Mae sat at the vanity in her dressing room, staring at her reflection but barely seeing it. The bright lights framed her face, casting her in an artificial glow, but the woman staring back at her felt like a stranger. She had spent so long cultivating this persona—Mae, the confident, alluring headline performer of Hell's Angels—but it was starting to crumble.

Her mind was far from the upcoming show. The strange text messages, the constant feeling of being watched, and the unnerving encounter with Charlie weighed heavily on her. The feeling that something was terribly wrong had been growing like a storm on the horizon, and now it felt like that storm was closing in.

Time's running out, Mae. Make your choice.

The message had been brief but terrifying. What choice were they talking about? What was she being forced into? She had run from her past to escape a life that felt suffocating, but now it seemed like the walls were closing in once again—only this time, there was no escape.

The dressing room door creaked open slightly, and Mae's heart jumped into her throat. She quickly turned, half-expecting to see one of the men who had been following her—or worse, Charlie. But it was Layla, her fellow dancer and occasional confidante, holding two drinks in her hands.

"Babe, you look like you've seen a ghost," Layla said, her voice light as she sauntered into the room and set one of the drinks down on the vanity in front of Mae.

Mae forced a smile. "Just tired, I guess."

Layla eyed her suspiciously. "Tired? Or stressed? You've been off for days now. You're like, always looking over your shoulder." She lowered her voice, a touch of concern creeping into her tone. "What's going on, Mae? You know you can talk to me, right?"

Mae hesitated. Part of her wanted to confide in Layla, to tell her everything—about the man in the alley, the texts, the way Charlie had seemed to shift from the man she once knew into someone else entirely. But she couldn't. She didn't know who to trust anymore. Anyone could be part of this twisted game she had been dragged into.

"Really, I'm fine," Mae said, trying to sound convincing. "It's just the pressure, you know? Headlining the club and all. It gets to you sometimes."

Layla didn't look entirely convinced, but she shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "Well, if you need to talk, you know where to find me."

Mae nodded, but her thoughts were far from the casual conversation. She was acutely aware of how every little thing now seemed to carry hidden meaning. The tension around her felt thicker every day, and the people in her life—Frank, Layla, even Charlie—were starting to feel like pieces in a game she didn't understand.

Layla glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. "Showtime soon. You sure you're ready?"

Mae glanced at her reflection again, a tight knot of anxiety forming in her stomach. She wasn't ready. Not at all. But what choice did she have? She had to keep moving forward, had to keep pretending everything was fine, or else she'd risk slipping even further into the darkness she was trying so hard to avoid.

"I'll be fine," Mae said, forcing another smile. "Just need a minute."

Layla gave her a sympathetic look before heading for the door. "Don't overthink it, babe. You've got this. Like you always do."

As soon as Layla left, the smile slipped from Mae's face. She was tired of pretending everything was fine, tired of trying to piece together the puzzle while feeling like she was always missing a key part. She needed to figure out what was happening, and fast, before she lost herself completely.

She picked up her phone and stared at the cryptic message again. The word "choice" hung heavy in her mind. What choice did they expect her to make? And why did it feel like the more she tried to find answers, the more the world around her twisted into something unrecognizable?

The door creaked again, and this time it was Charlie. He slipped inside quietly, his face unreadable, though there was a tension in his eyes that Mae couldn't ignore.

"I thought I'd check on you before the show," he said, his voice soft but careful.

Mae nodded slowly, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn't help the unease that spread through her whenever he was near now. There was something about the way he watched her, the way he spoke—it was different. More controlled. More calculated.

"I'm fine," Mae said, trying to keep her voice steady. But even as she said it, she knew Charlie could see right through her.

Charlie took a step closer, his gaze locking onto hers. "Are you sure? You seem... distracted."

"I'm just... tired," she repeated, hating how weak the excuse sounded.

There was a long pause, and Mae could feel the weight of Charlie's eyes on her, searching for something. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity.

"I just want you to know," Charlie said slowly, "that I'm here for you. No matter what's going on, I'm here to help."

Mae swallowed, her throat tight. There was something off about the way he said it. Like a warning. Like a reminder.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I know. I appreciate that."

