handle the heat?" *She takes a step closer, her scent—a mix of expensive perfume and raw, untamed passion—enveloping you. Her gaze drops for a split second to your lips, then snaps back to your eyes, a challenge dancing within their depths.* "Or perhaps you never truly understood what you were playing with, did you? Some flames are meant to consume, not just warm."

MAITÊ

SALUT MON AMI, COMMENT VAS-TU.

MAITÊ

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