The night felt colder than usual as Mae made her way toward Hell's Angels. Her suitcase bumped along the uneven sidewalk, each crack in the pavement jarring her already frayed nerves. The club wasn't far, but with every step, the weight of the decision she had made pressed down on her, making the distance feel endless. The neon lights that usually guided her way felt harsher tonight, flickering ominously against the darkened sky.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to be in control, running the show, dictating the terms. But now, it seemed that every move she made was decided for her. The men who had come to her apartment had made it clear—there was no way out. Not anymore.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see someone following her, but the street was eerily empty. Still, she could feel their presence, lurking just out of sight, waiting for her to make a wrong move. Every shadow seemed to stretch and twist toward her, threatening to pull her in.

Mae's heart raced as she neared the entrance to the club, the imposing doors of Hell's Angels looming in front of her. She hesitated for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. She had been here a thousand times before, but tonight felt different. Tonight, the club wasn't just a place to perform—it was a cage, and once she stepped inside, she knew there would be no escape.

She reached for the handle, her fingers trembling as she pushed the door open. The familiar scent of smoke, sweat, and alcohol hit her as she stepped inside, the low thrum of the music vibrating through her bones. The club was alive, as it always was, but to Mae, it felt hollow, like a trap waiting to spring.

Nikki was at the bar, talking to a group of regulars, but her eyes flicked over to Mae the moment she walked in. There was a flash of confusion on her face, followed by concern. Mae offered her a weak smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She didn't want to explain. Not yet. Not while the weight of the night still clung to her like a second skin.

She made her way through the crowd, trying to avoid the lingering gazes of patrons and staff alike. Everyone knew her here—she was the headline act, the one who drew the crowds. But tonight, all Mae wanted was to disappear into the background, to fade into the shadows where no one could find her.

As she approached the backstage area, her heart pounded in her chest. This was it. She was returning to the place where it all began, the place where she had once felt powerful, invincible. But now, it felt like she was stepping into enemy territory. The whispers of control, manipulation, and danger were everywhere, and she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her, waiting for her next move.

She slipped into the dressing room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The familiar surroundings did little to ease her anxiety. Her vanity was still cluttered with makeup and accessories, her costumes hung neatly in the closet, but none of it felt like hers anymore. It all belonged to them now—just like she did.

Mae dropped her suitcase onto the floor, her hands shaking as she leaned against the wall. She closed her eyes, taking slow, measured breaths, trying to calm the storm inside her. But the panic was relentless, clawing at her chest, making it hard to breathe. She felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of the club, by the knowledge that no matter what she did, she couldn't escape.

She slid down the wall, sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest. The room felt smaller, more oppressive, as if the walls were closing in around her. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it, too consumed by the fear that had settled deep in her bones.

Why did I think I could outrun this? The thought echoed in her mind, taunting her. She had been foolish to think she could leave, that she could somehow escape the clutches of the club and the man behind it. They had always been one step ahead, watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake.

Another knock on the door jolted her out of her thoughts. Mae's heart leaped into her throat as she scrambled to her feet, her pulse racing. For a moment, she considered not answering, but she knew it was pointless. They wouldn't leave her alone.

"Mae?" Nikki's voice was soft, concerned. "Can I come in?"

Mae hesitated, her hand hovering over the door handle before finally opening it. Nikki stepped inside, her brow furrowed with worry as she looked Mae over.

"You look... tense," Nikki said, her voice gentle. "Are you okay?"

Mae forced a smile, but it felt hollow. "Yeah, just... rough night."

Nikki didn't buy it, but she didn't push. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

Mae nodded, her throat tight with the effort to hold back her emotions. "Thanks, Nikki. I just need a minute."

Nikki gave her a lingering look before turning to leave. "We're on in an hour. Take your time, okay?"

As the door clicked shut behind her, Mae let out a long, shaky breath. She was running out of time—out of options. Every move she made felt like it was under scrutiny, every decision one step closer to the inevitable. She couldn't hide forever. They would come for her again, and next time, they wouldn't be so gentle.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time, she couldn't ignore it. She pulled it out of her pocket, her heart sinking as she read the message.

"See you soon. Don't make us come get you again."

The blood drained from her face. They were watching her, waiting for her to step out of line. She couldn't run. She couldn't leave. The only thing she could do was stay. And perform.

Mae felt a wave of nausea wash over her. How had it come to this? How had she let herself fall so far into their trap that there was no way out?

She set the phone down, staring at the empty room around her. The silence felt suffocating, pressing in on her from all sides. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. All she knew was that she was trapped in a world she no longer recognized, and there was no one left to save her.

Mae stood frozen in the middle of the dressing room, her mind buzzing with the threat that lingered from the message. The cold, sterile light above her cast shadows on the walls, making the room feel even smaller, more suffocating. She had never imagined this place, her sanctuary of performance and identity, could feel like a prison. But now, every inch of it reminded her of the grip they had over her.

