Freya’s POV
The moment the spotlight dimmed and I slipped off stage, my body felt like it had run a marathon.
Sweat glued the inside of my costume to my skin, my pulse still pounding with a mix of adrenaline and dread. I didn’t pause to take a breath—I just pushed through the velvet curtain, ducked into the back hallway, and bee-lined for the dressing room like a hunted animal.
Stella had seen me. I was almost sure of it.
The way her gaze drilled into me from across the club... It wasn’t idle curiosity. She was studying me, reading me.
Recognizing me.
And if she hadn’t yet, she would soon.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I shoved open the dressing room door and closed it behind me with more force than necessary. My hands were trembling as I stripped off the sequined top, the hot skin underneath grateful for air. The mask was still clinging to my face, damp from sweat. I left it on.
Just in case.