The dressing room was quiet, save for the faint thumping of the bass leaking through the walls from the main floor of Hell's Angels. Mae sat in front of the large mirror, her makeup half-done, staring at her reflection without really seeing it. The lights around the mirror cast a soft glow on her face, highlighting the hollow expression that had settled there.

Tonight was just like any other night at the club. The crowd was rowdy, the air heavy with sweat and alcohol, the lights flashing in time with the music. But something was different tonight—something she couldn't quite place. A lingering tension in the air, a feeling of being watched, even more than usual.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting over the cluttered vanity table in front of her. Lipstick, eyeliner, and brushes lay scattered among stray pieces of jewelry and a bottle of perfume. The same tools she used every night to transform into Mae, the performer, the star of Hell's Angels. But underneath the glitter and the facade, Seraphina still lingered, waiting in the shadows, aching to come out.

But Seraphina was gone. Mae had made sure of that.

She had long since buried her old self, her old life, deep beneath layers of makeup and performance. The girl who once found solace in prayer, who believed in a higher calling, had been replaced by someone else—someone harder, more distant. A survivor.

And yet, there were nights when the weight of it all pressed down on her, nights when she wondered if she had made the right choice. If she had sold too much of herself to this world in exchange for the illusion of control.

Her phone buzzed on the table, dragging her from her thoughts. Mae picked it up, glancing at the screen to see a message from Frank.

"Everything in place for the private event tomorrow. Be ready."

She grimaced, tossing the phone back onto the vanity. The event. Frank had been hinting at it for days now, telling her it would be a game-changer, a chance for her to move up even further within the club's hierarchy. VIPs, exclusive access, the whole nine yards. But Mae had learned not to trust anyone's promises, not even Frank's.

The truth was, she didn't care about moving up anymore. Not really. Not when it meant sinking deeper into the tangled web that held Hell's Angels together. She had played their game, followed their rules, but the closer she got to the top, the more she realized how tightly they controlled everything. Her life, her image, even her choices.

There was no way out.

Mae stood up, adjusting her costume as she looked at her reflection one last time. The show was about to start, and tonight, she had to be perfect. No cracks in the mask. No second-guessing herself.

With one last deep breath, she turned and headed toward the stage.

As she approached the backstage area, she felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that always hit right before a performance. The music, the lights, the energy—it was intoxicating, addictive even. For a few moments on stage, she could forget everything else, lose herself in the rhythm and the movement.

The crowd roared as she stepped out under the lights, their cheers like a wall of sound crashing over her. Mae fell into the performance, letting the music guide her movements, her body flowing effortlessly with the beat. This was where she was in control. Out here, on the stage, she could be whoever she wanted to be.

But tonight, even as she danced, something felt off. A presence, lingering just at the edge of her awareness. It wasn't unusual for her to feel eyes on her—she was used to the stares, the attention. But this felt different. Sharper. More focused.

She glanced out over the crowd, her eyes scanning the faces watching her. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual mix of patrons—men in expensive suits, women draped in glittering dresses, all of them lost in the spectacle of the night.

But there was someone. A man, standing near the back, watching her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. His face was partly obscured by the shadows, but something about him felt familiar, though she couldn't place it.

She forced herself to keep dancing, pushing the unease to the back of her mind. It didn't matter who he was. It didn't matter why he was watching her. He was just another customer, another face in the sea of people who came to Hell's Angels to escape.

When the performance ended, Mae stepped off the stage, her heart still pounding from the rush of adrenaline. But that feeling—that sense of being watched—stayed with her.

She made her way back to the dressing room, her steps hurried, her mind racing. The man's face lingered in her thoughts, a flicker of recognition that she couldn't shake. She had seen him before. She was sure of it. But where?

Closing the door behind her, Mae leaned against it, her breath coming in shallow bursts. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror, but for the first time in a long while, she didn't recognize the person looking back.

She wasn't Mae anymore.

The line between her old life and this one was blurring, and it scared her. She had worked so hard to create this persona, to build this world around herself so that no one would see who she really was. But now, it felt like it was all starting to unravel.

And then there was the man. Whoever he was, he had stirred something in her—an instinct, a warning. He wasn't like the others. He had come for her, not for the performance.

Mae sat down at the vanity, her hands trembling as she reached for the makeup wipes. She needed to wash off the glitter, the mask, the facade. She needed to think. But as she stared at her reflection, she realized there was no going back. She was in too deep, and whoever that man was, he was part of something much bigger than she understood.

As the lights flickered around her, casting strange shadows on the walls, Mae knew one thing for certain: her past was catching up to her.

And this time, there was no escaping it.

