The hum of the music from Hell's Angels seeped through the walls of Mae's dressing room, vibrating in the air like a low, ominous pulse. The usual pre-performance ritual, once a moment of calm, now felt stifling. She couldn't shake the feeling that tonight was different, that the walls were closing in around her. Every step she took felt like it was being watched, scrutinized.

She sat at the vanity, staring into the mirror, but it wasn't her reflection she was focused on. It was the layers of herself she'd learned to hide beneath the makeup, the costume, the routine. Mae was a persona, a mask she wore to survive in this world, but underneath, Seraphina was still there—buried, but not gone.

It had been days since she last saw Father Charlie. He hadn't returned to the club since that second night, and a part of her was relieved. The tension of seeing him, of being so close to someone who knew the version of her she had left behind, had been almost unbearable. But there was another part of her that couldn't stop thinking about him, wondering why he had shown up in the first place. He wasn't a man who just stumbled into a place like Hell's Angels by accident.

Mae took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She couldn't afford to be distracted, not tonight. With every passing day, the people behind the club were getting closer to figuring her out. Frank had warned her to lay low, but that wasn't an option anymore. She had to keep moving, keep digging, or she would lose her only chance to uncover the truth.

A knock on the door jolted her out of her thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat, the fear of being caught creeping up her spine. She exhaled sharply and stood, her hand tightening on the edge of the vanity.

"Come in," she called out, her voice steadier than she felt.

The door opened slowly, and Frank stepped inside, his face pale, his eyes darting around the room. He shut the door behind him, his expression grim.

"They're making moves, Mae," he said quietly, his voice tense. "I overheard some of the higher-ups talking. They're not just suspicious of you anymore—they're convinced you're hiding something."

Mae's stomach dropped. "What are they planning?"

"They're watching you even closer now. I don't know exactly what they'll do next, but they're testing you. They want to see if you slip up, if you give them a reason to make their move."

Mae felt the familiar weight of dread settling in her chest. She had expected this, but hearing it from Frank made it real. The people behind Hell's Angels were no longer content to let her play her part. They wanted control, full control, and they weren't going to stop until they had it.

"Is there any way to delay them?" Mae asked, her mind racing. "Buy me some time?"

Frank shook his head. "They've already put too much in motion. I can stall them for a little while longer, but you need to be careful. If they get even the slightest hint that you're working against them, they'll come down hard."

Mae leaned against the vanity, her fingers tapping nervously against the wood. She had always known the risks of digging too deep, but now it felt like the walls were closing in faster than she had anticipated. She had to stay ahead of them, had to figure out their next move before they figured out hers.

"Have you found anything new?" Frank asked, his voice low.

Mae nodded, though the information she had gathered was fragmented at best. "I've been digging into the financials, tracing where the money's going. There's a pattern, but it's not complete yet. I think it's all being funneled to someone, but I haven't figured out who."

Frank's eyes narrowed. "You need to find out who, Mae. That's the key. Whoever's at the top, they're the one pulling all the strings."

"I'm working on it," Mae replied, her voice edged with frustration. "But I need more time."

Frank rubbed his hand over his face, clearly stressed. "Time is something you don't have a lot of right now."

Mae knew he was right. Every second she spent chasing leads was a second closer to being caught. But she had no other choice. She couldn't just walk away, not without knowing the truth.

"They're having some kind of private event in a few days," Frank added after a long pause. "VIPs only. It's supposed to be exclusive, and they've kept the details under wraps. I don't know what's going on, but whatever it is, it's big. You might be able to get something there."

Mae's heart quickened at the mention of the event. An exclusive gathering of the club's most powerful players—it could be exactly the opportunity she needed.

"Do you think I can get in?" she asked, her mind already calculating the risks.

Frank hesitated, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "It's dangerous, Mae. They're already suspicious of you. If you show up there and they think you're not supposed to be, it could go south fast."

"I can handle it," Mae said firmly. "If there's a chance to find out more, I need to be there."

Frank looked at her for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly. "Alright. I'll figure out a way to get you in. But be careful. If anything goes wrong, there's no telling what they'll do."

Mae nodded, her resolve hardening. She knew the risks, but she wasn't backing down. This was her chance, maybe her only chance, to get closer to the truth.

As Frank left the room, Mae sat back down in front of the vanity, staring at her reflection once more. The mask she wore for the club, the persona she had built over the years, was still in place. But underneath, the cracks were starting to show.

She had to be careful. One wrong move, and everything she had worked for would crumble. The people behind Hell's Angels were dangerous, and they were getting closer to figuring her out.

But Mae wasn't going to let them win.

The upcoming event could be the key to unlocking the secrets she needed to uncover. It was a risk, but it was one she had to take.

As she touched up her makeup, preparing for another performance, Mae made a silent vow to herself. She wasn't leaving this place until she had the answers she was searching for. And when she did, she would make sure the people who thought they owned her paid for everything they had done.

