Mae had already made up her mind—she was staying. There was no more hesitation, no more second-guessing. The fear was still there, a constant companion lurking in the back of her mind, but now it fueled her determination. She wasn't going to run, and she wasn't going to hide. Not anymore. She had to uncover who was behind this twisted game and stop them, before they destroyed her life completely.

Frank's car cut through the quiet night, the lights of Los Angeles fading into the distance as they headed toward the outskirts of town. Mae stared out the window, her thoughts sharp and focused. She wasn't just the headline act at Hell's Angels anymore; she was bait, a pawn in a game controlled by people she had never met but who knew everything about her.

"I know you've already made up your mind," Frank said, breaking the silence. His voice was quieter now, less urgent than it had been earlier. He was calm, but Mae could hear the underlying concern. "But you need to understand that this isn't just about figuring out who's in charge. This is about survival."

Mae didn't flinch. "I know what I'm up against, Frank. I'm not backing down."

Frank glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You're tougher than I thought. Most people would've run the minute they realized they were in this deep."

Mae shrugged. "Maybe I should have. But I'm not going to live my life looking over my shoulder. If I run, they'll find me. And if I don't... well, I might as well go down fighting."

A small, approving smile flickered across Frank's face. "Alright. If that's how it's going to be, then we need to make sure we play this smart. The minute they suspect you're not under their control, they'll make their move."

"I'll keep playing the part," Mae said, her voice steady. "I'll keep performing, showing up to every event they want me to. But I need you to find out who's behind it all. We can't hit them if we don't know where they are."

Frank nodded, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "I've got some contacts. People who know how to dig into things without raising alarms. But it's going to take time."

"I don't care how long it takes," Mae replied. "I just need to know who's pulling the strings."

As they approached the dimly lit streets that led to Hell's Angels, Mae felt the weight of her decision settle even more firmly on her shoulders. This wasn't just about her career anymore—it was about reclaiming her life from the people who thought they owned her. They had given her fame, success, and the spotlight, but it had come with a price. And Mae was done paying.

When Frank pulled up to the back of the club, Mae took a deep breath. The familiar neon sign buzzed in the distance, and the muffled sound of music pulsed through the walls. She had walked through those doors countless times, but now everything felt different. The club wasn't just her stage anymore—it was her battlefield.

"You're going to have to act like nothing's changed," Frank said, killing the engine. "Smile, perform, keep up appearances. The second they think you're onto them, they'll strike."

"I know," Mae said, her voice hardening. "But they won't get the chance."

Frank hesitated, his face dark with worry. "This isn't just a game, Mae. If you're going to stay in the fire, you need to be prepared to get burned."

Mae met his gaze, unwavering. "I'm ready."

With that, she opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. The alley behind the club was empty, save for the faint glow of cigarette butts discarded by staff and patrons alike. She could already feel the eyes on her, though—those unseen eyes that had been watching her for weeks, maybe even months.

She walked toward the back entrance, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. Every step felt heavier, like she was walking into the lion's den. But this time, she wasn't prey. She was hunting too.

Frank watched her for a moment before stepping out of the car to follow. "I'll be nearby," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the distant thrum of the music. "If anything happens—"

"I'll handle it," Mae cut in, her tone sharp. "Just do your part, Frank. Find out who's behind this."

He nodded, though Mae could see the worry in his eyes. "Alright. Just remember, Mae—don't trust anyone."

Mae gave a slight nod before slipping through the back door. The familiar warmth of the club hit her as soon as she stepped inside, the flashing lights and booming bass vibrating through the floor beneath her feet. It was like stepping into another world—a world where she was the star, the one everyone came to see. But beneath the surface, everything was different now. She wasn't just there to entertain. She was there to expose the people pulling the strings.

Mae made her way through the crowded hallway toward her dressing room, her expression calm and composed, though her mind was racing. She needed to play her part perfectly. No one could know that she was planning to turn the tables on them.

As she reached her dressing room, she noticed a folded note on the vanity, tucked under her makeup bag. Her heart skipped a beat as she carefully pulled it out, her fingers trembling slightly. She glanced around quickly, making sure no one was watching before unfolding the paper.

"We're watching. Don't forget who made you."

The words were simple, but they sent a chill down Mae's spine. She crumpled the note in her hand, forcing herself to breathe slowly. This was their way of reminding her that they still had control—that they were still in charge. But they were wrong.

