Mae stared at her reflection for what felt like hours after Frank left, her mind spinning with the weight of his words. The dressing room, once a sanctuary where she could slip out of her performance persona and catch her breath, now felt stifling, the walls closing in. The truth was undeniable—she was being watched, more closely than ever before.

The people running Hell's Angels were no longer satisfied with her being their star. They were suspicious. And suspicion, in this world, was dangerous.

She rose from the vanity and began to pace the small room, her thoughts swirling in a storm of fear, frustration, and determination. She had started this journey with a plan—gather information, dig up the truth about the club, and find a way to break free from their control. But now, the stakes had risen. They knew something was off. They didn't trust her anymore.

And then there was Father Charlie. His sudden reappearance in her life had thrown everything off balance. He wasn't supposed to be here. Not in this world, not in her life anymore. But here he was, watching her, though thankfully unaware of who she really was.

At least, not yet.

She sat back down, her fingers drumming on the edge of the vanity as she tried to think of her next move. Laying low, like Frank had suggested, wasn't an option. If she stopped now, if she backed off from her search for the truth, it would all be for nothing. She couldn't walk away, not when she had come this far. But she had to be careful, now more than ever.

The door to her dressing room creaked open slightly, and Mae jumped, her heart racing. She turned sharply, but it was just one of the stagehands poking his head in.

"Ten minutes until your next set, Mae," he said casually, as if the world wasn't closing in around her.

Mae nodded and waved him off, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She needed to get her head back in the game. Perform, act normal, give them no reason to think she was anything but a loyal, obedient dancer.

But tonight, something felt different. The feeling of being watched wasn't just in her head anymore—it was real, tangible, and it clung to her like a second skin.

She changed back into her stage outfit, fixing her makeup with precise, practiced strokes, her hands steady even as her mind raced. She would go out there, put on the show they expected, and bide her time. But underneath the mask, she was preparing. She would find out who was behind it all—who was pulling the strings at Hell's Angels, and why they were tightening their grip on her now.

Mae headed to the stage entrance, the sound of the crowd growing louder as she approached. The club was packed tonight, the energy palpable even from backstage. She forced herself to focus on the routine ahead, pushing all other thoughts aside. This was her world, her stage, and she wouldn't let them see her falter.

As she stepped out under the lights, her body moving in sync with the music, Mae allowed herself to slip into the role she had perfected over the years. The crowd cheered, their eyes glued to her every move, but her mind was elsewhere, scanning the room for any sign of the people watching her.

And then she saw him.

Father Charlie was back, seated in the same dark corner as before, his eyes fixed on her, though this time his expression seemed different—more focused, more intent. A shiver ran down her spine as she caught his gaze, though she quickly looked away, forcing herself to stay in character. He hadn't recognized her last night, and she had to keep it that way.

The performance went on, but Mae couldn't shake the feeling that everything was building toward something—something she couldn't yet see, but felt looming in the shadows. As the music reached its crescendo, she executed the final move, her body arching in a graceful spin before landing softly on the stage. The applause thundered, the crowd roaring in approval.

But Mae wasn't listening. Her eyes flicked back to the corner where Father Charlie had been sitting, but now his seat was empty.

He was gone.

She turned and made her way offstage, her heart pounding in her chest. What was he doing here? Why had he come back? And more importantly—how much longer could she keep this charade up before he realized who she really was?

As she slipped back into her dressing room, locking the door behind her, Mae knew one thing for certain: whatever game she was playing, it was getting more dangerous by the minute.

-

The next morning, Mae woke up with a sense of dread gnawing at the edges of her mind. The sunlight filtering through the blinds did little to chase away the dark thoughts swirling in her head. She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened the night before.

Father Charlie had returned. And he had watched her perform again.

Mae sat up, running a hand through her hair, feeling the weight of the situation press down on her. She had been so careful, so deliberate in burying her past and becoming Mae. Seraphina was a ghost, a forgotten girl from a small village far away from this life. But now, the past was clawing its way back to the surface, and it terrified her.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her from her thoughts. She reached for it, expecting another message from Frank or one of the club's handlers, but instead, it was a text from an unknown number.

"We're watching. Don't forget who you belong to."

Mae's stomach churned as she stared at the message. The same cryptic warnings, the same veiled threats. The people behind Hell's Angels were making it clear—she wasn't just a performer. She was a possession, something they owned, and they weren't going to let her forget it.

