LADY OF THE NIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

I CAN FEEL HIM

ANDREA

I try my best to calm down on my way to work, but it’s not easy not when Aurora hasn’t responded for a while and my thoughts keep spiraling, one after the other, each worse than the last. I keep hoping she’s already handled things, done some kind of damage control, my hacked phone is still with her, which means my location should be showing at her place, but that doesn’t stop the unease curling tight in my chest.

I don’t know how far my aunt is willing to go and that thought alone is enough to keep my pulse racing.

Right as we pull up at the usual spot, I pause, my breath hitching, a sharp ping cuts through the noise in my head, and I don’t need to check to know, it’s my phone.

My heart leaps into my throat as I reach for it, fingers trembling just slightly, please let this be good news.

I open the message.

“Already taken care of. Check Insta using Olivia’s phone.”

Relief doesn’t come immediately, it lingers just out of reach as I quickly borrow Olivia’s phone and log in, my hands moving faster than my thoughts and the moment the page loads, I find it.

A video of me at Aurora’s house sleeping on the couch, I blink once, then again, making sure I’m not imagining it, the angle is perfect, the lighting clear enough to remove any doubt, I don’t even remember when she took it, but it doesn’t matter, I really don't know when she took this but she does plan shut ahead of time,

It’s solid and believable and everything I need.

A breath I didn’t realize I’ve been holding escapes me in a rush, my shoulders loosening as relief finally washes through my system, the tension that’s been gripping me all evening begins to unravel, thread by thread.

Aurora really came through, I owe her big time, more than I can even begin to say.

Keeping the Olivia’s phone back inside my bag, I step out of the car, drawing in a steady breath of the cool night air and just like that, I make a decision.

Whatever happens outside these doors stays outside.

Tonight, I work and for the first time since this whole mess started, I feel like I actually can.

Thankfully, I make it with thirty minutes to spare before midnight which is enough time to settle in, to reset, to become who I need to be.

I sign in at the front desk, keeping my expression neutral, controlled, no one needs to see the storm I just walked through, and no one ever does.

Inside the changing room, I move with quiet efficiency, pulling out my things, laying them out with practiced familiarity, my new mask catches my attention, a sleek piece Aurora insisted I take.

Of course she did.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I pick it up, trust her to think of everything, I put it on, adjusting it until it sits just right, until the woman staring back at me in the mirror feels different, shielded and untouchable.

Ready.

When I step out, the club greets me like it always does alive, pulsing, drenched in violet and gold light that spills across every surface and the bass hums beneath my heels, steady and deep, like a second heartbeat syncing with my own.

The stage is already warm from the previous performer, but the moment my foot touches it, something shifts, it becomes mine completely and I take a slow breath, letting it fill my lungs, steadying every inch of me. And then—

The music takes hold, I try never rush when it comes to dancing, I don’t start with movement, I start with presence.

My fingers curl around the chrome pole, sliding upward with deliberate grace and my body follows, stretching slowly, languidly, as if I’m pouring myself into the space rather than stepping into it.

The crowd is there, I can feel them. In the low hum of anticipation, in the clinking of glasses with the occasional whistle that cuts through the music but they are distant, always have been distant, I am the calm at the center of their storm.

My hips begin to sway, slow at first, teasing the rhythm instead of giving in to it and every movement is controlled and very much intentional, my shoulders roll back, my spine arching just enough to catch the light, letting it trace soft shadows along my curves.

I tilt my head, letting my hair fall like silk over one shoulder, my lips parting into a quiet, knowing smile, I know exactly what I’m doing, I always do, I dance like a story unfolding with each step, each turn, a sentence written in motion, I spin around the pole, one leg hooking effortlessly as my body dips low before rising again in a seamless wave.

The music deepens, thickens and I follow, my movements grow more fluid, more daring, more alive and my gaze drifts across the audience, skimming over faces without truly seeing them. They blur together as shapes, silhouettes bathed in dim light.

Watchers.

Nothing more.

I’ve learned this from my short moments of practice how to perform without giving myself away, how to make every man in the room feel seen without ever truly seeing any of them.

It’s a skill, a shield but then—

Something changes.

It’s subtle at first, almost unnoticeable, like a shift in air pressure before a storm breaks and my fingers tighten slightly around the pole as I straighten, my breath catching just enough for me to notice my eyes move again.

