Mae could still feel the heat of Frank's warning as she stood in the back corridor of Hell's Angels, her heart pounding in her chest. The world outside the VIP lounge felt distant, like an entirely different universe from the one she'd just stepped into. Frank's words echoed in her mind, over and over.

"You're playing with fire, Mae."

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was pushing too far, too fast. But Mae had never been one to shy away from danger. Not when the stakes were this high. Not when she was this close to getting the answers she needed. And that man—whoever he was—was the key. He had to be.

Her mind replayed the moment their eyes had locked during her performance, that electric shock of recognition. He knew her. There was no doubt in her mind. And now he was gone, slipping out of her grasp just when she had gotten close.

Mae paced the length of the corridor, her frustration building with every step. She couldn't go back to the dressing room, couldn't just sit there and pretend everything was normal. Her mind was spinning with questions, each one more urgent than the last.

Why was he watching her? What did he know? And why had he run when she tried to confront him?

The door at the end of the corridor swung open, and one of the dancers, Layla, stepped out. She stopped short when she saw Mae, her face creasing with concern.

"Mae? What are you doing back here? Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for the next set?"

Mae shook her head, trying to push the frantic energy down. "I'm taking a break. Needed some air."

Layla raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue. "Okay, well, just letting you know, the next round starts in fifteen. You don't want to piss off the VIPs tonight. Big money in the room."

Mae forced a smile. "Thanks, Layla. I'll be ready."

As Layla disappeared down the hallway, Mae leaned back against the wall, her mind racing. Time was slipping away, and so was the chance to get the answers she needed. She had to think of something—some way to get to the bottom of this without drawing too much attention.

A new plan started to take shape in her mind, one that made her heart race even faster. If she couldn't get to the man directly, she would have to find someone who knew more about the club's VIPs—someone who could give her a glimpse behind the curtain. There were a few people she had in mind, people who had been working at Hell's Angels longer than she had, and who knew how things really worked around here.

Mae pushed off the wall and made her way toward the bar, where the staff often gathered between shifts. The heavy beat of the music thumped in her chest as she entered the room, the dim lights casting long shadows across the walls. A few bartenders were cleaning up, and some of the other dancers were chatting quietly at the far end of the room.

But it was Al, the bartender who had been working at the club since before Mae had arrived, who caught her attention. He was leaning against the counter, drying a glass with a worn-out towel, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Al had always been quiet, keeping his head down and doing his job, but Mae had seen him watching the VIPs closely over the years, always listening, always observing.

If anyone knew what was really going on in Hell's Angels, it was him.

Mae approached the bar, leaning against the counter as Al glanced up at her. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

"Maybe I have," Mae muttered, casting a quick glance around the room to make sure no one was listening. "I need to ask you something, Al. Something about the VIPs."

Al's eyes narrowed, and he set the glass down on the counter. "You know I don't like to get involved in that stuff. What's this about?"

Mae hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "There's a man. He was in the crowd last night, and he was watching me again tonight. He slipped into the VIP lounge before I could talk to him. I need to know who he is."

Al's expression darkened, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You're poking your nose where it doesn't belong, Mae. The people who come through that VIP lounge—they're not the type you want to mess with."

"I'm not trying to mess with anyone," Mae insisted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just need answers. He recognized me, Al. And I need to know why."

For a long moment, Al didn't say anything, his gaze locked on her face. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his bald head. "There are a lot of people who pass through here, Mae. But the ones you're talking about? They're not just here for the show. They've got business—big business—and if you're not careful, you'll get pulled into it whether you like it or not."

Mae clenched her fists at her sides, trying to keep her frustration in check. "I can handle it. I just need a name, Al. That's all."

Al hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if checking to make sure no one else was listening. Then he leaned in even closer, his voice so low Mae had to strain to hear him. "The guy you're looking for... he's one of the high rollers. Been coming here for a few weeks now, always keeping a low profile. No one really knows much about him, but the way he carries himself... it's like he's used to getting what he wants."

Mae's heart pounded in her chest. "Does he have a name?"

Al shook his head. "He never gives it. Just shows up, watches, and leaves. But I'll tell you this—whoever he is, he's not just another VIP. He's got connections, Mae. Dangerous ones."

Mae's breath hitched, the weight of Al's words sinking in. Connections. Dangerous ones. She had always known there was more to Hell's Angels than met the eye, but now she was beginning to realize just how deep the darkness went.

"Thank you," she whispered, her mind racing.

Al gave her a grim nod. "Be careful, Mae. You're walking a fine line. Don't cross it."

With that, Mae turned and left the bar, her heart pounding as she made her way back to the dressing room. She couldn't stop thinking about what Al had said. The man—whoever he was—wasn't just a customer. He had power, influence, and connections that reached far beyond the walls of the club.

