Mae stared blankly at the vanity mirror, her reflection distorted by the dim lights of the dressing room. She was still in her performance outfit, the glittering fabric clinging to her skin, but all she felt was the weight of the secrets pressing down on her. It had been hours since her meeting with Frank, and his words still echoed in her mind, refusing to let go.

They're watching you. Closer than you think.

She closed her eyes, trying to block it all out, but the fear gnawed at her. Every shadow, every whisper in the club felt like it was hiding something, or someone. And the worst part was, she didn't know who to trust anymore.

Her mind drifted to Father Charlie. He had been there again tonight, just like he had been over the past few weeks, watching her from a distance, offering his help in that calm, reassuring way he always had. But Frank's warning rang in her ears. Everyone was part of the game now, and Charlie—Father Charlie—was no exception. No matter how familiar his presence felt, Mae couldn't afford to be naïve.

She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it loose from the tight bun she'd worn onstage. The club's noise seeped through the walls, muffled but constant, a reminder of the world outside this small room. Mae knew she had to go back out there, to keep up appearances, but the thought of facing the crowd, the eyes, the lies—it all made her stomach twist.

Just as she was about to stand up, there was a soft knock at the door.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She hadn't expected anyone.

"Mae?" The voice on the other side was familiar, too familiar.

It was Father Charlie.

Mae hesitated, her hand hovering over the door handle. She didn't know why, but something about this moment felt different, heavier. After what Frank had told her earlier, after all the doubts and confusion swirling in her mind, she wasn't sure if she was ready to face him. Yet, she couldn't avoid him forever.

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Father Charlie stood there, his tall frame filling the doorway. He was still in his priest's collar, looking out of place in the gritty world of Hell's Angels, but his face was as calm and composed as ever. For a brief moment, the tension in Mae's chest loosened—just enough to let her breathe again.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

Mae stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. "I'm fine," she said, though the lie felt like a weight in her mouth. "Just... a long night."

Charlie glanced around the dressing room, his eyes lingering on the small details—the scattered makeup, the costume jewelry, the faint scent of her perfume hanging in the air. When his gaze returned to her, there was something different in it, something that made Mae's pulse quicken.

"I saw you leave with Frank earlier," he said carefully, as if testing the waters. "Is everything alright?"

Mae stiffened at the mention of Frank. The meeting had left her more shaken than she cared to admit, but she wasn't about to tell Charlie that. Not after everything. "We talked," she said simply, trying to keep her voice neutral. "That's all."

But Charlie wasn't buying it. His expression softened with concern, but Mae could feel the intensity beneath the surface. "Mae," he said quietly, stepping closer, "you know you can trust me, don't you?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words stuck in her throat. Could she trust him? After everything that had happened, after everything Frank had said, Mae wasn't sure who she could rely on anymore.

Charlie watched her closely, his eyes searching hers for answers she wasn't ready to give. "If there's something going on," he continued, "something you're not telling me, I want to help. But you have to let me in."

Mae felt the pull of his words, the warmth of his presence, but something inside her screamed to be cautious. "There's nothing you can do," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "This is... bigger than either of us."

His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't push. Instead, he took a step back, his posture relaxing. "I'm here for you, Mae," he said softly. "Whenever you're ready to talk."

The sincerity in his voice was almost enough to break through the walls she had been building around herself. Almost. But Mae knew better than to let herself get too comfortable, not when everything around her was falling apart.

"Thank you," she managed, her throat tight with emotion she couldn't explain. "I just need some time."

Charlie nodded, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Of course," he said, his voice gentle. "Take all the time you need."

He moved toward the door, his hand resting on the handle for a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to her. "Just remember," he added, his tone soft but firm, "you don't have to do this alone."

With that, he left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

Mae stood there, staring at the closed door for what felt like an eternity. The weight of his presence still hung in the air, but so did the unanswered questions. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he was on her side, but something inside her just wouldn't let her.

She sank into the chair in front of the vanity, her thoughts spiraling. Everyone in her life seemed to be hiding something—Frank, the club's mysterious owners, and now, maybe even Charlie. She didn't know what to think anymore, didn't know who to trust.

All she knew was that the walls were closing in, and the choices she had left were slipping away.