She deleted the message and tossed the phone aside, frustration boiling beneath the surface. She had to keep moving, keep gathering information, but how could she when they were tightening the leash? And now, with Father Charlie back in the picture, it felt like everything was unraveling faster than she could control.

Mae got out of bed and pulled on some clothes, her mind racing as she tried to figure out her next move. She couldn't stop now. She had to keep up the act, keep playing her part until she found the answers she was looking for. But every step forward felt like walking deeper into quicksand.

Later that evening, as she sat in her dressing room preparing for the night's performance, Mae found herself thinking about Father Charlie again. What was he doing here? Why had he come back to the club, not once, but twice? Had something drawn him here, or was it just a coincidence? And more importantly, how long until he recognized her?

She couldn't afford to be seen as Seraphina. Not now, not ever. Seraphina was weak, lost, and controlled by the expectations of others. Mae had fought to build herself into something stronger, something untouchable. But with each passing night, the line between the two identities blurred a little more.

The door to her dressing room creaked open, and Mae looked up to see Frank standing in the doorway, his face tense.

"We need to talk," he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Mae's pulse quickened. She knew that tone. Something was wrong.

Frank sat down across from her, his expression grave. "I heard something tonight. Something you need to know."

Mae leaned forward, her heart pounding in her chest. "What is it?"

Frank hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room before speaking. "There's a new player in town. Someone's been asking questions about you—someone outside the club."

Mae's blood ran cold. "Who?"

"I don't know yet," Frank admitted, his voice low. "But it's not the usual people. This is different. Whoever they are, they're not just interested in the club. They're interested in you."

Mae's mind raced, panic rising in her chest. Who could be asking questions about her? And why now?

"Are they connected to the club?" she asked, her voice tight.

"I don't think so," Frank replied. "But I'm not sure. All I know is that whoever this is, they're digging, and they're not going to stop."

Mae swallowed hard, her throat tight. The walls were closing in, faster than she had anticipated. Someone was asking questions about her, and she had no idea who they were or what they wanted.

"Be careful, Mae," Frank warned. "This is bigger than you think."

Mae nodded, though her mind was already spinning with the implications. The people behind Hell's Angels weren't the only ones watching her now. Someone else was in the game, and they were getting closer.

Too close.

As Frank left the room, Mae sat back in her chair, her heart racing. Whoever was looking for her—whoever was asking questions—was a threat. She had to find out who they were before they found her.

And all the while, Father Charlie lingered in the shadows of her thoughts, a ghost from her past that refused to stay buried.

Mae stared at her reflection in the vanity, her eyes hardening with resolve. The game was getting more dangerous, but she wasn't going to back down.

She couldn't.

Mae could feel the tension in the air long before Frank spoke to her. The usual post-performance buzz of the club wasn't enough to drown out the feeling of eyes on her, watching her every move. Every time she turned, she caught glimpses of the staff, the security, even some of the regulars—staring, lingering a little too long. They weren't just observing her performance anymore. They were studying her.

She had to keep her focus. She couldn't afford to slip up, not when they were watching so closely now. The people behind Hell's Angels—the real power brokers—were playing a game, and she was the pawn. The thought made her stomach twist.

Her phone buzzed from the vanity table, the sudden sound jarring in the quiet room. Mae crossed the room and picked it up, her heart skipping a beat when she saw another message from the unknown number.

"You think you can hide? You're ours. Always."

The words sent a cold shiver down her spine. They were toying with her, reminding her at every turn that she had no real control, that no matter what she did, they would always be there, pulling the strings. She was trapped in their world, and the walls were closing in.

Mae slammed the phone down on the vanity, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the weight of everything pressed down on her. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up the act, keep pretending that everything was fine. But what choice did she have? She had chosen to stay, to fight, and now she had to see it through.

She paced the small room, her mind racing with possibilities. There had to be a way out, a way to expose whoever was behind this without getting herself killed in the process. Frank's warning about someone new asking questions still echoed in her mind. It wasn't just the club she had to worry about anymore—there were other players in this game now, and she had no idea who they were or what they wanted.

She had made the decision a long time ago—she wasn't leaving this place, not until she had answers. Not until she found out who was behind it all, why they had chosen her, and what the real endgame was. To walk away now, when she was so close to figuring it all out, would be to admit defeat. And Mae wasn't the type to give up easily.