Mae smoothed out her dress, checking her reflection in the mirror. Her expression was unreadable, her makeup flawless, but inside, she was a storm waiting to break.

She was done being afraid. She was done being controlled.

Mae had decided to stay in the fire—and she was going to burn them all down.

-

UNKNOWN.

He sat in the darkness, the faint glow of his laptop screen illuminating the otherwise pitch-black room. The curtains were drawn tight, sealing off any light from the outside world. He preferred it that way. It gave him space to think, to plan, to watch.

And tonight, he was watching her.

Mae had made her choice, as he had expected. She was stubborn, driven by the same fire that had drawn his attention in the first place. It wasn't just her talent, although that had been a factor. There was something about her spirit, something raw and untamed. He had known from the moment she first walked into Hell's Angels that she was different from the others.

She had potential.

But potential wasn't enough. Potential needed to be shaped, molded, controlled. That was the part people like Mae never understood. She thought her success was hers alone, that it was her talent, her hard work that had gotten her to where she was. But it wasn't. She had been carefully selected, guided, and positioned. Every step of her rise had been orchestrated, whether she realized it or not.

And now, she was his.

The feed on his laptop flickered as the camera hidden in the club's back hallway captured Mae walking toward her dressing room. She moved with a purpose, her head held high, her expression calm and composed. She was trying to play the part, trying to act like nothing had changed.

But he knew better.

He had seen the way her eyes darted around the club when she thought no one was watching. He had seen the tension in her shoulders, the subtle tremor in her hands when she touched the note he had left for her. She was afraid, even if she didn't want to admit it. And fear was a powerful tool.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him as he watched Mae on the screen. She thought she could fight him, that she could outsmart him. It was almost amusing. No one had ever beaten him. No one ever could. He was always ten steps ahead, always watching, always waiting.

Mae was a valuable asset, one that had taken time to cultivate. He had invested in her, in her talent, in her rise to fame. She was useful. But if she became a problem, if she became too difficult to control... well, there were always other options.

He had made people disappear before. It wasn't hard, not when you had the right connections, the right resources. And Mae was already on thin ice. He had given her everything, and now she was questioning him, trying to figure out who was behind the curtain.

A mistake.

The camera feed switched as Mae entered her dressing room, closing the door behind her. He watched as she stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself. He could almost see the gears turning in her mind, the questions, the doubts. She was planning something.

Good.

He liked it when they thought they could fight back. It made the game more interesting.

He had dealt with people like Mae before, people who thought they could defy him, expose him. But no one ever had. No one ever would. He was too careful, too methodical. Every move he made was calculated, every decision precise. He had built his empire on control, on knowing everything there was to know about the people he worked with.

And Mae? He knew her better than she knew herself.

He clicked a button on his laptop, pulling up a file with her name on it. Inside were detailed reports—her background, her habits, her weaknesses. Every piece of her life was documented, from her rise to fame to her most private moments. He had eyes everywhere, and Mae was no exception.

She was in too deep, and whether she realized it or not, she belonged to him now.

The camera feed flickered again, showing Mae pacing in her dressing room, the crumpled note still clutched in her hand. He had been watching her long enough to know what was going through her mind. She was scared, yes, but she was also angry. That anger could be useful, or it could be dangerous. It depended on how she played her hand.

But no matter what Mae did, he would be ready. He always was.

A small smile crept across his face as he watched her. She thought she was in control, thought she had the power to fight back. But in reality, she was just a piece on the board, and he was the one moving the pieces.

Mae had been right about one thing, though—she couldn't run. There was nowhere she could go that he couldn't reach her. He had eyes in every corner of the city, every part of her life. If she stepped out of line, he would know. If she tried to escape, he would be waiting.

She would stay. She would play her part. And when the time came, she would fall, just like all the others.

He leaned forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he typed out a new message. It would be brief, simple, but enough to remind Mae who was in control.

"We're watching, Mae. Don't forget your place."

He sent the message and watched as Mae's phone buzzed on the screen. She paused, staring down at the phone for a moment before picking it up. He saw the fear flash across her face, just for a second, before she quickly masked it.

Good.

She needed to remember who she was dealing with.

As the camera feed continued to play, he leaned back in his chair once more, satisfied. The game was only just beginning, and Mae had no idea how deep she was in. But he did. He had known from the start.

And when it was all over, she would realize that too.

He was always watching. Always waiting.

And Mae? She had no idea just how dangerous the game had become.