But as Charlie stepped back and gave her one last lingering look before leaving, Mae couldn't shake the feeling that she was standing on the edge of something far darker than she could understand. And Charlie—once her closest ally—was somehow at the center of it.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Mae let out a shaky breath, her mind racing. She was running out of time. Whatever game was being played, she was a pawn in it. And if she didn't figure out who was pulling the strings soon, she knew she wouldn't survive much longer.

Mae took a deep breath, her hands lightly shaking as she gripped the polished brass pole at the center of the stage. The music pulsed in her veins, the steady beat echoing the thudding of her heart. The lights overhead dimmed slightly, casting her in a soft glow. She had performed countless times before, but tonight was different. Tonight, she needed to be perfect.

The crowd in Hell's Angels was packed as usual, the faces in the dimly lit room blending together into a sea of eager eyes and murmured conversations. But Mae couldn't focus on them, not tonight. She had to lose herself in the performance, become someone else, if only for a few minutes. Up here on the stage, she wasn't the scared, paranoid woman who felt like her life was slipping through her fingers—she was powerful, she was in control.

The music built to its first crescendo, and Mae moved with it, her body responding to the rhythm instinctively. She hooked her leg around the pole and spun, her back arched, her hair fanning out behind her in a cascade of black waves. The crowd roared in appreciation, but Mae barely heard them. She was focused—her mind and body working together to deliver the performance of her life.

Her hands slid effortlessly up the pole as she pulled herself higher, lifting her body into the air in a graceful arch. She held the pose for a moment, feeling the strength in her muscles, the power in her control. She was weightless, suspended in the spotlight, and for a brief moment, the tension in her mind melted away. Up here, nothing else mattered.

She flipped upside down, locking her thighs around the pole and letting her arms extend outward, her body spinning slowly as the lights shifted to a deep red. The audience erupted again, and Mae could feel their energy surging through her. She was performing not just for them, but for herself—proving that despite everything happening outside these walls, she was still in control of her own body, her own movement.

The music picked up pace, and Mae transitioned into a series of spins, her legs moving in perfect synchrony with the beat. She twisted her body, sliding down the pole in a controlled drop before catching herself just inches above the floor. Her arms strained against the weight, but the adrenaline pushed her through the strain, her breath coming fast and shallow as she moved back into the next series of poses.

With each fluid motion, the doubts and fears that had been weighing her down began to dissipate. Her body moved like liquid, bending and twisting as the audience cheered. She swung around the pole with precision, flipping effortlessly into a backbend before pulling herself upright, her chest heaving with exertion.

She glanced toward the audience for a brief second, and her eyes locked with a familiar figure in the crowd. It was Charlie.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, but she didn't let it show. His gaze was fixed on her, intense, unwavering, but she refused to break focus. Not here. Not now.

She continued her routine, her movements sharp and precise as she arched her body around the pole, her skin catching the light as she spun. But the sight of Charlie watching her from the shadows lingered in her mind, unsettling her in a way she couldn't shake. Why was he here tonight? Was it just another routine check-in, or was there something more to his presence?

Mae pushed the thoughts aside as she reached the climax of her performance. She climbed the pole once again, higher this time, until she was nearly touching the rafters. She gripped the cold metal with her thighs, her muscles burning, and then she released her hands, letting her body fall backward in a controlled drop. The crowd gasped as she fell, her body spinning elegantly, before she caught herself at the last moment, hovering just above the stage floor.

The final note of the music echoed through the club, and Mae held her pose for a breathless moment before slowly lowering herself to the floor. She was panting, her body trembling with the effort, but the cheers from the audience were deafening. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, mixing with the lingering fear that had been gnawing at her all night.

As the applause swelled, Mae stood up, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. She gave the audience a final, graceful bow, her eyes scanning the crowd one last time. But when she looked back to where Charlie had been sitting, he was gone.

Her heart sank, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. She had been sure he was there, watching her. But now, his absence felt even more ominous than his presence.

Mae turned and walked off the stage, her mind spinning. The performance was over, but the tension in her body hadn't faded. If anything, it had grown sharper. Charlie was everywhere and nowhere, always lurking on the edges of her life. And now, more than ever, she needed to understand what was going on.

But as Mae stepped into the quiet of her dressing room, she knew one thing for certain: whoever was behind the threats, whoever was pulling the strings in the shadows, wasn't done with her yet.