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Amber's heart drops as her eyes land on the back row of the room. There, in the shadows, sits a man she immediately recognizes. It's Alexander De-Martin, his cold, steely eyes fixed on her with an intensity that makes her heart race. Despite the dim lighting, she can see the hard, angular lines of his face, the sharp cut of his jaw. She's thrown off for a moment, her composure faltering, but she quickly regains her composure and continues singing, trying to push away the memories and emotions his presence is stirring up in her.

Amber continues singing, her mind racing as she tries to decide what to do next. Her eyes flick over to where De-Martin is sitting, studying him closely. Despite the surprise of seeing him there, she can't help but feel a faint flicker of satisfaction. This is the chance she's been waiting for. But what should her next move be? How can she use this opportunity to her advantage? She keeps singing, her mind working furiously as she tries to come up on a plan.

Amber sings on, her mind going over possible courses of action as she performs. Several ideas run through her head, each more bold and risky than the last. But one thought in particular keeps gnawing at her: should she approach De-Martin after the performance? Confront him openly? She shakes her head slightly, dismissing the thought. It's too dangerous, too risky. She'll have to handle this carefully, find a way to corner him without raising too many suspicions. All of this goes through her mind as she continues singing, her voice as steady and strong as ever.

Amber finishes her performance to applause and cheers from the audience. She takes a small bow and steps off the stage, her mind still racing with thoughts about De-Martin. She heads backstage, where the ushers guide her to a small dressing room where she can freshen up and change out of her performance outfit. She sits in front of the mirror, taking a few moments for herself to gather her thoughts and catch her breath. The knowledge of De-Martin's presence in the club is weighing heavily on her mind, but she's determined to keep a cool head and think clearly.

Amber takes a few deep breaths to calm herself, her heart still racing from the performance. Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. One of the club staff members sticks his head in, giving her a polite smile.

"Miss, Mr. David would like to see you in his office. He said it's important."

Amber nods slightly, a flutter of trepidation in her stomach. She knows this is about De-Martin. She stands up, smoothing down her dress, and follows the staff member out of the room and down a small hallway. They reach a heavy wooden door with a brass nameplate reading "Mr. David's Office." The staff member opens the door and gestures for her to step inside.

Amber steps into the office, her heart beating faster with each step. The office is dimly lit, and Mr. David is leaning against the side of his desk, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He smiles at her as she enters, gesturing for her to take a seat.

"Amber, dear, come in. Have a seat."

Amber does as she's told, taking a seat in a plush leather armchair across from Mr. David. She takes a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure and hide her anxiety. Mr. David takes a sip of his drink, his gaze roaming over her, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"You did a wonderful job out there, my dear. The crowd absolutely loved you."

Mr. David smiles, his gaze raking over her body as he speaks.

"You were a hit out there, dear. The patrons were quite taken with your performance. In fact, a few of our more... well-heeled patrons were particularly impressed and would like to meet you, to chat with you a while. They believe you would be quite pleasant company."

Amber feels a jolt of surprise and unease at Mr. David's words, but she keeps her expression neutral. She can guess what those "well-heeled" patrons want, and it's nothing as innocent as a simple chat. She can see the gleam in Mr. David's eyes, and she knows that he's expecting something more from her than just conversation. Still, she needs to tread carefully here. She can't afford to be too obvious about her aversion to this situation.

Amber takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and nods slightly. She knows she has to play along for the moment, no matter how uncomfortable it makes her. She tries to keep her voice even and light as she replies.

"Of course, Mr. David. I'd be happy to meet those gentlemen and chat with them."

Mr. David grins, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer before he stands up. He motions for her to follow him.

"Excellent, my dear. Come with me, then. I'll introduce you."

Amber stands up, her heart pounding in her chest. She follows Mr. David out of the office and back to the main room of the club. The noise and the heat hit her like a wall as she steps back into the main room. The club is still full, patrons laughing, drinking, dancing, and chatting. Mr. David leads her across the room, toward a small table in a secluded corner. Seated there are two men, both well-dressed and exuding an air of wealth and sophistication.

The men glance up as they approach, their gaze raking over her appreciatively. One of them, a suave looking man with salt and pepper hair, stands up and extends a hand to her.

"Miss, it's a pleasure to meet you. We've heard such wonderful things about your performance tonight."

Amber forces a smile and shakes the man's hand, her own slender fingers engulfed by his larger grip. The men's gazes are still roaming over her, taking in every detail. She feels like a piece of meat on display, being appraised and judged by these men.

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad you enjoyed the show."

….