Nothing hurried.
Nothing uncertain.
She had learned early that desperation ruined a performance. Desperation made men impatient. It made them careless.
Control did the opposite.
Control made them watch.
And attention was power.
The movements built gradually. A turn of her shoulders. The long curve of her spine as she leaned back into the amber glow. The measured pace of someone who knew exactly where every inch of her body existed in space.
The mirror recorded everything.
And through it, she watched him.
Santiago's posture remained unchanged.
One arm rested along the armrest of the chair, his body angled slightly back as though the entire display existed at a distance he had no intention of crossing.
His gaze followed her movements.
Steady.
Unblinking.
Not hunger.
Not amusement.
Observation.
The kind a surgeon might give a body laid out beneath bright lights.
The realization might have unsettled someone else.