She wasn't theirs.

Not yet.

-

For the first time in a long while, Mae found herself staring at the ceiling of her apartment, the weight of her decisions pressing down on her. The club had become a vortex, pulling her in deeper every day, and the more she struggled against it, the tighter the chains seemed to wrap around her. Frank's warning echoed in her mind, louder than it ever had before: "You're running out of time, Mae. They're watching every move."

She exhaled slowly, her chest tightening with the realization that if she kept pushing, she would end up like the others—disappeared without a trace. She couldn't risk it. Not anymore. For now, the best strategy was survival, and survival meant laying low, playing her part without stirring the waters.

No more digging. No more chasing leads. No more trying to unravel the tangled web of secrets that ran through Hell's Angels. Not until the storm passed.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. Mae was never one to back down, but the pressure from all sides had grown too much. She had been walking on the edge for weeks now, and any slip-up could send her plummeting into the abyss.

She pushed herself off the bed and stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection with an intensity that felt almost foreign. The glitter, the makeup, the stage persona—it was all still there, but there was something missing in her eyes. The fire she had clung to for so long had dimmed, replaced by the cold reality of her situation.

Mae was a fighter, but even fighters needed to know when to retreat.

She let out a frustrated breath and grabbed her jacket, heading out the door. The club was her prison, but it was also the only place she knew how to play the game. If she could keep her head down, blend in like any other dancer, maybe they'd lose interest. Maybe they'd stop seeing her as a threat.

The club was already buzzing when she arrived, the dim lights casting familiar shadows along the walls. The thumping music pulsed through her veins as she made her way through the crowd. No one paid her any special attention tonight. That was good. No eyes lingering on her longer than they should. No whispers about what she might be up to.

Backstage, the other dancers were preparing for their performances, laughing, chatting, completely unaware of the storm swirling around Mae. She envied them—their carefree attitudes, their ability to live in this world without being sucked into the darkness beneath it.

Mae sat down in front of the vanity and began her routine. She knew it by heart: the makeup, the hair, the costume. Each step was mechanical, almost therapeutic in its repetition. She didn't have to think when she was getting ready. It was one of the only moments of her day when she could just exist, without worrying about the people watching her or the secrets buried deep within the club.

Her fingers stilled for a moment as she thought about the event Frank had mentioned. It was supposed to happen soon—exclusive, filled with VIPs, and shrouded in mystery. Before, she would have jumped at the opportunity to sneak in, to gather information, to find out who was really behind the club's operations. But now... now she knew better. She couldn't afford to make waves. Not until she was sure they had stopped watching her so closely.

As tempting as it was to dive back into the mystery, she had to let it go. At least for now.

Mae finished her makeup, standing up and adjusting her costume in the mirror. She forced a smile, though it felt hollow, the weight of her decision sitting heavy on her chest. She wasn't giving up, not entirely, but she was stepping back, slipping into the shadows where it was safer.

For now, she would be what they wanted her to be—just another dancer, blending in with the crowd. No digging, no questioning. She would be Mae, not Seraphina. Mae could survive in this world. Seraphina, on the other hand, had no place here.

As she made her way to the stage entrance, the familiar buzz of nerves settled into her stomach. She could do this. She had done it a thousand times before. She knew how to perform, how to give them exactly what they wanted without giving too much of herself away.

The music started, and Mae stepped onto the stage, the lights blinding her to the crowd. For the first time in weeks, she let herself slip fully into the role. There was no one watching her more closely than anyone else. No eyes following her with suspicion. She was just another performer, another face in the sea of dancers who came and went through the club's doors.

The performance passed in a blur, the rhythm of the music and the cheers of the crowd fading into the background as Mae focused solely on the movements. She could feel herself relaxing, the tension in her shoulders easing as she let go of the constant pressure to be on guard. Maybe this was what she needed—to just disappear into the routine, to stop fighting against the tide.

As she stepped offstage, her heart still racing from the adrenaline, Mae felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. For the first time in a while, she didn't feel like the walls were closing in. Maybe, just maybe, laying low was the right move. Maybe if she stayed quiet long enough, they would forget about her, lose interest, and move on to someone else.

But deep down, she knew it was only a temporary reprieve. The people behind Hell's Angels didn't just forget. They didn't just let things go. But for now, they hadn't made any moves, and Mae had to take advantage of that.

She made her way back to the dressing room, slipping out of her costume and wiping the makeup from her face. The silence in the room was comforting, a brief moment of peace in a world that felt increasingly chaotic.

As Mae settled into her routine of laying low, she couldn't help but wonder how long it would last. How long could she hide in plain sight before the storm came crashing down? But for now, she would stay still, unnoticed, and wait for the right moment to act again.

She was still a part of this game, but she was playing by their rules now. At least, for the time being.