Chapter 1 Brush strokes of fate

Chapter One

BrushStrokes of Fate

The gallery glittered beneath the golden glow of ceiling-mounted chandeliers. Nestled in the heart of New Jersey's elite art district, the space echoed with low murmurs and the clinking of crystal glasses. Along the whitewashed walls hung evocative portraits-each one more mesmerizing than the last, every brushstroke charged with emotion. This was no ordinary showing. Tonight, artists and collectors, critics and crooks alike mingled under a single roof in anticipation of the event's centerpiece: the auctioning of Rebecca Lopez's latest masterpiece.

Rebecca Lopez stood near the center, her raven-black hair swept into a chignon, soft tendrils escaping to frame her high cheekbones. Clad in a deep emerald satin dress that matched the fire in her eyes, she seemed carved from elegance. It was her night, her triumph, her rebirth. Her art had finally climbed from obscurity into prestige.

Fred Coleman noticed her long before she saw him. Tall, clean-cut, with charcoal eyes and a quiet authority, he moved through the crowd with a natural grace. His father's legacy the powerful Don Williams Coleman followed him like a scent, but Fred bore none of the older man's sinister charisma. He was fresh-faced, almost too ideal for the world around him.

Their eyes met when she turned to accept a compliment from a dealer. A flicker passed between them. In a room brimming with pretense, their glance was startlingly real.

Fred Coleman approached with the calm confidence of a man used to having doors open, but when he stopped before her, he softened. "You must be the creator of 'Crimson Silence.'"

Rebecca Lopez raised an eyebrow, amused. "And you must be a man who appreciates hidden pain."

Their laughter broke the invisible wall between them. The conversation flowed as easily as the wine. They walked slowly along the gallery, exchanging thoughts on art, childhood, and irony. There was no game. Just revelation.

Later that night, away from the crowded showroom, they found themselves in the private upstairs lounge-dimly lit and soundproofed by thick curtains. She leaned back against a velvet settee, and he sat opposite, sipping from a half-empty glass.

Fred coleman reached over, brushing a stray lock from her forehead. "Do you consistently portray heartbreak so well?" Rebecca smiled, her lips trembling slightly. "Only if it's true." The silence that followed was heavy with anticipation. He moved closer, and she didn't pull away. Their lips met with the kind of restraint that deepened the yearning. Moments blurred. Clothes were forgotten. They made love like people trying to forget the world existed. Her breath hitched in his ear. He murmured promises into her neck. The look in her eyes was one of surrender and warning, as though she already sensed that love and danger would walk hand in hand from this night onward.

Their faces glowed with warmth and exhaustion. Rebecca's lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but Fred silenced her with a kiss on her forehead.

In that hidden room, time bent for them.

Don Williams Coleman was a man of shadows wrapped in silk. Fred's father, now retired from the more illicit portions of his empire, maintained an illusion of legitimacy. His presence loomed in every corner of the art world, masked behind foundations and philanthropy, but those who knew whispered of blood, betrayal, and old debts. He sat at home that night in a study filled with cigar smoke and secrets, already knowing his son had met her.

Kelvin the snitch as he is popular called, has i his obedient to the Don, but oily employee, watched everyone and reported everything. He owed the Don everything, but feared him more than he loved him. For Kelvin, loyalty was a currency valuable only when it served him. He was already texting under the table, tipping off the Don about Rebecca's allure.

Sophia Silas, the Don's secretary, carried herself with clipped efficiency. She knew more than she let on, playing dumb when needed and sharp when not. Her loyalty to the Don was absolute but Maria Terino, her best friend, often warned her: "Don't let power kill your heart."

Maria, vibrant and disillusioned, found peace in chaos. She was the kind of woman who played with danger to see if it would still pay attention. She moved between social circles with ease, a friend to Rebecca, Sophia, and even Kelvin, though she trusted none of them.

Then there was Forlan Rice handsome, disarming, and too kind for the world he inhabited. Friends with all, but grounded by none, he would later prove to be more pivotal than any of them imagined.

And Albert Samuel. Rebecca's former flame. A protector in shadows. a man with steely fists and a heart broken by the loss of love. He had once destroyed men for touching her, and now he stalked the periphery, waiting for the moment she'd need saving again. Albert was justice on a leash but no one was sure how tight that leash was.

The after-party was held in a renovated loft overlooking the Hudson. Artworks that hadn't sold glowed beneath subdued lighting. Champagne flowed. So did secrets.

Rebecca stood on the balcony, trying to tame her spinning mind. Her body still hummed from Fred's touch, but her heart was knotted with something she couldn't name.

"Still attracted to dangerous men, I see."

The voice was familiar, rough, low. She turned to see Albert Samuel, dressed in black, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.

"I don't need your judgment, Albert," she said.

"I'm not here to judge. Just to warn." He stepped closer. Avoid becoming involved with him. Fred Coleman might wear a clean suit, but his blood runs through the same veins as his father."

Rebecca's jaw tightened. "He's not like that."

"He doesn't have to be," Albert said. "That family pulls people down with it. You cancel your engagement to him while you still can."

She looked at Albert with something close to pity. "You never learned when to let go."

"And you never learned how to stay safe," he shot back. Then, with more softness than she expected: "I'm still watching your back. Whether you want me to or not."

He vanished back into the crowd, leaving her with a heart conflicted and a mind suddenly spinning with doubt.

Inside, Fred was laughing with Maria and Forlan, but his eyes darted often toward the balcony. He could sense something had shifted. He just didn't know what.

As the night deepened, the party grew quieter, conversations thick with implication. Kelvin passed by Don Williams's ear on his way out, whispering something that made the old man's eyes narrow.

"Keep him close," the Don said. "And keep her closer."

Sophia caught the exchange. So did Forlan, from a distance.

Rebecca returned inside, her expression unreadable, and locked eyes with Fred.

They smiled, but it didn't reach their eyes.

Love had already begun its descent into danger.