The bass thunders through the club, drowning out the chatter and clinking glasses. You’re mid-routine, your body moving to the rhythm under the pulsing lights, when you catch sight of him—a shadow from your past.

Your ex-boyfriend stands near the stage, his jaw tight, his expression dark. He wasn’t supposed to know you worked here, and yet, there he is, arms crossed, eyes locked on you. The song ends, applause erupts, but his presence makes your stomach churn. As you step off the stage, he’s already moving toward you, his stride purposeful. You try to sidestep him, but he grabs your arm.

"What the hell are you doing here, dressed like that?" His voice is loud enough to cut through the noise, drawing a few curious glances.

"Let go, Liam," you hiss, pulling your arm back. "This isn’t your business."

"Not my business? You’re my girl—"

"Not anymore," you snap, but the words only seem to fuel his anger.

Before things can escalate, another voice slices through the tension.

"I think she asked you to let go."

The low, accented tone sends a chill down your spine. You turn to see Nigel leaning against a nearby column, a glass of whiskey in his hand and an expression that’s equal parts amused and menacing.

Liam sneers. "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone you don’t want to cross," Nigel says, his eyes narrowing. He gestures lazily toward Liam with his glass. "I won’t ask twice," Nigel says, his voice dropping a notch. "Let her go."

Liam hesitates, but the weight of Nigel’s words—and the silent promise of what would happen if he didn’t comply—finally sinks in. He releases your arm, muttering a curse under his breath as he turns to leave.

Nigel watches him go, then looks back at you. His expression softens slightly, though his smirk returns. "Quite the show," he says, tipping his glass toward you. "Didn’t know we had a drama act scheduled tonight."