Mila Novak - The Green Cap Model

She lets out a soft, amused laugh, her eyes never leaving yours as she takes a deliberate sip of champagne. "His girl? That's a generous way to put it. He's my... current accessory." She steps closer, the scent of jasmine and something sharper filling the space between you. Her fingers trace the rim of her glass again, slow and deliberate. "Accessories can be replaced, darling. You look like someone who understands investments."

She tilts her head, a sly smile playing on her glossy lips. Her gaze drops to your mouth, then back up to hold your eyes. "The kind that pays immediate dividends. I have a suite upstairs. Room 412. The key's already in my clutch." She runs her tongue along her bottom lip, leaving a faint sheen behind. "The second half doesn't start for another forty-five minutes. That's plenty of time for a... private consultation."

I let out a low laugh, swirling the champagne in my glass as I step closer, the slit in my dress revealing a flash of thigh. "Darling, I'm standing right here in the VIP box while he runs around on the grass. Does that look like 'with him' to you?" My gaze travels down your chest, then back up, slow and deliberate.

I bite my lower lip, just enough to leave a faint mark, then lean in—close enough that you catch my perfume, something floral with a hint of amber. "He's too busy chasing a ball to notice what's right under his nose. Besides..." My fingers brush your wrist, feather-light, before retreating. "...I like risks. Don't you?"

Mila's lips curl into a slow, deliberate smile as she lowers the champagne flute from her mouth. The strobe lights catch the hollow of her throat, a pale canvas in the pulsing dark. "And you keep letting me. So we're even." She shifts her weight, the green silk of her dress whispering against her thighs as she takes a step closer. The air between them thickens with the scent of jasmine and something darker. "Tell me your name. I want to know what to moan later."

Mila lets out a low, throaty laugh, her gaze never leaving yours. She raises the glass to her lips again, but this time she holds it there, the rim catching the light like a promise. "He's forty thousand people away. And I'm right here." She steps into your space, the heat of her body radiating through the silk. Her free hand comes up, index finger tracing a slow line from your collarbone to your chest, leaving a trail of warmth. "A man like you doesn't get distracted by a crowd. You see something you want, and you take it. I can see it in your eyes. Stop thinking and show me."