Slower this time, searching and even though I don’t know what I’m looking for and then, I feel it.

A gaze.

Not like the others.

Not hungry or fleeting, this one holds steady and intent, my eyes settle somewhere in the shadows. I can’t fully see him if it’s even him but something inside me locks onto that space as if drawn by an invisible thread.

My chest tightens, then expands, like a spark catching flame and for a fraction of a second, I hesitate and that never happens but whatever this is whoever it is, it doesn’t stop me.

If anything, it does the opposite, it ignites something deep raw electric tension within me and my next movement comes without thought, my body responding to a rhythm that suddenly feels different.

New, the world around me fades, the crowd, the noise, the flashing lights, they dissolve into nothing, into a distant blur that no longer matters.

It’s just me, the stage, the music and that presence watching, my dance shifts, it’s no longer just performance, it becomes something else, something softer.

My hips move in slower, fuller arcs, my body bending and flowing with an ease I don’t recognize but somehow trust, I’m not thinking about angles anymore, or precision, or control, I’m feeling.

Every step, every turn, every subtle shift of my weight feels guided, pulled from somewhere beyond me.

As though that gaze is shaping it, calling it out of me.

My hand slides down the pole, my body following until I’m lowered, almost kneeling. I pause there, my head tilting slightly, my breath uneven and time stretches, suspends and then I rise again.

Fluid and very effortless, a spin carries me across the stage, my hair whipping around me before settling against my back, my movements grow bolder, yet somehow more intimate like I’m no longer dancing for a room full of strangers but for one person.

One pair of eyes.

His.

Even though I can’t truly see him even though I don’t know him, it doesn’t matter, the connection is there undeniable and consuming.

My chest rises and falls in rhythm with the music, my body moving with a precision that feels almost unreal, there’s no hesitation now no doubt just flow, I feel weightless and untethered.

Like the music itself has taken form through me and since I started working here in the short time I have, I’m not performing more like I’m surrendering.

The pole becomes an extension of me, my limbs wrapping and unwinding with effortless ease, I lean back into a deep arch, my gaze lifting instinctively toward the shadows where I feel him.

For a heartbeat, I hold it, my body trembling with something I can’t quite name.

Is he still watching?

I know he is.

I can feel it, a slow smile curves my lips softer now, less practiced more real.

The music begins to fade, and my movements follow, slowing, stretching each second like I don’t want it to end, every step becomes deliberate, like the final notes of a song you wish would linger forever.

And then—

Silence, the last beat drops and I still, the crowd erupts.

Cheers, applause, voices rising all around me but it sounds distant and muted like I’m underwater.

My chest rises and falls as I stand there, one hand still resting lightly on the pole and without thinking, I search the shadows again but whatever found me…

Is gone.

Or maybe it was never really there.

Still, something lingers, a quiet certainty settling deep within me, tonight, I didn’t just dance, I was seen and in being seen, I found something.

A power I didn’t know I had.

The noise of the club slowly returns to me as I step off the stage, but it doesn’t feel the same, nothing does, I lose myself in the rhythm again, letting the night carry me, letting the movement shield me from everything waiting beyond these walls, from everything I don’t understand and everything I’m not ready to face.

The crowd reacts the same way they always do hungry and eager, drawn in by every motion. I give them what they want, what they expect, my body moving in smooth, practiced sensuality but underneath it something is different

As I roll my hips against the pole, slow and deliberate, a strange awareness creeps in, my breath hitches slightly, my body reacting in ways I didn’t anticipate.

Heat curls low in my stomach.

Unexpected and unfamiliar, very much confusing, I swallow, trying to steady myself, but the sensation doesn’t fade, if anything, it deepens.

My movements don’t stop, I don’t let them but my thoughts begin to blur at the edges.

Why do I feel like this?

Why now?

Why because of him?

A man I can’t even see.

A presence I can’t explain.

My grip tightens just slightly as I continue, my body moving on instinct, on muscle memory, on something deeper than both.

And yet, I can’t ignore it, from the warmth and the pull, the way my body responds like it remembers something my mind doesn’t, a breath slips past my lips, barely noticeable to anyone else but I feel it.

Every bit of it and the thought hits me before I can stop it

Why the f**k am I wet for a man I can’t even see?

A flicker of disbelief passes through me, sharp and unsettling.

Am I getting too messed up already?

How did a game of revenge turn to passion?