If only they knew. I apply my makeup with practiced efficiency—heavier than I'd wear in daylight, designed to be seen under stage lights. Contouring to sharpen my cheekbones. Smoky eyes that make the green pop. Red lips that promise things I'll never deliver.
"You look different," Dahlia observes, appearing behind me in the mirror.
"New highlighter," I lie easily, reaching for my costume—a black lace bodysuit with strategic cutouts.
"No, not your face." She tilts her head, studying me. "Something else. Like you've... I don't know. Leveled up or something."
I meet her eyes in the mirror. "Just feeling good tonight."
It's not entirely a lie. There's a strange power humming through me. I just saved a man's life with my hands. Illegal or not, that means something. And now I'll go dance, using my body as both art and commerce. Two different parts of me merging into something new.
The song changes overhead—my five-minute warning. I finish dressing, checking my appearance one last time. Rosestares back at me from the mirror—confident, seductive, untouchable.
"Showtime, ladies!" The stage manager's voice calls from the hallway.
I follow the others out, my heels clicking rhythmically on the floor. The club is packed tonight, the air thick with cologne and anticipation. As I scan the crowd, my eyes automatically find Ian at his usual post by the bar. His face is expressionless, but his eyes burn when they meet mine.
Let him watch. Let him worry. I step onto the stage as the lights dim, finding my mark in the darkness. When the spotlight hits and the music pounds, I move with new confidence. Each twist, each turn, each calculated reveal feels different tonight. More deliberate. More mine.
I'm not just Rose anymore. I'm not just Claire. I'm both and neither.
The men watch, entranced, bills ready in their hands.
After my set, I collect my tips, accepting compliments with practiced smiles. As I move through the crowd toward the dressing room, a firm hand closes around my upper arm. I don't need to look to know it's Ian.
"My office," he says, his breath warm against my ear. "Now."
I could refuse. Could pull away, disappear into the crowd. But curiosity—or something more dangerous—makes me nod instead.
CHAPTER 7
Ian's fingers dig into my arm as he drags me down the hallway, his grip tight enough to bruise. I should protest. Should dig my heels in and demand he let me go. But there's something in his face—something dark and desperate—that silences any objection before it can form.
The staff parts before us like water around a stone, their eyes carefully averted. No one wants to witness whatever storm is brewing between us. No one wants to get caught in the crossfire.
We reach his office quickly. He practically throws me inside, slamming the door behind us with enough force to rattle the hinges.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demands, his voice low and dangerous.
I rub my arm where his fingers left their mark, forcing my expression into one of bored indifference. "You'll have to be more specific."
"Don't play games with me, Claire." He stalks closer, all coiled tension and barely restrained fury. "I’m talking about Blackwood's offer."
"I wasn't aware my decisions were subject to your approval," I say, ice coating each word.
He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the careful styling. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"
Something inside me snaps. The fear and uncertainty I've been carrying since Blackwood's visit crystallizes into anger—hot and bright and clarifying.
"Don't you dare lecture me about danger," I hiss, stepping into his space. "I'm not some naive child who doesn't understand what she's gotten herself into."
"No?" His laugh is bitter, humorless. "Then explain to me why you're willingly stepping deeper into a world that will swallow you whole if you let it."
The question hits too close to home, probes at insecurities I've been trying to ignore. I deflect, going on the offensive instead.
"That's rich coming from you," I say, my voice razor-sharp. "Blackwood's loyal attack dog. How many people have you hurt for him, Ian? How many lives have you ruined following his orders?"
He flinches like I've slapped him, and satisfaction curls through me—dark and vicious. Good. Let him feel exposed for once. Let him be the one stripped bare.