Her phone buzzed on the vanity, and Mae instinctively reached for it, half-expecting another message from the mysterious number, another reminder that they were always watching. But it was Frank this time.

"We need to talk. Urgent. Meet me at the side entrance."

Mae's pulse quickened, a familiar sense of dread creeping over her. Every time Frank had said something was "urgent" lately, it had been bad news. She stared at the message for a moment before rising from the chair, grabbing her jacket, and slipping out of the dressing room. The corridor leading out of the backstage area was dimly lit, the air heavy with cigarette smoke and the faint scent of perfume. She passed a few dancers chatting quietly in the hallway, their laughter muffled as Mae slipped past them.

Reaching the side entrance, she pushed open the door to find Frank already waiting. His face was tense, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets as he glanced around, making sure they were alone.

"What's going on?" Mae asked, keeping her voice low.

Frank didn't respond right away. Instead, he glanced around one last time before pulling her further into the shadows, away from the prying eyes of the club.

"They know, Mae," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "They know you've been looking into things. They're suspicious of you."

Mae felt a cold shiver run down her spine, but she forced herself to stay calm. "Suspicious how?"

"They're watching everything you do," Frank continued. "Your performances, your comings and goings—everything. You're not just a dancer to them anymore. They think you're planning something, and they're starting to close in."

Mae clenched her fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. She had been so careful, so meticulous in her search for answers. But somehow, they had noticed. The people behind Hell's Angels were more perceptive than she had given them credit for. They weren't just running a nightclub—they were running an empire built on control, and Mae was threatening to tear it down.

"They haven't made any moves yet," Frank added quickly, sensing her frustration. "But it's only a matter of time. You need to be careful."

Mae's mind raced as she processed his words. She had known this was a dangerous game, but hearing it spelled out so clearly made it feel all too real. The people running this place wouldn't hesitate to eliminate anyone they saw as a threat. She had seen it happen to others—dancers, employees, people who had crossed the wrong line and simply disappeared without a trace.

"What do they want from me?" Mae asked, her voice hard. "What's their endgame?"

Frank hesitated, his eyes darkening. "Control. They want control over everything, and that includes you. You're not just the star of the club to them—you're an asset. And assets don't get to make their own choices."

Mae's stomach churned. She had suspected as much, but hearing it from Frank only solidified the truth. She wasn't just a dancer. She was a tool, a pawn in whatever game they were playing. And they weren't going to let her go so easily.

"I'm not leaving," Mae said firmly, her voice steady. "I've come too far to stop now. I need to figure out who's behind all of this, and I'm not going anywhere until I do."

Frank's face softened with concern. "Mae, I get it. But if you push too hard, if they catch wind of what you're doing, you won't have a choice. They'll make you disappear."

"I won't let that happen," Mae replied, her resolve hardening. "I'll stay under the radar. I'll keep playing their game until I find what I need. But I'm not backing down."

Frank let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just... be careful. I'm doing what I can to keep you safe, but they're watching everyone now. If you make one wrong move..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Mae understood the stakes perfectly. She was walking a tightrope, and one wrong step could send her plummeting.

"I'll be careful," Mae said quietly, meeting Frank's gaze. "But I'm not giving up."

Frank nodded, though his expression remained tense. "I'll keep you in the loop. Just... watch your back."

With that, he turned and disappeared back into the club, leaving Mae alone in the shadows of the alley. The distant hum of the city echoed around her, but Mae barely heard it. Her mind was too focused on the game she was playing—the dangerous, high-stakes game that was closing in on her faster than she had anticipated.

But she wasn't leaving. Not now. She had made her choice, and she was staying to see it through.

Mae turned and headed back inside, the pulse of the club's music growing louder as she made her way through the dimly lit hallways. She had a performance in less than an hour, and she needed to focus. The people running Hell's Angels might think they had her under control, but they didn't know her—not really. They didn't know what she was capable of.

As she slipped back into her dressing room, Mae caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. The makeup, the glitter, the costume—it was all part of the act. But beneath it, she was stronger than they realized.

They were watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake.

But Mae wasn't going to give them that satisfaction.

She was going to find out the truth. And when she did, she would make sure the people behind Hell's Angels paid for everything they had done.

The game was far from over.