She swallowed hard and looked down at the suitcase sitting next to the vanity. It was still packed, as if mocking her futile attempt to escape. The thought of unpacking made her stomach churn. She hadn't really accepted her fate yet, had she? The idea of staying, of performing night after night under their watchful eyes, felt like an impossible burden to bear.

But she had no choice. Mae knew that now.

Her phone buzzed again, a low hum that made her skin prickle. She glanced at it, half-dreading the new message. Another warning, another reminder of who was in charge. But this time, it wasn't a text. It was a call from Nikki.

Mae took a deep breath and answered, trying to steady her voice. "Yeah?"

"Hey," Nikki's voice was soft, almost hesitant. "I just wanted to check in. Are you sure you're okay? You seemed off earlier."

Mae closed her eyes, willing herself to sound composed. "I'm fine, Nikki. Just a lot going on."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Mae could practically hear the concern in Nikki's silence. "If you need to talk, or even if you want to get out of here for a bit after your set, we could go grab a drink or something. Clear your head."

The offer was tempting, more tempting than Mae wanted to admit. But she couldn't leave. Not now. Not with the eyes of Hell's Angels watching her every move. She was trapped, and even though Nikki meant well, there was nothing she could do to help.

"Maybe another time," Mae said, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. "I've just got a lot to deal with right now."

"Okay," Nikki replied, though she didn't sound convinced. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Mae hung up and placed the phone back on the vanity, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her—the woman who had once been so strong, so determined to make her own way. Now, all she saw was someone lost, someone who had been backed into a corner with no way out.

She bit her lip and reached for her makeup, mechanically applying her foundation and lipstick with practiced precision. It was easier to focus on the routine, on the mask she wore for the world, than to think about the reality pressing down on her. If she could just get through tonight, if she could make it through her set without falling apart, maybe she'd have time to figure out what to do next.

But as she stared at her painted face in the mirror, Mae knew she was lying to herself. There was no next move. They had made that clear. She was exactly where they wanted her, performing under their control, and there was no escape.

A soft knock on the door startled her, and her heart leaped into her throat. She quickly wiped the last traces of makeup from her fingers and turned to face the door, steeling herself for whatever was coming next.

"Mae?" It was one of the club's security guards, his voice gruff but neutral. "You're on in ten."

She nodded, though the man couldn't see her through the door. "I'll be out in a minute."

The guard's footsteps retreated down the hall, leaving her alone once again in the oppressive silence of the room. Mae stared at her reflection for a moment longer before standing and smoothing down her dress. Her heart pounded as she reached for the doorknob, her hand trembling slightly.

As she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the familiar sounds of the club washed over her—the low hum of the music, the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses. But tonight, it all felt different. The usual excitement she felt before a performance was absent, replaced by a gnawing dread that made her stomach turn.

She made her way to the stage, her heels clicking softly against the floor. The crowd was already gathering, their faces expectant, eager for the show to begin. But Mae could barely see them through the haze of anxiety clouding her vision. She couldn't stop thinking about the men who had come to her apartment, about the text message she had received. The invisible strings that bound her to this place felt tighter than ever, pulling her back to the stage with no hope of escape.

As she stepped onto the platform, the lights dimmed, and the music began to swell. Mae took a deep breath, slipping into the persona she had crafted for the audience—the seductive, confident performer they all came to see. But tonight, it felt like a costume she could barely keep on.

The pole was cold under her hands as she began to move, her body flowing with the rhythm of the music. She felt the familiar eyes on her, the gazes of the men in the audience following her every move. But none of it mattered. None of it could distract her from the weight of the eyes that really mattered—the ones watching from the shadows, ensuring that she played her part.

With every twist, every arch of her back, Mae felt the strings tightening around her. She was their puppet now, performing not just for the crowd, but for the men who controlled her fate. Every movement felt like a reminder of the power they held over her, the invisible hand guiding her every step.

The lights flashed, casting her shadow on the walls, making it dance alongside her. But as she moved, Mae couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't the one in control. It was them. Always them.

When the set ended, the applause washed over her, but it felt hollow. She descended from the stage, her body aching, her mind numb. The performance had been perfect, as always, but there was no satisfaction, no pride. Only the gnawing sense that she had given them exactly what they wanted.

Mae retreated to the dressing room, shutting the door behind her with a heavy thud. She collapsed onto the chair in front of the vanity, staring at her reflection once again. The mask was starting to slip. She could see it in her eyes—the fear, the exhaustion, the quiet desperation that had begun to settle in her bones.

She pulled out her phone, scrolling through the messages, the texts from blocked numbers that had haunted her for days. There was no way out. They had made that clear.

But as Mae sat there in the suffocating silence of the dressing room, a new thought crept into her mind. If she couldn't escape, if she couldn't outrun them, maybe there was another way. Maybe the only way to survive was to play the game on their terms.

She would stay. She would perform. But she would be watching too. Waiting. Because no matter how powerful they thought they were, Mae wasn't done fighting yet.

She would find a way to take back control. One way or another