CHAPTER ONE

Elena Brooks had promised herself she would never dance in a club again.

She'd broken that promise three weeks ago.

Tonight, she was about to break it for the fourth time.

She stood in front of the mirror, pinning a dark maroon wig over her own hair while the bass from the club thudded through the wall behind her like something trying to get in.

Three minutes.

That was all she had before she had to walk out there and become someone else.

"Nina."

Marco's voice came from the doorway. He was the only one who used that name and meant it as a question.

Elena met his eyes through the mirror. "I know. Three minutes."

"Then why are you still sitting here?"

*Because I don't want to do this.*

The thought rose so fast she almost said it out loud. Instead she smoothed the wig one last time and made her face do what it needed to do.

"Checking my hair."

"You've been checking your hair for five minutes."

"Maybe it needs the attention."

He huffed a laugh and disappeared down the hall, and the smile fell off her face the second he was gone.

Her phone lit up on the counter.

She didn't need to read it to know what it said. She read it anyway.

*Second notice — balance due Friday.*

She turned the phone face-down.

*Tomorrow.* She would be Elena again tomorrow, and Elena could deal with tomorrow's problems. Tonight she needed the version of herself that didn't flinch when men she'd never met looked at her like she belonged to the room.

She stood, pulled her hoodie over the costume, and looked at herself one last time. Not Elena Brooks, who owed the shop's landlord for the second month running. Just Nina, who owed nobody anything, because Nina didn't exist anywhere but here.

Elena pushed through the curtain, and the noise swallowed her whole.

---

Caleb Moore had no business being in a dance club. 

Unfortunately, his cousin had spent the last thirty minutes making sure he knew that he was coming anyway. The moment Caleb stepped inside, the pounding music reminded him exactly why he avoided places like this. He followed Adrian through the back entrance and into the VIP section.

Adrian was already enjoying himself.

“Loosen up,” he said, dropping into his seat. “And stop analyzing everyone in the room.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. He scanned the club anyway.

Then he saw her. The dancer wore a dark maroon wig, but it was her movements that caught his attention. She danced as though the crowd didn't exist, completely absorbed in the music. Everyone was watching her. Caleb found himself watching too.

He looked away.

What was he doing?

He focused on Adrian instead, who was already halfway through another drink.

A sigh escaped him.

Adrian had never been particularly good at controlling himself, which meant Caleb usually ended up being the one cleaning up after him.

His gaze drifted back to the stage. The dancer was looking directly at him. Their eyes met.

Something in Caleb's chest dropped. For a second, neither of them looked away.

Then Caleb did.

He frowned and looked down at his drink.

What the hell was that? He stood abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Adrian called.

“Outside.”

Caleb didn't wait for an answer.

He pushed through the back door and sucked in a breath of cold air. Much better.

He pulled out his phone and checked the time. He should leave.

Instead, he stayed.

---

The cold hit him like a decision he should have made an hour ago.

He should have gone back in, said goodnight to Adrian, and driven home. Instead he stood by the car, running his thumb over his wrist out of habit and found nothing there.

No watch.

He swore under his breath and checked his pockets, his jacket, the ground. Nothing.

"You lost something?"

He looked up. A woman stood a few feet away, wheeling a pink bicycle by the handlebars, a hoodie swallowing whatever she'd been wearing five minutes ago. For a second something about her stopped him from answering right away.

"My watch."

She glanced at his bare wrist. "Where did you last have it?"

"Inside."

"Then you should check with security."

"I already did."

She studied him for a moment, like she was deciding whether he was drunk, or lying, or just unlucky. Whatever she landed on, she said, "Wait here," and disappeared back through the door before he could tell her not to bother.

Caleb stared after her. He'd said maybe six words to this woman and she'd already given him an order. He wasn't sure whether to be amused or offended, so he settled for both.

Five minutes later she came back, something small held between two fingers.

"Looking for this?"

For the first time all night, Caleb looked genuinely impressed. "Where did you find it?"

"Backstage. Someone would've turned it in eventually."

"Maybe." He turned the watch over in his hand, then looked at her properly and realized she hadn't asked who he was.

She was already walking away.

"Wait … I don't even know your…"

"Nina," she said, without turning around.

Then the pink bicycle carried her into the dark, and the street was quiet again, and Caleb Moore stood there a full minute longer than he needed to, already knowing he wasn't going to forget her.

---

He came back the following Friday.

He told himself it was Adrian's idea. It wasn't.

His eyes went straight to the stage before he'd even sat down, searching for a maroon wig that wasn't there.

"Who are you looking for?" Adrian asked, following his gaze.

"No one."

"You've checked that stage four times in thirty seconds."

Caleb said nothing. He flagged down one of the staff instead, and asked, in a voice that came out far more casual than he felt, whether the dancer from last week, the one with the dark maroon wig was performing tonight.

The answer took less than ten seconds to ruin his evening.

She didn't work here regularly. She moved between clubs, different nights, no fixed schedule. Half the staff didn't know where she'd turn up next.

Caleb nodded like it didn't matter.

It shouldn't have mattered. He'd spoken to her twice. He didn't know her real name, only the one she'd given him and something told him that wasn't the one that mattered either.

He told himself to forget it.

He was still telling himself that an hour later, driving home, one hand on the wheel and the other absently c

hecking that his watch was still there.

It was.

He didn't know why that made him think of her again.

He did know he was going to find her.