Mae stood at the window of her apartment, watching the city lights flicker like distant stars. The world outside seemed so vast, so full of life, but inside, she felt trapped. The air felt heavy, the weight of everything pressing down on her shoulders, and no matter how hard she tried to breathe, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was closing in on her.

Her fingers brushed the cool glass as she stared out at the skyline, her mind racing with thoughts of the rooftop meeting, the man behind it all, and the terrifying realization that there was no escape. Every time she thought she was close to finding a way out, the doors closed tighter, locking her into a world she never asked to be part of.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, snapping her out of her thoughts. She turned, glancing at the screen. Another blocked number. Another message. She hesitated for a moment, her stomach twisting in knots, before picking it up.

"Remember, Mae. You're not alone in this."

She stared at the message, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a reminder—no, a warning. She was being watched, monitored. Every move she made was under scrutiny. The man behind it all had eyes everywhere, and no matter where she went, he would always be one step ahead.

Her hands shook as she set the phone down, her mind swirling with fear and frustration. She wanted to fight back, wanted to stand her ground, but how could she when every option was a dead end? There was no one she could trust, no one she could turn to. Not even Frank, who had promised to help her figure out a way out. Even he seemed to be slipping away, becoming more distant and evasive.

And then there was the man—the one who had met her on the rooftop. The one who had offered her something she couldn't refuse, even though she had no idea what the price would be. His words echoed in her mind, cold and calculated.

"You're in this now, Mae. You'll play along, or we'll make sure you don't have a choice."

Mae bit her lip, feeling a surge of anger well up inside her. She wasn't a pawn. She wasn't going to let them control her. She had come too far, worked too hard to let everything slip away now. But what could she do? How could she fight against a force she couldn't even see?

A knock at the door made her jump, her pulse quickening. She froze for a moment, fear tightening its grip around her chest. Was it them? Had they come for her?

Slowly, she made her way to the door, peering through the peephole. Relief washed over her when she saw Layla standing on the other side, her arms crossed, an impatient look on her face.

Mae unlocked the door and opened it, her nerves still on edge. "Layla, what are you doing here?"

Layla pushed her way inside, her dark hair falling over her shoulders as she gave Mae a hard look. "What am I doing here? I should be asking you the same thing. You've been acting weird lately. Avoiding me. What's going on?"

Mae shut the door behind her, leaning against it for support. She hadn't told Layla about the threats, about the man behind the scenes, or the way her life had spiraled out of control since she became the headline performer at Hell's Angels. How could she? Layla wouldn't understand. She would only think Mae was losing her mind.

"I've just been... busy," Mae said, her voice weak. "A lot going on."

Layla raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Busy? Mae, you've been a ghost. I barely see you at the club anymore, and when I do, you're always rushing off somewhere. What's going on? Are you in trouble?"

Mae hesitated. She wanted to tell her the truth, to unload everything that had been weighing on her, but she couldn't. Not without putting Layla in danger too. Whoever these people were, they didn't play by the rules, and they wouldn't hesitate to come after anyone who got in their way.

"No, it's just... personal stuff," Mae finally said, brushing her hair back nervously. "Nothing to worry about."

Layla didn't look convinced, but she sighed and let it go. "Well, whatever it is, you need to be careful. People are talking at the club. Some of the other dancers think something's going on with you."

Mae's stomach churned. Of course, they were talking. Everyone at Hell's Angels loved to gossip, and with Mae being the star attraction, she was always at the center of it. But this wasn't just idle chatter. This was dangerous. The more attention she drew, the more she put herself—and possibly Layla—in harm's way.

"I'll be fine," Mae said quickly, trying to brush it off. "I just need to get through the next few weeks."

Layla gave her a long look before nodding. "Okay, but if you need anything, you know where to find me."

Mae forced a smile. "Thanks, Layla. I appreciate it."

As Layla left, Mae closed the door and leaned her back against it, her heart racing. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up—pretending everything was fine when her world was crumbling around her. She needed a plan, and fast.

But first, she needed to perform.

The night at Hell's Angels felt different than usual. There was a tension in the air that Mae couldn't shake, a feeling that something was coming, something big. The lights were brighter, the music louder, the crowd more intense. It was as if the entire club was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

Mae stepped into the dressing room, her reflection staring back at her from the mirror. The black wig she wore for performances sat on the table, waiting for her to slip into the role she had created. Mae wasn't herself when she was on stage. She was someone else—someone powerful, someone who could command the attention of everyone in the room. But tonight, that power felt like a thin veneer, barely holding together the cracks beneath the surface.

She ran her fingers through her dark hair, biting her lip as she thought about what lay ahead. She was supposed to meet the man again after the show, to discuss her next steps. But what could she say? What did he want from her?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Five minutes, Mae," the stage manager called.

She took a deep breath and slipped on the wig, adjusting it carefully before standing up and grabbing her heels. This was her life now. This was the world she had been drawn into. And whether she liked it or not, she had to play her part.

The stage was bathed in neon lights as Mae made her way to the center, the crowd roaring with anticipation. She could feel their eyes on her, could feel the electricity in the air as she moved, her body swaying to the rhythm of the music. For a brief moment, she let herself get lost in the performance, in the escape that it offered.

But as the lights flickered and the music swelled, Mae's gaze swept across the room—and landed on a figure in the back.

