The music thumped through the walls of Hell's Angels, pulsing in time with the tension that gripped Mae's chest. She had slipped through the crowd, her body moving on autopilot as she danced, her mind elsewhere. The heat of the club, the roar of the audience, and the flashing lights felt distant, muted by the thoughts racing through her head.

Her performance had been flawless, as it always was, but she barely remembered it. She couldn't shake the feeling that every pair of eyes in the club was watching her, dissecting her every move, waiting for her to make a mistake. Frank's warning echoed in her mind: people were asking questions, and dangerous ones at that. And she knew that the man from the shadows—the one who had been watching her—was at the heart of it.

But who was he? And what did he want?

Mae slipped backstage after her final set, her heart pounding as she made her way to the dressing room. She needed a moment to think, to clear her head. The adrenaline from the performance was still coursing through her veins, but there was something else there too—a gnawing sense of dread that had been building all night.

The door to the dressing room clicked shut behind her, and Mae leaned against it, taking a deep breath. The quiet felt like a relief, a moment of reprieve from the chaos outside. She walked to the mirror and stared at her reflection, the bright lights around the vanity casting harsh shadows on her face.

Who are you really? she thought, her eyes locking with her own reflection. Mae had spent years building this persona, carefully crafting a version of herself that was confident, untouchable. But now, with the walls closing in, she wasn't sure if Mae was enough to protect her anymore.

She had been Seraphina once—naïve, hopeful, devout. But that girl had died a long time ago. Mae had taken her place, and Mae didn't break. Mae didn't let fear rule her. But tonight, Mae felt like she was slipping.

The man who had been watching her seemed to know something about her, something deeper than just her life at Hell's Angels. It was as if he could see past the performance, past the mask she wore, and it terrified her. She had worked too hard to bury her past and become someone new.

A knock on the door startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. Her muscles tensed as she waited, half expecting it to be Frank with more bad news or, worse, the man from the shadows. But no one entered. The knock was brief, a reminder that she wasn't truly alone.

Mae exhaled sharply and shook her head, trying to shake off the feeling that had been crawling up her spine all night. She couldn't let this fear take control of her. She had to figure out who the man was and what he wanted from her.

She pushed herself away from the mirror and paced the small dressing room, her mind racing. Frank had warned her about the people asking questions, but he hadn't given her any specifics. And the man...he was always watching, always disappearing before she could confront him. It felt like she was stuck in some kind of twisted game, one where she didn't know the rules and couldn't see the end.

Enough, she thought, her fists clenching at her sides. Enough hiding. Enough waiting.

Mae grabbed her coat and left the dressing room, her heels clicking against the floor as she moved quickly through the backstage corridors. The thumping of the music had dulled, and the club was winding down for the night. As she stepped out into the cool night air, she took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her chest ease slightly.

The streets were quieter now, only a few stragglers lingering outside the club. Mae walked toward the alleyway, her mind spinning with possibilities. She needed to find out more about the man who had been watching her, but she couldn't go through Frank. Not yet. She needed to find her own way to get answers.

She reached the end of the alley and leaned against the brick wall, closing her eyes as the cool breeze washed over her. The city hummed around her, the distant sounds of cars and voices drifting through the air. For a moment, she let herself just breathe, trying to push the fear and uncertainty aside.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him. The man from the club. The one who had been watching her.

He stood across the street, half-hidden in the shadows of a building, his eyes locked on her. Mae's heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening as their gazes met. He didn't move, didn't speak—just watched her with that same intensity that had unnerved her all night.

Mae froze, her breath catching in her throat. This was it. This was the moment she had been dreading, the moment when everything would come to a head.

But instead of fear, a surge of determination welled up inside her. She had run long enough. It was time to face him.

Without thinking, Mae stepped away from the wall and started walking toward him, her eyes never leaving his. The distance between them seemed to stretch on forever, each step echoing in her mind like a drumbeat. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but she didn't stop.

As she approached him, the man stepped out of the shadows, his face still partially obscured by the dim light. He didn't speak, didn't move—just waited, as if he had been expecting her all along.

Mae stopped a few feet away from him, her pulse racing. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, the man turned and disappeared into the darkness of the alley.

Mae stood there, her heart hammering in her chest, her mind spinning. He had been right there—so close. But he had slipped away again, just like before.

Who was he? And why was he watching her?

Mae didn't have the answers. But she knew one thing for sure.

She wasn't running anymore.

-

Mae woke up the next morning with the remnants of her restless night clinging to her like cobwebs. She had tossed and turned, haunted by the fleeting image of the man who had been watching her, his eyes dark and unreadable, disappearing into the shadows just as she had finally worked up the nerve to confront him. The adrenaline that had fueled her the night before was gone, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

She pulled herself out of bed and walked over to the window. The city was already alive with the sounds of traffic, the honking of horns and the distant murmur of people going about their lives. Mae watched it all in silence, feeling oddly detached from it, as if she were watching the world from behind a pane of glass.

