Chapter 5 Brush stroke

Chapter 5

Brushstroke

Fred stood outside Sophia's dressing room, the weight of years behind his eyes. Inside, she adjusted her robe, breath caught between fear and want. When their eyes met, silence spoke volumes. "You left without goodbye," she whispered. "You told me to," Fred said. The past bled into the present. Rebecca watched from the hallway mirror, unseen but knowing. Outside, Samuel decoded Don's cryptic message realizing the Queen might not be a woman but a role. Back at the bar, Kelvin's trap was already springing. Sophia touched Fred's face, and somewhere between betrayal and lust, Chapter Five closed with more questions than answers.

Sophia Silas had already whispered her name before the curtain fell on the present. Born to a seamstress and a forgotten father, she learned early that her body and voice could open doors locked to others. She danced like a shadow ungraspable, hypnotic, and always watching. Men called her many names. Some feared her. Others paid for proximity. But only Don Williams Coleman knew the truth Sophia was more than beauty and rhythm. She was hidden behind songs and sequins and served as his eyes and ears. As Don's personal secretary, Sophia moved through two worlds. By day, she sorted schedules, memoranda, and church donations. She reminded Don of scripture, peppered board meetings with Latin proverbs, and escorted visiting bishops with grace. At night, she slipped into silks and stilettos, gathering information from judges, generals, and journalists who all came to Club Euphoria for reasons they'd never admit. She listened to slurred confessions, remembered dates, faces, threats. Her memory was an archive of secrets, and Don, the godfather of them all, knew how to use it.

They called her the Knight Flower not just for her seductive brilliance but for the way she disarmed men with slow smiles and soft touches, only to extract what they never meant to give. It wasn't molestation in the legal sense, but Sophia had a gift for turning the tables arousing power-holders into vulnerability. She knew where hands would go before they moved, and how to guide them off-course without breaking a spell.

Fred had once been one of those men. But he wasn't like the others he didn't want control. He wanted truth. And he'd touched a part of Sophia that wasn't for sale.

Their affair had been brief but volcanic. Forbidden by Don. Hidden from Rebecca, who saw Sophia as a threat even then. Fred disappeared, sent away by Don for reasons no one ever explained. Sophia wept only once. Then she stopped asking questions.

When Fred walked into Club Euphoria that rainy morning, time collapsed. Sophia saw in him the same raw desire, the same unsaid longing. But things had changed. She was no longer merely a secretary or dancer. She was a pawn promoted to queen or knight, depending on the game. And Kelvin, her usual guardian, had gone dark. His silence was not absence it was a signal. Something was coming.

She stepped off the stage mid-spin, heels clacking on the lacquered floor. Fred walked straight past the bar, past the mirrored column where Rebecca had once danced in defiance. His eyes were on the hallway that led to the dressing rooms. He reached for the door when Sophia spotted him. "You're not supposed to be here," she said.

"Neither are you," he replied.

Inside the room, the air was stale with perfume and regret. Fred took a seat on the cracked velvet chair. Sophia stood. Nothing moved for a brief moment. "Why are you really here?" she asked.

"Don sent a message. Something about the Queen burning."

Sophia's eyes flickered. "Rebecca?"

Fred shook his head. "Could be you."

Sophia laughed softly. I've burned in the past. Still here."

A text lit her phone. One word: Trap. It was from Kelvin.

Too late.

The lights flickered. Somewhere, sirens howled not police, but deeper, like a memory collapsing. The room tilted. Fred stood. Their faces were inches apart. She smelled like rain and defiance.

"I never forgot," he said.

"I did," she whispered, lying.

Outside, Samuel was reading Don's message again. The pieces on the board weren't just Fred or Rebecca or Sophia. It was all of them. And someone else was playing from the shadows.

Beneath the surface of that morning's calm, war drums whispered. Every character felt it an itch behind the ear, a glance that lingered too long. Sophia's dance lost its rhythm because she felt watched, not just by eyes but by motives. Fred didn't just return; he returned with intent. And intentions in this city were never pure.

Rebecca's confidence began to crumble. She'd seen the way Sophia froze. Not in fear but recognition. That freeze revealed something shared between them a man, a mission, or a memory too dangerous to name.

Kelvin didn't just sit there silently. For a man who messaged even to announce coffee, his wordlessness was a red flag. And when he finally spoke to Forlan, the room tightened. "Let the snake dance," he said-not as a metaphor, but a strategy. Kelvin knew Sophia's routines, her allies, her weaknesses. If she was dancing off-beat, it was because the trap had already sprung around her.

Fred's presence reactivated old ghosts. Samuel read Don's message for the third time, realizing it wasn't just warning it was prophecy. Fred was the knight. Sophia the queen, perhaps. But queens aren't always regal they can be sacrificed.

All of it felt staged. Like each step was rehearsed. But no one knew the ending. That was the tension the absence of clarity in a game everyone was playing but no one fully understood.