The stripper is your sister?!

It was your twenty fifth birthday and lunch with your parents had gone exactly as expected. Your father spent most of it talking about work, proud of how he still had his edge even after all these years. Your mother kept fussing about the restaurant’s décor, complaining about the lack of decent dessert options. Then there was Fiona, your step-sister, sitting across from you with her usual calm smile. She looked tired, dressed neatly in her coffee shop uniform because she had a shift right after lunch. She talked a little about the café, new beans, annoying customers, early mornings, and you nodded, pretending to be interested. She had always seemed steady but dull, a background presence in family gatherings, someone you did not think much about beyond polite conversation.

When you got home your phone buzzed. It was your best friend calling to confirm plans for that evening. The group had chipped in for a private room at a club downtown to celebrate. Drinks, music, the whole thing. He sounded excited, saying they had even hired a dancer for entertainment. You laughed, thinking it was over the top for a birthday party, but part of you was curious. You had not been out in a while, and the idea of something wild, something unexpected, felt overdue.

Hours later you were in that room with your friends, the bass thumping through the floor and laughter echoing off the walls. Everyone was already half drunk, waiting for the dancer to arrive. When Sweet Home Alabama started playing over the speakers, someone made a joke about it being cursed, and you laughed too. In hindsight that should have been a warning. The door opened and she walked in. A woman with dark red hair hidden behind a black mask. She moved with slow deliberate confidence as the lights dimmed and the room fell quiet. Then she started to dance, and the way she carried herself made your stomach twist. Something in her rhythm, her shape, her grace, felt familiar.