Mae stared at her reflection in the mirror for what felt like hours, her fingers still gripping the makeup wipe. The vibrant colors smeared across her face like war paint, a symbol of the battle she fought every night—to keep the mask on, to keep her real self buried. But the cracks were showing.

The man in the shadows at the club had triggered something in her. It wasn't just the intensity of his gaze or the familiarity she couldn't place; it was the feeling that something was coming. Something that she couldn't stop.

She wiped the makeup from her face, revealing the pale skin underneath. Without the glitter and heavy eyeliner, she looked like a ghost of her former self. Seraphina, the woman she used to be, stared back at her through tired, hollow eyes.

Who was he?

She had to know. This wasn't the first time she'd noticed someone watching her from the shadows, but this time felt different. The feeling of recognition gnawed at her, like a distant memory clawing its way to the surface.

With a sigh, Mae stood up and grabbed her phone from the vanity. Frank's message still lingered on the screen, a reminder of the private event tomorrow. VIPs. High rollers. The kind of people who controlled the world Mae found herself trapped in. She knew the game—she was one of the main attractions, the star they used to keep the money flowing in, the pawn they moved when they needed to make deals.

But even Frank didn't know the full extent of the club's reach, the power the people behind it wielded. Mae had caught glimpses of it over the years, heard whispers of things that made her skin crawl. But she had always managed to keep her distance, to play the part without getting too close to the darkness at the core of it all.

Now, she wasn't so sure she could stay out of it.

Mae paced the small room, the walls suddenly feeling like they were closing in on her. She needed to get out, to clear her head before tomorrow's event. She threw on her jacket and tucked her phone into her pocket, her mind still buzzing with thoughts of the man who had been watching her.

Hell's Angels was still packed when she made her way through the back corridors and out into the street. The cool air hit her face, a welcome relief from the oppressive heat inside. She pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head, blending into the shadows as she walked down the busy city street.

The city was alive, buzzing with energy as people spilled out of bars and clubs, their laughter echoing through the night. But Mae barely noticed them. Her mind was still racing, replaying the performance, the moment their eyes had met—brief, but enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Why did he feel so familiar?

She walked aimlessly for a while, letting the rhythm of the city's noise drown out the thoughts swirling in her mind. But no matter how far she walked, the unease wouldn't leave her.

After what felt like hours, Mae found herself standing in front of a small diner at the corner of the street. It was one of those places that stayed open all night, a refuge for people like her who couldn't sleep, who needed somewhere to go to escape their thoughts.

She stepped inside, the smell of coffee and greasy food washing over her. The place was nearly empty, just a few late-night patrons hunched over their meals. Mae slid into a booth near the back, her eyes scanning the room out of habit. She was always on guard, always looking for the signs that someone was watching her, waiting for her to slip up.

The waitress approached, her pen poised over her notepad. "Coffee?"

Mae nodded, barely looking up. "Yeah, thanks."

The waitress shuffled away, and Mae leaned back against the booth, staring out the window. The city outside looked so different from this angle—distant, almost peaceful. It was easy to forget the chaos that simmered just below the surface, the darkness that lurked in places like Hell's Angels.

She pulled out her phone, scrolling through her messages. There was another one from Frank.

"Don't forget, tomorrow's a big deal. Keep your head down, stay focused."

Mae's grip tightened on the phone. She had learned to navigate the expectations, to play her part and keep her head above water. But something told her that tomorrow was going to be different. And she wasn't sure she was ready for whatever was coming.

The coffee arrived, and Mae wrapped her hands around the warm cup, taking a small sip. The caffeine helped clear her mind, but it did little to ease the knot of anxiety that had settled in her chest.

Her thoughts drifted back to the man at the club. He had been watching her with a focus that unnerved her. She couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her—or at least, that he was trying to figure her out. But why? What could he possibly want with her?

Mae shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. She needed to stay focused, to keep her guard up. If she started questioning every strange encounter, she'd lose herself in the paranoia. And that was something she couldn't afford.

As she sat there, watching the world outside the diner, a feeling of dread began to creep over her. She had made a decision weeks ago to lay low, to stop digging, to stop trying to figure out the inner workings of Hell's Angels. It had seemed like the smart move—keep her head down, stay out of trouble.

But now, with the VIP event looming, Mae realized that no matter how much she tried to stay out of it, the club's web was tightening around her. She was a part of it, whether she liked it or not. And the man in the shadows? He was just a reminder that no one could truly hide in this world.

Mae took another sip of her coffee, her eyes narrowing as she stared out into the city night. Tomorrow, she'd have to face whatever was coming. But tonight, she would stay hidden in the quiet corners, where no one could find her.

For now, that would have to be enough.