Mae sat in front of the vanity, staring blankly at her reflection. The silence in the room pressed in on her, making the dim lights feel oppressive. Charlie's words echoed in her mind: "You don't have to do this alone." But despite the sincerity in his voice, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was, in fact, completely alone. Everyone around her—Frank, Charlie, even the club staff—felt like pieces of a puzzle she couldn't solve.

She glanced down at her hands, which were trembling slightly. The performance, the conversation with Frank, Charlie's sudden appearance—it was all too much. The walls felt like they were closing in, and no matter how hard she tried to fight it, the overwhelming sense of dread kept creeping back into her chest.

Her phone buzzed on the vanity, snapping her out of her thoughts. She reached for it, expecting another message from Frank. Instead, it was from an unknown number. Mae's heart raced as she opened the message.

"Stop asking questions. You're only making things worse for yourself."

A cold shiver ran down her spine. She stared at the message, her mind racing. Someone was watching her, someone who knew about her meeting with Frank, someone who was aware of every move she made. Her stomach twisted as the realization hit her—she was being tracked. Every step, every conversation, was being monitored.

Her first instinct was to call Frank, but then she hesitated. What if he was being watched too? What if contacting him would only put them both in more danger? The walls of her dressing room suddenly felt suffocating, as if the very air around her was pressing in.

She couldn't stay here. She needed to get out, to clear her head, to figure out what her next move would be. Grabbing her bag, Mae hurried toward the door, throwing it open and stepping into the narrow backstage hallway. The noise from the club seemed distant, muffled by the pounding in her ears.

As she made her way through the back exit, she kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone she passed. Every glance, every whisper from the staff, felt like another layer of suspicion, like they were all in on something she didn't understand. The cool night air hit her as she stepped outside, offering a momentary relief from the suffocating atmosphere of the club.

She walked quickly down the alleyway, the shadows feeling longer, darker than usual. Her thoughts raced as she tried to process everything that had happened in the past few hours. The mysterious messages, the people watching her, Frank's cryptic warnings—none of it made sense. And Charlie... she still didn't know what to think about him.

Just as she turned the corner onto the main street, her phone buzzed again. Another message. Her hands trembled as she unlocked her phone.

"Last warning. Stay in line, or you'll regret it."

Mae's breath caught in her throat. This wasn't just a threat anymore. Whoever was behind these messages wasn't playing games—they were serious. And the worst part was, she didn't know who they were. The club's investors? Someone in the shadows pulling the strings? Or was it someone closer, someone she thought she could trust?

The cold reality settled in: she had no one. No one she could confide in, no one she could turn to for help. Frank was doing his best, but even he didn't seem to have all the answers. And Charlie... no, she couldn't think about him right now. She needed to stay focused, to figure out how to get out of this mess before it consumed her entirely.

As she continued down the street, Mae realized she had nowhere to go. No safe haven, no refuge from the danger that seemed to be closing in on her from all sides. She pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, her mind spinning with fear and frustration. Every instinct told her to run, to get as far away from this city as possible.

But she knew that running wouldn't solve anything. The people behind this—whoever they were—would find her, no matter where she went.

She was trapped.

The weight of that realization hit her like a ton of bricks. She had built her life here, had clawed her way to the top of Hell's Angels, only to find herself ensnared in a web of deceit and control. And now, it felt like every move she made only tightened the noose around her neck.

Mae stopped walking and leaned against the cold brick wall of a nearby building, trying to steady her breathing. She needed to think, needed to come up with a plan. But no matter how hard she tried, her mind kept coming back to the same terrifying thought:

There was no way out.

She stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the ground, her heart pounding in her chest. The city buzzed around her—cars honking, people laughing, life continuing as usual. But for Mae, everything felt like it was falling apart.

Eventually, she pushed herself away from the wall and continued walking. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she couldn't go back to the club. Not tonight. Not with those messages still fresh in her mind.

As she wandered aimlessly through the city streets, Mae made a silent promise to herself: no matter how bad things got, she wouldn't let them break her. She had survived too much, fought too hard to be taken down by some faceless threat. Whoever was behind this, they wanted her scared, wanted her cornered.

But she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

She would fight. Even if it meant losing everything, she would fight.