What was she doing? What was her next move?

The questions gnawed at her, but the answers felt slippery, just out of reach. She knew that she couldn't keep ignoring the man in the shadows, couldn't keep pretending that the world around her wasn't closing in. Frank's warning had made it clear—dangerous people were asking about her, and they wouldn't stop until they got what they wanted.

But what did they want?

Mae tore herself away from the window and made her way to the kitchen, her bare feet cold against the tiled floor. She started a pot of coffee, the familiar sound of the percolator grounding her in the present. As the rich smell of coffee filled the small apartment, Mae leaned against the counter, staring down at the marble countertop, lost in thought.

She didn't want to run anymore. That much she was sure of. But facing this head-on meant diving into a world she had spent years trying to avoid. She had buried Seraphina, her past life, deep down, becoming Mae—the confident, untouchable performer at Hell's Angels. But now, it seemed like no matter how far she ran, that past was clawing its way back into the present.

The man in the shadows, whoever he was, seemed to know more about her than she knew about herself. It was as if he held the key to something buried deep within her past, something she had long forgotten or had chosen to ignore. And that terrified her.

The coffee pot gurgled to a stop, and Mae poured herself a cup, the warmth of the mug comforting in her hands. She took a sip, the bitter taste jolting her awake, but it did little to ease the tension in her chest. She glanced at the clock—it was still early. Too early to head to the club, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sit in the silence of her apartment for much longer.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, pulling her attention. She picked it up, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Frank's name flash across the screen.

"We need to talk. Meet me at the diner. 10 a.m."

Mae's stomach tightened, a knot of unease forming in her gut. Frank had been her anchor in the storm, the one person she could count on to keep her grounded. If he was reaching out this early, it wasn't for a casual chat. Something had shifted. And it wasn't good.

She quickly texted back her confirmation and set the phone down, her mind already racing. Whatever Frank had to say, she needed to be prepared. The storm that had been building around her for weeks was about to break, and Mae knew she couldn't face it alone.

The diner was quieter than usual when Mae arrived, the steady hum of conversation and the clink of silverware against plates providing a muted background noise. She spotted Frank sitting in a booth in the far corner, his back to the wall, his expression serious as he sipped his coffee. He looked up as she approached, his face softening just slightly.

"Mae," he greeted, gesturing for her to sit.

Mae slid into the booth across from him, her heart pounding in her chest. "What's going on, Frank? What's so urgent?"

Frank set his cup down, leaning forward slightly as his voice lowered. "There's been more talk. I've been hearing things—more questions being asked about you, more people taking an interest."

Mae's chest tightened. "Who? Do you know who's behind it?"

Frank shook his head. "Not exactly. But I'm hearing names I don't like, people you don't want to be involved with. The kind of people who don't take no for an answer."

Mae swallowed hard, her throat dry. "What do they want?"

"That's the part that doesn't make sense," Frank admitted, running a hand through his hair. "At first, I thought it was just about the club. You're a headline act, Mae. You draw in crowds. But this... it feels personal. Like someone's digging into your past, and they're not going to stop until they find what they're looking for."

Mae felt a chill run down her spine. Her past. The one thing she had worked so hard to bury. But now, it seemed like it was rising to the surface, no matter how hard she tried to keep it hidden.

"Why now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why is this happening now?"

Frank sighed, his expression darkening. "I don't know. But what I do know is that whoever is behind this isn't going to back off. You need to be careful, Mae. Don't trust anyone. Not even me, if it comes to that."

Mae stared at him, her heart sinking. She had always trusted Frank. He had been there for her when she first started at Hell's Angels, had guided her through the chaos of the club, had protected her from the darker side of the industry. But now, even he was telling her to be cautious.

"What do I do, Frank?" Mae asked, her voice trembling. "How do I stop this?"

"You lay low," Frank said firmly. "Keep doing what you're doing, but don't draw attention to yourself. If someone approaches you, don't engage. Let me handle it. I'll keep digging, but I need time. And you need to stay out of sight."

Mae nodded, though her mind was spinning. How was she supposed to lay low when the world around her was closing in? How was she supposed to keep performing, keep pretending everything was normal, when she felt like a ticking time bomb?

Frank reached across the table, his hand covering hers. "I'll protect you, Mae. You're not in this alone. But you have to trust me."

Mae looked at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. But all she saw was the same determination that had always been there. Frank had never let her down before, and she didn't have many options left.

"I trust you," she said quietly, though the words felt heavy in her mouth.

Frank nodded, releasing her hand and sitting back. "Good. Now go home. Get some rest. And stay out of sight."

Mae stood up, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her. As she left the diner, the weight of everything Frank had said pressed down on her like a lead blanket. Her past was catching up with her, and there was no way to outrun it.

But she wasn't ready to give in. Not yet.

As she walked through the streets, the familiar sounds of the city echoing around her, Mae made a silent promise to herself.

She would figure this out. She would find out who was behind it, and she would take back control of her life.

No matter the cost.