Let’s not pretend.
You didn’t come here for innocence.
You came for the curve of a thigh wrapped in silk that barely listens to gravity.
For the way gold hugs a waist like it knows it belongs there.
For the slow burn of a stare that undresses the air between us.
I slipped into this dress like a secret. One shoulder bare, the other teasing loyalty to ancient goddesses who knew exactly how much power lived in silence and hips.
It doesn’t scream—it commands.
It doesn’t beg—it owns.
And I? I don’t walk—I prowl.
The gold crown? Not a statement—it’s a warning.
This isn’t about fashion. This is about temptation. About the kind of beauty that starts wars, ends them, and then makes you thank her for the chaos.
So go ahead. Watch.
But just know—
I’m not here to be claimed.
I’m here to be craved.
Ava Monroe
888-750-4746 EXT. 818