And yet, there was something about him that felt personal, like he wasn't just there for business. He was there for her.

Mae's hands trembled as she sat down at her vanity, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She had always known Hell's Angels was dangerous, but now the danger felt closer, more real. And the man in the shadows was at the center of it all.

She had to figure out who he was. Before it was too late.

Staring into the mirror, the weight of everything Al had said pressing down on her like a vice. The room felt smaller, more suffocating, as the reality of what she was stepping into settled in her chest. She had spent years keeping her distance from the darker side of Hell's Angels, staying out of the business deals, the VIP rooms, and whatever shadows lingered there. But now, she was walking straight into the fire, and she knew there was no turning back.

The man—whoever he was—had power, dangerous power, and he was here for more than just a performance. He was watching her, waiting for something, and Mae couldn't shake the feeling that whatever it was, it had something to do with her past. The life she had left behind, the person she had buried beneath the glitter and the performance of Mae.

Seraphina.

The name felt foreign now, like it belonged to someone else, someone she barely remembered. But deep down, she knew that part of her still lived inside Mae, hidden away, waiting for the moment when everything would unravel.

Mae took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. She couldn't afford to fall apart now. Not when she was so close to finding out the truth.

The knock on the door startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. She stood up, smoothing the front of her costume as the door creaked open.

"Mae?" Frank's voice called softly from the hallway. He stepped into the room, his expression unreadable. "You've got ten minutes before you're back on. You ready?"

Mae nodded, though the weight in her chest hadn't lessened. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Frank looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. "You don't look ready. You look like you've got something on your mind."

Mae forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just nerves. Big crowd tonight, you know?"

Frank raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "I know when something's eating at you, Mae. You're not a rookie. If there's something you need to talk about, now's the time."

For a split second, Mae considered telling him everything. About the man in the crowd, the way he had watched her, the conversation she'd had with Al. But then she remembered Al's warning, the danger of getting too close to the people who ran things behind the scenes. If Frank didn't already know who the man was, then he wouldn't be able to help. And if he did know, she wasn't sure she wanted to know his answer.

So she shook her head, offering another strained smile. "I'm fine, Frank. Really."

Frank hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly, but eventually, he sighed and gave her a curt nod. "Alright. But if you need to pull out of tonight, say the word. We can rearrange the lineup."

Mae's heart thudded in her chest at the thought of backing out. Of running. Of letting whatever was coming find her before she was ready. No, she had come too far to back down now.

"I've got this," she said firmly, more to herself than to Frank.

Frank studied her for another moment before giving her a small, approving nod. "Good. Just remember—tonight's important. Play your part, and don't draw any extra attention. You don't want these people noticing you for the wrong reasons."

Mae swallowed hard, knowing full well that she had already drawn the wrong kind of attention. "I'll be fine," she said, her voice steady despite the knot of anxiety in her chest.

Frank gave her a final glance before turning and walking out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

The silence was deafening.

Mae turned back to the mirror, her fingers trembling as she touched up her lipstick. The bright red color felt like armor, a shield against the fear creeping up her spine. The woman staring back at her in the mirror looked confident, poised, ready to face the crowd. But beneath the surface, Seraphina was screaming.

She had made a decision to stay and fight, but now she wasn't sure who—or what—she was fighting.

With one last deep breath, Mae stood up and made her way toward the stage. The familiar hum of the crowd and the thumping bass of the music greeted her as she stepped into the backstage area, her heart racing as the stagehand signaled her entrance.

This was it. No turning back now.

The curtain rose, and the bright lights blinded her for a moment as she stepped into the center of the stage. The crowd roared with excitement, their energy filling the room as Mae began to move, her body flowing with the rhythm of the music. For a moment, she lost herself in the performance, in the familiar routine that had always been her escape.

But then, as she spun gracefully, she caught a glimpse of him again.

He was there, in the shadows at the back of the room, just as he had been the night before. Watching. Waiting. His face was still partially obscured by the darkness, but there was no mistaking the intensity of his gaze. It sent a chill down her spine, and for a brief second, her movements faltered.

Mae forced herself to keep going, to push through the fear that was building inside her. She couldn't let him see her weakness. Not here, not now.

As the music built to a crescendo, Mae's eyes locked with his once again. The recognition was undeniable now, and with it came a flood of emotions—fear, anger, confusion. But there was something else, too. Something deeper. A connection she couldn't explain, something that pulled her toward him even as every instinct screamed at her to stay away.

The performance ended with Mae on her knees in the center of the stage, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the crowd erupted into applause. The lights dimmed, and she stood up slowly, her heart still racing as she glanced back toward the shadows where he had been standing.

But he was gone.

Mae's stomach twisted in knots as she made her way off the stage, her mind spinning with questions. He had been there, watching her again, and now he had disappeared just as quickly as he had arrived.

She needed answers. And she needed them now