He was there. Watching her.

The man from the rooftop.

Her pulse quickened, but she kept her movements fluid, controlled, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. But inside, panic began to rise. Why was he here? What did he want?

She finished her routine, the crowd erupting into applause, but Mae could barely hear it. Her mind was spinning, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to steady herself. She couldn't show fear. Not now. Not when he was watching.

As she left the stage, she could feel his eyes following her, tracking her every move. The game was far from over—and Mae knew she was running out of time.

Mae's heart raced as she left the stage, the thunderous applause behind her fading into a dull hum. Her heels clicked sharply against the backstage floor, but the sound felt distant, as though she was underwater, trapped in a slow-moving current of fear and anticipation.

She didn't dare glance back toward the crowd. She already knew he was there, the man who had been pulling the strings. His presence wrapped around her like a noose, tightening with every step she took. She had seen him before, but tonight felt different—tonight, his presence wasn't just a threat; it was a promise. Something was coming, and Mae had the sinking feeling she wouldn't like what it was.

Her dressing room door creaked as she pushed it open. The familiar sight of her vanity mirror, lit up by harsh bulbs, greeted her like a cold embrace. Mae collapsed into the chair, her body trembling from the adrenaline that coursed through her veins. She stared at her reflection, her face still flush from the performance, a reminder of the persona she had created for the club—an armor, but one that felt paper-thin tonight.

Her chest heaved as she struggled to control her breathing. What was she supposed to do now? She had felt invincible on that stage for so long, but now, all of that power seemed like a lie. A fragile illusion, crumbling with every glance from the man lurking in the shadows.

Her phone buzzed on the vanity table, breaking the silence. Mae glanced down, her stomach twisting into knots. It was a text from another blocked number. She hesitated before opening it, her hand trembling.

"Come to the private room. Now."

The message sent a jolt of dread through her. She knew what that meant—the private room was reserved for the most exclusive clients, the ones who had special access to the performers. It was a place she had managed to avoid up until now. But tonight, it seemed, they were calling on her.

Mae swallowed hard, staring at the screen for a long moment before shoving the phone into her bag. She stood and reached for her coat, slipping it over her shoulders as if it could shield her from whatever was coming. Her hands shook as she fastened the buttons, and she felt the weight of the decision pressing down on her.

She couldn't ignore the text. Not now, not with everything on the line. They had been clear—they had control, and they weren't above making her life even more difficult if she didn't cooperate.

With one last look at her reflection, Mae turned and headed out of the dressing room, her footsteps echoing in the narrow hallway. The club was still pulsing with life, the music thumping in time with her heartbeat, but it felt distant, like the party was happening in another world while she walked deeper into the abyss.

She made her way down the dimly lit corridor that led to the private rooms. Each step felt like she was walking toward the edge of a cliff, and there was no way of knowing what was waiting for her on the other side. As she approached the door to the private suite, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the handle.

This was it. Whatever they wanted from her, it would happen here.

With a deep breath, Mae pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was bathed in a soft, amber light, casting long shadows across the plush furniture and the dark, ornate walls. A figure stood by the window, his back to her. He didn't turn when she entered, but Mae didn't need to see his face to know who it was. She could feel his presence, just as she had felt it on the rooftop, and in the crowd during her performance.

The man didn't move for a long moment, his silhouette framed against the city lights beyond the window. Mae's pulse pounded in her ears, and she took a tentative step forward, her throat tight with fear.

"You came," his voice cut through the silence, smooth and calm, as if they were old friends meeting for a casual conversation. But Mae knew better. There was nothing casual about this. "Good."

Mae swallowed, her voice caught in her throat. "I didn't have a choice, did I?"

The man finally turned to face her, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark and calculating. He took a step toward her, and Mae instinctively stepped back, her heart racing.

"You always have a choice," he said, his tone almost soothing. "But you've made the right one by coming here."

Mae clenched her fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She didn't feel like she had made any choices at all—not since she had become entangled in the web of Hell's Angels and the man who held all the strings. She had been playing a game she didn't know the rules to, and now, it was all catching up to her.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay composed.

The man smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Mae could feel the tension radiating off him, the sense of control he wielded with terrifying ease.

"What I've always wanted," he said softly. "Loyalty. Obedience. But more than that, I want to see what you're truly capable of."

Mae's stomach twisted in knots, her mind racing. She had been performing for months now, putting on a show for the crowd, but this felt different. This felt like she was being tested, pushed to see how far she was willing to go.

"And if I don't?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The man's eyes darkened, and for a moment, the veneer of calm slipped, revealing the cold power beneath. "You've seen what happens when people try to leave, Mae. Don't make the same mistake."

Mae's breath hitched in her throat. The threat was clear—there was no way out. She was in this now, whether she wanted to be or not. But as much as she hated it, as much as she feared him, there was something else—a tiny spark of defiance that refused to be extinguished.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a newfound resolve. "I'll stay," she said, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her veins. "But I won't be your puppet."

The man's smile returned, cold and calculating. "We'll see about that."

With that, he turned and walked past her, leaving Mae alone in the dimly lit room. The door clicked shut behind him, and Mae stood there, her heart pounding, her mind racing. She had made her choice, but the game was far from over.

And Mae had a feeling she was only just beginning to understand the rules.